Lord of Desire (24 page)

Yet it didn't mean he wouldn't do everything in his power to gain that consent.

"I think," Jafar said mildly, "that you overestimate the colonel's tolerance. If you were my intended bride, I would kill any man who touched you."

"Your
bride?"
Alysson replied scathingly. "Thank God that isn't even a remote possibility."

His smile this time held genuine amusement. "It is obvious no man has awakened your woman's body,
ma belle.
You know nothing of the delights of the flesh, or you would not willingly forgo my caresses."

His audacity astonished her.
"You arrogant savage!
The only way I would endure the caresses of a barbarian like you would be if you forced me."

"Oh, I will have you, my sweet, but it won't be by force." His tone was casual, speculative even, but Alysson had the terrible conviction he was making her a promise. "You will submit to me of your own free will."

Her fingers curling into fists, she faced him rigidly, nearly shaking with fury. "You are obviously quite mad! I will never submit to you!"

"Indeed you
will,
chérie.
You will call me master . . . and lover. You will not return to Bourmont a maiden."

The soft intensity of the statement silenced her.

"And you will know pleasure at my touch," he added softly into the hush.

His gaze held hers with a force that was unbreakable as he slowly closed the brief distance between them. "I intend
to tame you with gentleness, my fierce tigress, and you will respond to me with passion, the
way
I know you are capable of responding." Deliberately he lifted one hand to her breast.

"Don't!" She drew back with a jerk, as if his fingers had burned. "I don't care how gende you are! You could never make me respond willingly to you."

"You think not?" His eyes swept down her body, coming to rest with arrogant possession on the soft swells of her breasts, now hidden from his gaze by the rich fabric of her robe. "I hold that you are mistaken. The day will come when you beg for my caresses . . ." With bold determination, he reached out again to stroke her nipple beneath the cloth.

Fiercely Alysson clenched her teeth to stifle the gasp he dredged from her, but still she couldn't prevent her flesh from responding to his expert touch, or deny the quiver that shook her body.

He laughed, softly, at her reaction, the husky sound sending a quicksilver flame of excitement rippling up her spine. "Oh, yes, my little tigress, whether or not you believe it now, we shall be lovers."

He spared a final raking glance for her slender form, before he abruptly turned on his heel and quit the room. Alysson stared after him, regretting fervently that she had missed shooting him through the heart when she'd fired her pistol at him that day.

She stood there for a long moment after he had gone, shivering with fear and an icy fire.
We shall be lovers . . . You will not return to Bourmont a maiden.
The threatening words reverberated in her mind, conjuring up vivid, erotic images that she found impossible to banish.

Images of her lying naked in Jafar's arms, their limbs entwined, while he taught her the kind of passion she had never even dreamed of.

Defiantly she closed her eyes to shut out the terrible visions, but she couldn't shut out the musky scent of him that clung to her
skin,
or the evocative taste of him that lingered on her lips.

With a muttered oath, she hugged her arms to her body,
furious with him, disgusted with herself, yet touched by a shameful excitement she had never before known.

Chapter 7

 
We
shall be lovers.

The bold prediction haunted Alysson, no matter how forcefully she tried to dismiss it. Much to her dismay, the incident with Jafar in his bedchamber had left her badly shaken. No man had ever kissed her like that. No man had ever taken her in his arms and forced a passionate response from her. No man had ever threatened to compel her surrender, or vowed to make her submit freely to his lovemak- ing, to find pleasure in his touch.

The day will come when you beg for my caresses.

The sheer arrogance of such a statement made Alysson's blood boil, and yet she felt a vague terror as well. It had taken only one kiss for her to discover that Jafar had the power to fulfill his prophecy. He had proven beyond doubt that he could arouse her desire, that he could make her momentarily forget Gervase and what she owed him. And she was very much afraid that given the opportunity, her savage Berber captor would make her willingly respond to him with passion, just as he had promised.

Her only hope, Alysson concluded, was to deny him the opportunity. She had to keep away from him entirely. That, however, presented a problem, given the limitations of the tent's confines and Jafar's insistence that she sleep beside him.

Nevertheless she tried ignoring his presence. During the following week Alysson refused to speak to him or even acknowledge his existence when she was in his company. She even suffered his occasional provocative remarks in silence, determined not to rise to the bait. When he compli
mented her on her appearance, saying that she wore the robes of his country well, Alysson pointedly turned her back on him, regretting that she had allowed Tahar and the other Berber women to take away her English clothes.

She also did her best to restrain her natural disposition. Her heartless captor had said he enjoyed "a woman with spirit," that she needed "taming," of all the nonsensical things. Contrarily, Alysson decided to become the opposite of a spirited woman. No longer would she defy or confront Jafar. She would try docility for a change, all the while keeping a sharp eye out for her chance to escape.

Escape would be difficult, though, she realized. She was never allowed to leave Jafar's tent, and so was unable to search for weapons or learn the layout of the camp. And although Jafar's horses were tethered outside his tent, they were well-guarded by the blue-eyed equerry whose name, she discovered, was Saful.

Yet somehow Alysson managed to retain her optimism. Her abduction would not go unchallenged. Doubtless Gervase and Uncle Honoré were searching for her at this very moment. They would post a reward for her safe return, and someone in this vast wilderness—perhaps those slavers she had encountered at the oasis—would be greedy enough to betray one of their countrymen. Sooner or later Gervase would learn where she was being held and would give this arrogant Berber baron his due.

She had no hope that Jafar would release her before then. He would show no mercy, she was certain. Everything about the man was hard and unyielding, tempered like the keen edge of the dagger he wore thrust in his sash. More than once Alysson found herself wondering how she could steal that wicked-looking dagger so she could carve out his black heart, but she didn't dare attempt it. If she failed, he was too likely to turn the deadly blade on her.

As the first week of her captivity passed, her days began to assume a pattern. The Berbers were early risers, and went to bed when it grew dark. In between, they worked hard, only pausing to rest at mealtimes: breakfast at nine after the morning chores were completed, the main meal of the day during the heat of mid-afternoon, when work temporarily ceased in the camp, and a light supper in the eve-

ning
. Jafar sometimes dined with her for the midday meal, and he frequently held council meetings in their tent, but otherwise, she was alone for much of each day.

Except for the solitary confinement, though, Alysson was well-treated—clothed and fed and waited upon like a princess. Mahmoud served her grudgingly, his actions polite, though his underlying hatred of Europeans was always apparent. The afternoon heat and lack of company were the worst of her grievances. But if she thought of complaint, pride alone kept her silent.

Boredom, loneliness, and frustration became her chief companions. And, whether Alysson was willing to admit it or not, fear.

Fear that Jafar might actually make good his threat to become her lover, to make her beg for his caresses.

She was no longer quite so worried that Jafar might rape her. He had said that he'd never had to force a woman, and Alysson could well believe it. He had a savage handsomeness and cool magnetism that she knew most women would find compellingly attractive. And despite her best intentions, she herself was drawn to him.

But even though he wouldn't force her, she was very much afraid of his threat. She could sense his determination in his merest look. And she had little trouble interpreting his vow, though it remained unspoken between them.

He meant to seduce her.

The possibility terrified her, yet kept her in a state of strange physical excitement. She took to pacing the tent floor, driven by an intolerable tension.

The suspense was nerve-racking. In Jafar's company, she constantly had to remain on her guard, and when he was away, she had to be prepared for his return. The animal silence of his footsteps, however, never gave her any warning. She jumped whenever Jafar entered the tent. His presence filled the room, while his hawk-keen eyes searched her out, conveying the silent message,
We
shall he lovers.

His unrelenting intensity gave her no peace. And regardless of her determination to ignore him, Alysson found it nearly impossible.

His gentleness, however, alarmed Alysson most. For when he behaved toward her with kindness and courtesy,
his manners were as impeccably civilized as any European gentleman's. At those times he made her forget that he was an unscrupulous savage, and she found herself unwittingly relaxing her guard.

Until nightfall.
When night came, she always remembered with a vengeance just who Jafar was, and how vulnerable her position was, for it was then that he made her undress.