tood there frozen, too stunned by his action, too mesmerized by his gaze, too afraid of the hungry, blatant desire she saw there, to move. She felt herself trembling as he studied her with purely masculine appreciation, his eyes narrowed, glittering, spellbound. Abashed, yet strangely thrilled by the heated intensity of his admiration, Alysson shut her eyes so she wouldn't have to see it. She endured his appraisal, tremulous but proud, vulnerable but defiant.
Jafar observed her blush, her innocent confusion, with fascination and a fierce desire. Slowly his gaze traveled down her body, taking in the young glowing skin of palest honey rose, the small but ripe fullness of her breasts, the slender hips and thighs hidden by the brocade pantaloons. She was not built to pleasure a man the way the women of his own country were, yet she possessed enough curves to fill a man's hungry hands. Oddly, though, seeing her wearing the native apparel of his country was nearly as arousing as the sight of silken bare flesh. It diminished her English- ness, making her seem more a part of his life, his traditions. It allowed him to imagine that she belonged here, to him.
"You delight my eyes," he murmured in French, his voice suddenly becoming soft and whispery.
Slowly, against her will, Alysson opened her eyes to meet Jafar's. She was shaken by the look of raw desire on his face, the almost physical possession of his gaze. She wanted to object to his scandalous behavior, to shout at him to get out, to plead with him to leave her alone, but she couldn't force the words past her dry throat. It was only when his fingers glided gently over her bare shoulder that she found the voice to protest.
"Don't . . ."she whispered. "I don't want you to . . ."
"Is that so, ma belle?" His soft smile said clearly that he didn't believe her. "I think you do. Already your body betrays you. Your nipples are eager to feel my touch . . ."
It was as if his velvet voice had reached out to stroke them. Alysson felt a startling, unfamiliar surge of desire coil deep inside her.
Still holding one of her wrists, he raised a hand to the pert curve of her left breast, grazing the tip of it with his forefinger. "See how it springs to attention?"
She gasped, jolted by the throbbing fire even this lightest pressure made her feel, by the warmth and dampness that suddenly pulsed between her thighs.
"I think it time that we continue with your instruction in the art of kissing."
At his soft declaration, her lips parted to argue, but to her dismay, she couldn't form the words. She was powerless to speak, to move. Jafar spread his fingers against her delicate cheekbones, framing her face in the gentle vise of his palms, his eyes moving over her like flickering torches.
She couldn't look away.
Her gaze focused on his sensual, hard mouth as slowly, slowly, he bent his head. She could feel his breath, warm and provocative, caress her lips. And then his mouth closed over hers, capturing, claiming.
With a sharp inhalation, she tried once more to pull away, but Jafar ruthlessly took advantage of her parted lips; his tongue swept inside her mouth in an intimate invasion, sweetly probing, stroking the soft openness.
The taste of him washed over her like an erotic drug. It was a kiss that stamped his possession, that tantalized and promised, that demanded a response. Never in her life had she felt anything like it. Never, not even with Gervase. Indeed, this was the kiss, Alysson realized in some dim recess of her mind, that she had yearned for Gervase to give her, one that excited and aroused her body while calling to the wild, nameless longings in her heart. Overwhelmed by the power of it, Alysson gave a small, involuntary whimper.
The soft utterance was all the invitation Jafar needed. With extreme and deliberate seductiveness, he forced his tongue deeper, tasting, licking, twining in a gentle ravishment that compelled her surrender.
Alysson reeled from the shattering assault. A thousand sensations ravaged her. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to feel loathing for his intimate mastery, for the ruthless way he was taking advantage of her vulnerable position. But what she felt instead was the boldness of his body, hard and warm and aggressive, imprinting its maleness onto her. What she felt was his provocative heat, bathing her senses and arousing an urgent hunger in her that cried out for fulfillment. Helplessly she swayed against him, straining closer.
His kiss went on and On, giving her no quarter. She couldn't escape . . . didn't want to escape.
A wild trembling invaded her limbs. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, Alysson lifted her hands to grasp his upper arms, clinging to him for support. And when, a dozen heartbeats later, his sensitive fingers discovered the silken warmth of her breast, she hardly knew that the faint moan that came from her throat was hers.
Jafar recognized the trembling pleasure-sound and felt his own body aching with an answering passion. Slowly he broke off his kiss and lifted his head to gaze down at her. Her eyes were half-closed, soft and hazy and bewildered, the eyes of a woman experiencing the slow unfolding of desire.
She was on the edge of surrender, he knew, and yet she was still afraid of him. He could feel the way her heart fluttered like an imprisoned bird at his touch.
Before she could recover her dazed senses, Jafar bent to press a barrage of feather-light kisses at the vulnerable hollow of her throat, then followed the slender column with his lips, to the line of her collarbone, and lower, to the rising swell of her breast.
While his palm cupped the delicate heaviness, his tongue found the erect peak and flicked out to tenderly stroke.
His erotic attentions forced another whimper from her.
"You bewitch me," he murmured before his lips closed gently over the taut bud.
Alysson thought she would die from the incredible sensation. She found herself straining weakly toward his seeking mouth as Jafar sipped at her nipple.
Devastated by the fierce pleasure streaking through her, she responsively dug her fingers into the hard muscle of his
arms. Her breath had entirely deserted her, along with the significant portion of her will. She knew she ought to make him stop, but incredibly, a traitorous part of her wanted very much for hirn to continue this exquisite torment.
"You are . . . despicable . . ." she at last managed to gasp, ". . . forcing me this way."
He paused, his movement arrested. "Forcing?" The word was a skeptical rasp.