Lord of Desire

The probing note of query in his tone made Alysson eye him warily. Was that an accusation? Was Jafar fishing for details? Or had he already learned from his servant about her vocabulary lesson that morning, the way he seemed to learn of everything else that occurred in his camp?

"It was nothing so enjoyable as entertainment," she replied cautiously. "Mahmoud was only teaching me your language."

"I didn't think you would put yourself to so much trouble."

Alysson shrugged, trying to hide the tension rioting within her. "I was bored."

"Or intent on gaining an advantage over us ignorant savages?"

"Can you blame me if I was? You said a wise man learns the language of his enemy."

"Indeed." Hard golden eyes challenged gray. "It is a wise strategy. But your knowledge of our language will make no difference to the outcome of your captivity. You will not escape me. And you would do better not to try."

His soft warning echoed in the close confines of the tent. Alysson stared at him, her heart pounding. Did he know about the knife?

The uneasy silence stretched between them until Alysson thought her nerves would shatter.

To her bewilderment, then, Jafar shifted his position and returned to reading his journal. He had presented his back to her, leaving himself wholly, carelessly, vulnerable to attack.

She watched him for a long while, indecision warring within her.

Her mouth dry, Alysson reached inside the folds of her robe to grasp the handle of the dagger. If she could get near enough to him, if she could move closer on the pretext of searching for a book, perhaps, it would be relatively simple to drive the blade into his back, deep, between the shoulder blades.

The hand holding the dagger suddenly grew slick with sweat. The thought of how easily that sharp point would slide into his flesh made her sick.

Shutting her eyes, Alysson mentally railed at herself. How could she be such a coward? She had killed wild game before. She had shot tigers in India, wild boars in Russia. Once she had even brought down a rabid wolf.

And this desert chieftain was no better than that wolf. Any capacity for compassion or forgiveness he might once have possessed had been eaten up, destroyed, by his need for revenge.

But even the knowledge of his ruthlessness wasn't enough. With a feeling akin to despair, she realized she couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't kill a man this way. Not him. Not in cold blood.

Releasing a ragged breath, she eased her hand away from the dagger. She would have to think of another way. She would have to wait until Jafar was sleeping and then use the dagger to free herself from her bonds. If she were lucky, she could manage to steal from the tent, take one of the horses, and be miles away before Jafar awoke. If she were not . . .

No, she wouldn't consider the consequences of failure.

Slowly, Alysson wiped her palm on the skirt of her robe, ridding it of dampness. She had made her decision—a decision that strangely relieved her.

Now she could only pray.

She lay in the darkness, listening to the soft even sound of Jafar's breathing, and watching the faint red-gold light from the brazier's coals dancing upon the tent walls.

Two hours ago, when Jafar as usual had given her time alone to prepare for bed, she had hidden the dagger beneath the edge of the pallet. It had been all she could do to pretend disinterest as Jafar tied the silken cord around her ankle. It had been even harder to pretend sleep, to lie there beside him as if every nerve in her body was not taut with apprehension. Yet she had to wait until she was certain her movements would not awaken him.

She let another hour pass, each minute seeming like an eternity. Then, finally, she slid her hand stealthily beneath the pallet to retrieve the dagger.

The smooth wooden handle felt cool against her clammy palm as she drew it out. Jafar didn't stir.

She waited another long moment, her heart thrumming an erratic rhythm. Taking a deep breath, then, Alysson slowly eased herself into a sitting position. Furtively, she stole a glance at Jafar. He hadn't stirred. His naked chest rose and fell in a relaxed rhythm.

Not daring to breathe, she leaned forward to cut her bonds, pushing aside the blanket and slipping the blade in the space between their ankles. With infinitely careful strokes, she managed to slice the cord that bound her to Jafar.

Some instinct warned her the instant before he moved; the hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up. Panicking, she tried to bolt, yet her desperate lunge wasn't enough to save her. In a startling swift motion, Jafar snaked an arm around her waist and jerked her backward, into his arms.

The next moment he shifted his weight and rolled over her. Before she could even cry out, Alysson found herself pinned beneath his lean body, his fingers clamped around the hand that held the dagger.

Too shocked to utter a sound, she stared into the feral gold eyes glittering down at her. In the faint light, she could make out the hard, chiseled face, the strong flared nostrils, the glint of white teeth.

And what she read in his savage expressi