Lord of Desire

His voice was low, muted, and sleekly velvet as the night. Alysson felt it reaching out to stroke her. She stirred uncomfortably. "You treat Sherrar so much like a son, I wonder you didn't name him after you, or someone in your family."

"Muslim horses are -lever named after people. If would be a sacrilege to give a possession a name used by one of our saints."

"A possession? Does that include slaves, too?"

He slanted a glance at her. "Yes, slaves, too."

"So Arabs give the same names to their slaves as their horses." Her tone was dry.

"In part. Only the best horses are given names, whereas every slave has one."

"What an honor."

Jafar flashed her a smile of amusement. Touched by its warmth, Alysson was never more aware of the contradictory feelings he produced in her. When he looked at her so intently, so intimately, she wanted to flee. For it was when her captor was treating her with gentleness and admiration that he was the most dangerous.

You will call me lover. You will respond to me with passion.

Disconcerted by the intrusive memory, Alysson forced herself to maintain her wry tone. "I suppose infidels are not allowed names of people, either.''

"Naturally not."

"So to you I am an nonentity. I always knew it."

"You are hardly that." He looked up from his grooming to consider her. "I think if I were to name you, I would call you Temellal. It means 'beauty.' "

"But I am not beautiful."

He gave her an odd look.

"I'm not!"

Seeing her startled gray eyes, Jafar realized she actually believed his words were empty flattery. But he'd spoken only the truth. Perhaps she didn't possess the classic beauty that sculptors raved about, or the insipid looks that the English gentry considered fashionable. But there was a fire and intensity about her, a vibrant, restless energy that was indeed beautiful. Such spirit was to be prized in a woman— although some of his countrymen might not agree, Jafar was aware.

Alysson was only aware of the discomfiting way Jafar was regarding her. It brought a flush of warmth to her cheeks. "But you always call me 'Ehuresh,' " she said in distraction. "Is that a Berber word?"

"Yes." Jafar's mouth curved in a brief smile. "It loses something in the translation, but essentially it means 'one who defies.' That, too, fits you well."

This discussion was becoming far too intimate for Alysson's peace of mind. "Why don't you ow

n any slaves?" she asked quickly to change the subject.

"What makes you think I don't?"

"Mahmoud told me."

"Mahmoud has a loose tongue."

"Is it supposed to be a secret?"

"No."

It was only when he remained silent for a long while that Alysson realized he didn't intend to reply to her question. Yet he seemed to be in a relaxed mood. Perhaps she might persuade him to answer some other questions she had, such as why had he abducted her, and what were his plans for her.

"If you won't talk about that," she ventured to ask, "could you possibly tell me how much longer you intend to keep me here?"

"It depends."

"On what?"