Lord of Desire (53 page)

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

T
he 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.

Alysson had no idea what he was thinking. When she glanced at Jafar, his face was a collection of harsh shadows. He was not indifferent to her, though, that much she could tell. He had placed an arm around her shoulders to protect her from being jostled, while his other hand rested on the jeweled dagger at his waist. With him so near, she could feel his muscles coiled with a vital, dangerous energy.

She herself felt calm, yet alight with a cold flame of ex
citement. Tonight would be different from the last. This night she would not sleep alone.

The noise had abated by the time they finally reached Jafar's
tent,
so much that Alysson could almost hear the erratic beating of her heart. The oil lamp which had been left burning cast a welcome glow over the luxurious interior of the tent. Jafar escorted her inside, but then paused.

Without a word, he turned back toward the entrance.

Alysson felt her stomach twist into knots. "Jafar . . . wait!"

He halted abruptly, his stance rigid, expectant.

Alysson clenched her hands. All she could think about was that he would return to those women, that he would make love to those other women and not her. “Please . . . don't leave."

An eternity passed before he turned slowly again to face her. Meeting his gaze, she could see a hard and beautiful vibrancy deep in his golden eyes. "I told you before,
Ehuresh,
that I don't want your gratitude."

She didn't misunderstand him; Jafar thought she was offering herself because he had spared her fiancé's life. But it wasn't gratitude she was feeling at the moment. She hadn't even thought of Gervase in hours, which was perhaps shameful.

"No." Alysson shook her head. She was immensely grateful that he hadn't killed Gervase, but the powerful emotions she felt for this man standing before her had nothing remotely to do with gratitude. "No," she repeated in a stronger voice. "It's not gratitude. I want you for myself
. . .
for my lover."

How could he not believe her? Alysson wondered a bit desperately as she stood waiting for his answer. She held her breath while her fate hung in the balance.

Finally, in response, Jafar reached behind him to loosen the tent flap. He let it fall, shutting out the rest of the world. "I wasn't leaving," he said quietly.

Her heart began beating again; her breathing resumed.

Both took up an erratic rhythm when Jafar slowly moved toward her. Standing directly before her, he brushed the hood of her burnous back from her face. With almost a kind of reverence, he buried his hands in her hair, savoring the silky texture. But his eyes were fastened intently on her mouth.

Then he bent his head.

His kiss was not gentle; in it she tasted heat, danger,
darkness . . .
a hunger that matched her own. Though Jafar held her head still so he could ravish her mouth, she offered no resistance. Instead, her lips yielded under his in lush
invitation,
while blindly her arms came up to encircle his neck.

His teeth bit her bottom lip, gnawing gently, impatiently,
provocatively
, pulling the sensitive flesh into his mouth where he sucked it. A soft wild sound tore from her throat.

Jafar reacted to that arousing little sound like a man gone mad. Dragging his mouth away, he frenziedly kissed her slender throat, which arched gracefully, then bent her back over his arm. Feverishly seeking, his mouth moved downward over her robes, to close possessively over the ripe peak of her breast.

Alysson sucked in her breath. Even beneath layers of silk, she could feel the shocking warmth of his mouth and the immediate impact on her body; her nipple budded tightly, while a stabbing pleasure flooded her mind.

For a single moment she let herself ponder how Jafar's other women had managed to survive such incredible sensations. Then she banished the thought. It was useless to wonder how many women had found paradise in his arms before her. For tonight she would simply cherish the extraordinary feeling of being the woman who inspired his desire.

Careless of his headdress, she clutched at his turban, knocking it to the floor. Her grasping fingers twined in his tawny gold hair as she gave herself up with total abandon to the fierce delight of his embrace, to the sensual arousal of his caresses.

It was a long moment before Jafar finally drew a ragged breath and raised his head.

Dazed, awed, captivated, Alysson lifted her gaze to his. There was no pretense of charm within those amber depths, only smoldering fire.

"Undress me." The harsh, throaty texture of his voice ran over her raw nerve endings like a sensual fire. "Not here," Jafar amended when she reached for the sash at his waist.

Almost trembling, Alysson obeyed his command. Taking his hand, she led Jafar into the darkened bedchamber, where unsteadily she removed the jeweled dagger and let it fall to the floor, then unwound his sash. Her shaking fingers tangled in the length of cloth because she paid so little attention to her task. All she could do was watch Jafar. With his hair wild from her fingers, he looked rugged, barbarous, and so blatantly sensual that she thought she might die if he didn't kiss her again soon.