Lord of Desire

And he did feel arousal. Her nearness, her very presence, was like an elixir in his blood. Even now, although sitting quite still, she was so intensely alive that other women seemed tame in contrast.

Involuntarily, Jafar shifted his glance to Alysson, letting his gaze caress her. She was so different from the women of his country, yet she didn't suffer in comparison. Not only was she as fiery as any impassioned daughter of the desert, she possessed the proud and courageous spirit of the Atlas highlands. Her very vitality inflamed his senses. That, and his own vivid recollections.

He felt his blood heat as the image of her lying naked beneath him raced through his memory . . . her slender, flushed body, so shapely and supple and sweet-breasted. He wanted to have her that way again. He wanted her passionate. He wanted to pleasure her, to please her . . .

Alysson chose that moment to meet his gaze. A mistake, she realized at once. In Jafar's eyes she saw an unsettling, smoldering possession that roused as acutely as a touch. Her breathing shallowed. The blatant desire in his golden hawk's gaze was too provocative, too naked. She had to look away.

It startled her that desire could be born so quickly from just a simple glimpse, yet she couldn't deny the savage spark of feeling that flared between them—a fierce, primitive feeling of lust, of need, of want. She wanted him. With a desperation that was totally inexplicable, entirely reprehensible. Which only added further confusion to the tangled, bittersweet, complicated emotions she felt for Jafar.

For the remainder of the performance, Alysson sat in tense, unappreciative silence, trying unsuccessfully to dismiss such disquieting thoughts of him from her mind. She was grateful when the entertainment concluded, for she thought surely the dancers would leave. Much her dismay, though, both Fatum and Barca sauntered over to kneel before Jafar in order to hear his praise.

Alysson forced herself to murmur a polite compliment about their dancing, which Jafar then translated. For a full minute she even endured the sly glances and the not-so- subtle enmity of the other two women while they conversed with Jafar in his language, which she couldn't understand. Then abruptly Alysson rose and crossed the rooftop to the far parapet wall. She knew it was rude of her, but she couldn't bear to remain another minute while those two sultry beauties flirted with Jafar and made arrangements to share his bed.

She was staring restlessly at the crowded streets below when she felt his presence beside her. Behind her there was silence; apparently he had dismissed both the dancers and the musicians. But the noise from below was no less diminished. It only served to scrape her already lacerated nerves.

"Is this an example of your wild celebrations?" Alysson asked finally when Jafar didn't speak.

"Yes. Often dances are held in the open air. Afterward the performances are followed by the ritual of Leilat el Gholta. The Night of Error."

"Error? What does that mean?"

"No one knows. Leilat el Gholta is a Berber custom which springs from mystic beliefs. The participants choose a partner for the evening and surrender themselves to debauchery for the night."

Alysson felt shock coloring her cheekbones as she turned to look up at Jafar. "Do you mean to tell me your festival is little more than an orgy?"

He stared down at her for the space of several heartbeats, his gaze dark and intent. But his smile, when it came, was the epitome of masculine beauty. "It is very much an orgy, chérie."

Alysson caught her breath, diverted not so much by the implications of what he had just said, as by the wild and daring notion that had just entered her head.

In fact, she was surprised to feel herself trembling. But it was quite cold, after all. As usual in the desert, the temperature had fallen dramatically with the setting sun. She tensed as Jafar reached around her to draw the folds of her burnous more snugly around her shoulders.

"Come, you are shivering. I will take you . . ."

His hesitation struck her in an odd way. Home, was what he had meant to say, she was sure. But she couldn't quell the erotic images his unfinished statement conjured up. He would take her.

Mentally Alysson shook herself. Making love to her was not at all what Jafar had meant. Instead, he would escort her back to his tent, but like the previous night, he wouldn't stay. He would leave her to sleep alone, to bear the unbearable ache of physical frustration and unfulfilled desire. Then no doubt he would return here to enjoy the "valuable services" the exotic Ouled Nail courtesans were all too willing to provide.

Unless she stopped him.

The thought made Alysson clench her fingers till the nails scored her palms. Yet she had to acknowledge the truth. In one respect, she was actually no different from those courtesans. She wanted Jafar, wanted to give herself to him, to experience fully the passion that she'd only tasted in his arms that night long ago.

Just then she heard shouting in the street. Alysson turned to peer over the wall, deliberately not looking at Jafar. "Are infidels allowed to participate in this Night of Error?"

"I suppose so. Why do you ask?"

She took a deep breath. This would not be the first time she had let herself be ruled by her wild and reckless heart. "Because," Alysson replied, keeping her tone light, "I find the thought of an orgy fascinating. Are participants allowed to choose any partner they wish?"

She could feel Jafar's penetrating gaze boring into her. "Yes. There are no rules governing the choice. It makes no difference whether they are married or are strangers."

"Does it matter who does the choosing, the man or the woman?"

There was a long hesitation, before Jafar answered slowly. "No."

"Well then," Alysson said, somehow managing to keep her voice steady, despite the excitement and sweet arousal that was flooding her veins, "if it makes no difference, I choose you."

Chapter 17

The din of the celebration increased as Alysson and Jafar made their way back to camp through the crowded streets. The noise was a direct contrast to the silence between them. Jafar had not replied to her claim. Indeed, he had not spoken a word since she'd made her abrupt announcement.