Lord of Desire

His smile faded as he stood looking down her with a strange expression, almost as if he had never seen her before. Slowly then, as if against his will, he bent toward her and pressed a light kiss on her lips, the merest brush of pressure.

Shocked, Alysson brought her fingers to her mouth and stared up at him.

"You've grown up, coquine," Gervase whispered . . .

The tender memory of that long-ago kiss haunted Alysson now as she stared out at the shadowy desert. That first kiss of Gervase's had startled her, flattered her, but it hadn't shaken her. Not the way the unwanted caresses from her Berber captor had done.

What vital element was missing in Gervase's kiss that was not missing in Jafar's? Why had a ruthless stranger been able to arouse her passion so easily, in a way Gervase never had? How could she feel such inappropriate desire for one man and absolutely none for the other?

She sighed, wishing she could banish her disturbing thoughts.

Behind her, within the tent, Jafar heard her sigh but attempted to ignore it. At the moment he was wrestling with his own haunting thoughts.

He understood quite well his own feelings of desire, and the cause: his bewitching captive. The pleasure of seeing her graceful figure draped in the robes of his country . . . the gratification of finding her sitting at the entrance to his tent, as if waiting for his return . . . the pain of sleeping next to her night after night without being able to touch her . . . the memory of having her melting in his arms for one brief moment.

He couldn't cease remembering the exquisite triumph of his momentary possession, or the delight he'd felt when she had responded to him with passion, or how captivating she'd looked. Her body pale as ice and beautifully mysterious, her nipples rising like jeweled ornaments to his touch . . .

He wanted to taste again the delectable warmth of her breasts on his tongue, to experience the riveting sweetness of her kisses, to absorb the inner fire and spirit of the woman herself.

And his desire was affecting his judgment, Jafar knew. Again and again he found himself wanting to neglect his many duties. From the moment he first woke each morning, he found himself reluctant to leave her side. Watching Alysson sleep, seeing her tum

bling chestnut hair flowing across his pillow had a strange, unsolicited effect on him, arousing a protectiveness, a tenderness in him, in addition to the hunger. If not for his responsibilities, he could have spent hours lying there with her, simply to be near.

And when he was away, he looked forward to the end to the day when they could be alone together. Which was rather absurd, Jafar thought dryly, considering the extreme hostility of their relationship. In his company, his lovely young captive either ignored him entirely or treated him to a bout of simmering, mutinous silence.

This was new to him, this overpowering need to be with a woman. Certainly one who did not want him in return, one who belonged to another man.

He had never denied himself for any other woman, either. The mornings were worst. It would be so easy to take her while she slept, to roll over and glide into her slowly, to lose himself in her sweet heaven.

But he wanted her willing. He wanted to effect her surrender without conquering her pride. He wanted to teach her the meaning of pleasure. Most of all, he wanted to make her forget that she had ever been betrothed to Gervase de Bourmont, his hated enemy.

And that last, more than anything else, was very likely an unattainable possibility.

Chapter 8

Humility did not come easily to Alysson, but for the sake of her own sanity, she decided that night to swallow her pride and ask Jafar if she could occasionally be allowed to ride. She chose a moment when they were alone, when she thought he would most likely be amenable to her request. The supper dishes had been been cleared away and Mahmoud had withdrawn for the evening.

Surreptitiously, Alysson sipped her coffee and watched Jafar. He was reading, stretched out lean and catlike on the pillows, his newspaper angled to catch the light from the lamp. He subscribed regularly to the French journals, it seemed; she had read every issue in the tent twice during the past week, simply to keep herself occupied, even though some were outdated by nearly a month.

It surprised her that a Berber warlord was interested in the news from France. But then he was a surprising man, Alysson admitted. She never knew quite what to expect from him—whether she would encounter the savage desert chieftain or the suave, educated gentleman. At the moment he looked almost civilized. He had removed his turban, and a few strands of his hair fell loosely about his face, sun- streaked honey and amber in the lamplight. Except for his sun-darkened complexion, he might pass for European, she decided. Perhaps that was the basis for his seeming oddly familiar to her.

The glow of the lamp softened the lean hardness of his features, creating an effect that was both disturbing and deceptive; it made him look younger, and far more gentle than she knew he was. And yet he could be gentle, Alysson reflected, recalling the tenderness of his kisses and the shameful way she had nearly surrendered to him. Abruptly Alysson shook herself. Thinking of that only pummeled her already raw nerves.

"Why do you read those journals?" she asked suddenly, as much to take her mind off the disquieting man before her as to initiate a conversation.

Jafar looked up, one eyebrow lifted, as if surprised that she had addressed him. It was the first time in days that Alysson had spoken voluntarily to him.

"I like to keep abreast of what is happening in France," he replied after a moment.

"Why?"

"So that I know what the French intend for my country, now that they have become our conquerors."

"Is that how you learned to speak French so fluently? By reading the journals?"

He shrugged. "That and other means. A wise man learns the language of his enemy."

Alysson almost pursued this line of conversation, but decided she didn't want to become involved in his concerns. All she wanted was to be set free . . . and to see him pay for abducting her.