Lord of Desire

on terrified her. So did his gently whispered, "A grave mistake, chérie."

His hand slid to her throat, resting lightly on the vulnerable exposed curve, his fingers capable of tightening to a stranglehold. His other hand pried loose the dagger and tossed it the width of the chamber, out of reach. "You should never have hesitated when you had the chance to kill me."

His tone, so harsh and cold, made her want to tremble. "I w-wasn't. . . going to use the knife on you," she murmured, ashamed of the way her voice quavered.

Jafar's gaze narrowed ominously. "No? Why not, I wonder? I gave you ample opportunity, all evening long. I expected you to strike any time these past few hours."

A breath caught in Alysson's throat. He had known. Somehow he had known about the dagger she had stolen. And he had been waiting for her to make her move.

Forcing back her trepidation, she raised her trembling chin. Never would she admit to him that she hadn't had the courage to kill him. "I am not a murderer, like you are!"

It was the wrong thing to say. His grip loosening, Jafar's hand skimmed downward over the sheer white linen of her chemise, coming to rest threateningly on the swell of her breast. "How foolish of you to disregard my warnings." His touch remained gentle, almost a caress, but it raised gooseflesh on her skin; she could feel his simmering anger. "By now you should know better than to challenge your master."

"You are not my master," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"Yes," he replied almost as fiercely, "I am your master, my proud beauty. And it is long past time you were taught that lesson."

Alysson stared at him, a new fear dawning on her. "What . . . do you mean to do?"

His eyes held hers in the darkness. "Aren't you woman enough to know?"

His whisper, harsh yet sensual, sent a strange thrill quivering down her spine. Yet seeing the smoldering coals in his eyes, feeling the masculine arousal of his body that pinned hers down, she could have no doubt as to his meaning. Tonight, he would become her lover. It was to be her punishment for defying him.

Alysson went pale with shock. "No . . ." she pleaded as she began to struggle ineffectually against him.

He caught her flailing arms, pressing his body harder

against hers. "Yes, my fierce tigress. You will learn to obey me. Now. Tonight." Jafar hesitated, gazing down at her. "And before the night is over," he said, lowering his head slowly, "you will learn about pleasure."

"No!" she cried again, just before he covered her defiant lips with his own.

It was a stunning assault. It was a seizure that punished, that dominated her mouth with a dangerous and cruel sensuality. His tongue, like a hot dagger, stabbed past her lips to invade the recesses of her mouth, thrusting deep to overwhelm her resistance.

Shaken, dazed, Alysson could scarcely find the strength to fight him. If a woman could be ravished by a single kiss, that was what Jafar was doing to her. Completely and irrevocably, he claimed her, in an invasion that held such intimacy she found it hard to breathe. With almost practiced detachment he set about subduing her, mastering her. Ruthlessly he learned the taste of her and forced her to learn the taste of him. She could feel the anger making his body taut, yet in some dim recess of her mind, she knew he was using her not only to vent his fury, but also because he desired her.

In turmoil, Alysson whimpered, as much in fear of the fierce sensations he was making her feel as in protest of his harsh treatment. Abruptly Jafar gentled his assault. Tenderly now, as though trying to kiss away the hurt hed inflicted before, he moved his mouth over hers in a tantalizing display of controlled passion. Coaxing. Careful. Alysson felt the first stirring of a familiar response that shed learned to deplore, the sweet awakening of desire. No, her mind screamed, and yet her body, her traitorous body, reacted so differently.

She was panting for breath by the time Jafar finally lifted his head. When he gazed down at her, she could see the dark light of desire in his jeweled eyes.

"Ehuresh," he whispered. "My lovely defiant one."

Her lips parted in protest as he reached up to loosen the drawstring of her chemise, but he forestalled her by pressing his fingers gently against her lips.

"Don't fight me. You cannot win." His voice was a low rasp as he slowly drew down the bodice of the garment to bare her breasts.

Alysson closed her eyes, feeling sharne, both at the possessive intimacy of his heated gaze, and the traitorous yearning it aroused in her. But she obeyed; she didn't fight him as his hand roamed downward.

Deliberately, with the slowest of seductive movements, he captured her breast. Alysson drew a sharp breath, then went rigid as he caught her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His bold fondling dredged another gasp from her lips. She hadn't expected the brutal rush of feeling as her nipple tightened unbearably, or the hard, rebellious ache that flared quickly between her shivering thighs.

She should struggle, Alysson told herself as he molded the satin flesh of her breasts with his long fingers. She should resist him with every ounce of strength she possessed. She should try to escape his vengeful lovemaking. Yet she couldn't summon the will. Besides his superior strength and overwhelming masculine vitality, she was also fighting the dazing sense that what would happen between them was inevitable. They were meant to be lovers. He had told her so, and she, God help her, believed.

She remained trembling and still when he divested her of her chemise, not pulling away as he tossed the garment aside. Helplessly, Alysson lay naked to his gaze, to his touch, her heart pounding.

His eyes swept slowly over her body. "Beautiful," he murmured, the French word a husky rasp. Alysson could feel herself quivering at the seductive promise in his tone.

Without leaving her side, he drew back to quickly shed his trousers. In the darkness, she glimpsed the beautiful, sculptured perfection of his male form—his body lithe as a cat's, as sleek and powerful as his favorite stallion's. Then he returned to gather her in his arms.

His naked skin was hot to the touch, Alysson realized with an acute sense of awareness. Every angle of him fit intimately against her, making her feel the thin dusting of his leg hair stroking her own smoothness, the hard wall of his muscled chest meeting the yielding swell of her naked breasts, the shocking evidence of his desire pressing against her abdomen. Alysson stiffened at that hard, vital ridge of flesh. Startled by the enormous size of him, by his very maleness, she shivered with fear and an unaccountable thrill of longing. Dear God, what was happening to her? She couldn't allow him to continue.