Lust Eternal (3 page)

At least for her.

But the magic—or whatever it was—was at work again. Already,
after mere minutes in his presence, an uncontrollable hunger began to stir in
her womb. A hunger that liquefied her, rode her. Sparked little fires within
that fizzled and popped and snapped like fireworks along her nerve endings.

His innocent touch on her arm made her burn. Fantasies of
what she would like to do with him, to him, filtered into her muddled brain.
Quite independently of conscious thought, she reached for him…

“But that has to wait. You must be hungry.”

Oh. Why that wash of disappointment?

Then again… She was hungry.

He opened one of the other doors, next to the room with the
mirror. It was lit, like the other, with an unseen, unearthly source. In the
center sat a low, long table, laden with food. The aroma rose to greet her and
she nearly swooned. Every food she could imagine lay spread out before her. A
sumptuous feast.

Oh, it was definitely a dream.

“Oh my,” she gushed, spotting one tantalizing dish after the
other, all her favorites. Shrimp scampi and medallions of beef in a steaming,
savory sauce. A huge chunk of blue cheese sat on a platter with crackers and a
wide variety of plump fruits. A carafe of chilled champagne stood in the center
of the table next to a pitcher of ice water, beaded with sweat.

Oh. And there was
cheesecake
.

“Whatever you desire.” He swept out an arm in invitation.

Honestly. She didn’t know where to start.

She figured it out though and in the end she took a little
of everything.

He sat beside her on the cushions as she ate, a large,
looming presence, amused by her enthusiasm. He didn’t touch the food. He tried
a bit of this and a bit of that but insisted she feed him. When she asked why
she had to place each morsel in his mouth, he merely said that was the way it
was.

At first the intimacy was a bit uncomfortable for Aimalee
but she quickly warmed to it, to him. For as her belly filled, another hunger
swelled within her.

Time seemed to slow. The lighting dimmed. Muted music,
ancient tunes in zither and lute, drifted through the intimate chamber. The
touch of his lips dampened her fingers, the curl of his tongue tickled her
palm.

And the meal became a seduction.

The only question was—who was seducing whom?

Keeshan watched, entranced as Aimalee explored the banquet
table laden with all manner of strange delicacies conjured by the lamp.

He’d spent a lot of time before the mirror, watching the
world change without him, studying the nuances and the trends…and the food. But
it was difficult to assimilate without real experience. His visitors allowed
him to explore some of it. A glimpse of the new tastes, the flavor of an era,
but it wasn’t the same as living it. He longed to be free. To live his life in
real time. To
know
.

Through the millennia, he’d learned to enjoy the slivers the
lamp allowed. And yes, he relished them. Each and every minute.

He bit his lip when she discovered yet another one of her
favorite treats and gave a little cry of delight. He shifted on the satin
pillow as a shaft of unadulterated lust snaked through him. Ah, that she would
cry like that for a taste of him.

And what was it about this woman?

He was always beset with mind-numbing arousal when the lamp
brought him a new consort—what man would not be inflamed after a hundred years
of abstinence?—but this excitement, this sense of
connection
was
something new.

And it wasn’t just that she had all the physical attributes
he preferred—long, silky blonde hair, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, lush,
tempting curves. No, there was more. She had an aura of innocence about her he
found irresistible.

When she perched up on her knees and stretched across the
table for a small bowl of fluffy white froth, it was all he could do to keep
his hands fisted in his lap and not reach for the exquisite globes of her
rounded bottom. She had no idea how alluring she was. He wasn’t sure if this delighted
him or frustrated him. Perhaps a little of both.

He wanted her. He wanted her with an intensity that
frightened him.

Annoyance that she was devoted to another man roiled in his
gut. Such jealousy had never plagued him before. Not like this. Knowing Aimalee
loved Carter—that tormented him to the depths of his being.

Especially since he knew the truth about Carter.

A truth Aimalee didn’t know.

He toyed with the idea of revealing what he had seen in the
mirror but then thrust the thought away. He didn’t want to distract her with
the world outside this bower. And he didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t want to
see her cry.

The truth about Carter would make her cry.

“Whipped cream!” She flashed him a disarming grin. “You have
to try this.” And then, by all the gods, she dipped her finger into the bowl,
scooped out some of the froth and lifted it to his lips.

Keeshan stilled. Every ort of his being. Slowly, he parted
his lips and licked. Taste exploded on his tongue. The delicious cream, to be
sure, but the captivating essence of Aimalee as well. He held her gaze and
suckled gently, savoring the feel of her in his mouth, her tang, her spice.
There was something about her that called him on a deep and primal level.
Something about this passion that transcended the tawdry spell compelling him
to want every woman the lamp brought to him.

It was as though the voice of his own true soul—so long
enchained—was speaking to him. Recognizing a kindred spirit.

He knew it, felt it, when his desire, his ache, took her too.
He saw it in the shadow of her eyes. They widened as he nibbled upon her flesh.
Her pupils dilated. Nostrils flared. Lips parted. Skin dewed.

By all the gods.

Keeshan had had hundreds of women in his life. He’d lost
count long ago. But he hadn’t known a desire like this, a movement like this
since…

In far, far too long.

The thought alarmed him because he knew beyond a shadow of a
doubt that when it was her time to leave, when the lamp so commanded, she would
be gone in an instant.

If he were a sane man, a free man, he would walk away now
and be done with her. He would not allow himself to touch her and warm to her.
He would not allow these sentiments for her to sprout and grow.

But it was a moot point. He was not a free man. And many
days, he doubted he was sane. He was stuck here in this damn lamp for all
eternity, doomed to a life of endless, meaningless seductions. And she was
stuck here right beside him until the lamp was done with her.

And then she would leave.

She would stay with him until he fell irrevocably in love
with her. Then she would stay a little longer just to torment him. And then she
would leave.

They always did.

It always happened that way.

It might take a month. Sometimes six. But they always left.

He didn’t know how much more his soul, his heart could take.

The first one, the lovely Desiree, had by far been the
worst. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t suspected the torment in store for him.

He’d resisted falling in love with her, swamped with guilt.
For how could he love her? How could he care for Desiree when another held his
heart—and always would?

But the enchantment had not allowed him to be distant. He’d
been compelled to be with her, be in her. And as time had passed, he’d slowly
allowed himself to be drawn to her beauty, her aura, her laugh. He’d allowed
himself to fall for her.

And then she’d left.

He’d been devastated. Utterly alone.

It had been like losing Circe all over again.

For two thousand years, each visit had been the same. Each
woman, as different as they had been, had eventually conquered his heart.
Eventually left him.

Oh, he’d tried to resist. Made vows to himself to remain
distant and cold. Tried desperately to not use the incantation. But it had
never worked. He always failed.

He always succumbed to the allure of the incantation.

He always came to love them…and then been shuttled into a
cold, empty agony when they left. Bereft and swamped with shame for his
weakness. His faithlessness.

And now here was Aimalee.

He suspected, deep in his soul, she would be the most
difficult loss of all.

Still, he could not stop himself.

The enchantment rode him mercilessly, swirled through his
body, pooling in his loins.

Even though he knew she held his destruction in the palm of
her hand, he tugged her closer and took her lips.

So supple. So delectable.

Hunger growing, he nudged them wider and dabbed with his
questing tongue. Her mouth was a cavern of velvet delight. He explored her
teeth and her inner lip, danced inside her cheek.

She resisted at first but then relaxed into the kiss and a
shaft of bone-deep satisfaction lashed him. It was only the enchantment—he knew
this to be true—but she did want him. At least a little. He could be satisfied
with that.

His lips left her mouth and followed the curve of her cheek
to her earlobe. When he sucked it into his mouth, she arched into him with a
warbled cry. So he did it again with similar results. He growled in pleasure
and nestled his nose in her neck. He nibbled at the tender flesh there,
delighting in the moans his kisses elicited.

With a supreme effort, he resisted the growing urge to
inscribe the incantation on her neck. It was heaven to be like this, with her
in his arms, writhing in passion, wanting him.

Wanting him for him.

It was a foolish whim but he desperately wanted her to make
love with him because
she
wanted to. Not because she was compelled to do
so. And while the sortilege of the lamp might cause desire to run rampant, it
was the incantation that compelled her to have him.

Without the incantation, she had a choice.

And he wanted her to choose him.

He stared at her, beguiled by her beauty, the curve of her
cheek. His heart ached with wanting. He had watched her through the mirror,
wanted her from afar for so long. And now here she was. And she was so much
more than he had ever imagined.

He pressed her back on the cushions, delighted that she
allowed it, settling himself against her body, glorying in her warmth, her
welcome. Cupping her glorious breast, he teased her nipple. She moaned and he
slipped beneath the lace, desperate to feel her skin. She didn’t stop him,
thank the gods, so he yanked at the ribbon holding the robe closed and eased
the filmy garment out of his way to bare one side.

And ah. Ah!

Her creamy breast rose above her rib like a satin mountain.
He stroked the silky flesh in circles, coming closer and closer, tighter,
zeroing in on that budding crest. She whimpered, a wild, throaty sound, which
unleashed the ferocious beast inside him.

He could wait no longer and bent his head, sucking her
ruched nipple into his mouth. She gasped and her hand drifted up to rest at his
nape. When he sucked again, her nails dug deep, pinned him, held him there. She
wriggled against him, pressing into his throbbing cock. A blinding snarl of
need raced through him. Scorched him.

“Ah, Aimalee. Aimalee,” he murmured. “I was hoping it would
be you.”

Beneath him, she stilled. He felt it, the wall that came
slamming down.

Ah hell.

She drew back—creating a terrible chill between them—and
frowned at him. Her lips quivered as she searched for words. “W-what do you
mean?” When he didn’t respond she punched him on the shoulder, the mere bat of
a kitten’s paw against a stone. “What do you mean, you were hoping it would be
me?”

His pulse skittered. He should have kept his mouth shut. He
toyed with the idea of quickly scrawling the incantation against her neck to
distract her from his blunder but he thought better of the idea.

He’d already used the incantation once with her. It was easy
to rationalize after decades of abstinence. But it was impossible to rationalize
now.

But gods, he ached for her.

In body and in soul.

He forced himself to meet her glare. It seared right through
him. The flicker of confusion was bad enough. But then there was the wounded
mien. As though he had betrayed her. Lied to her. Tricked her.

Which he had.

Heat prickled at his nape.

“I knew it would be one of you.” He had to look away. Her
gaze was way too sharp. “I hoped it would be you.”

“One of us?”

“You and the other one.” He made a swirling motion over his
head. “The one with the hair?”

“Sorcha?” Aimalee’s adorable nose wrinkled. “You could
see
us? How could you see us?”

“Through the mirror. It is a window to the outer world. It
shows me the women who are destined to come to me.”

“To…come to you?” Was that a drowsy, aroused expression on
her face? Or horror? Her swanlike throat undulated as she swallowed. “How many
women have…come to you like this?”

Keeshan shrugged. Really, he didn’t remember. Didn’t want
to. Didn’t want to talk about this at all. He kissed her instead, luxuriating
in the taste of her lush lips. “I am glad it was you.”

But her response was cold. Distant. She ducked away and
huffed as though she didn’t believe him.

How on earth could she not believe him?

He combed the silky skeins of her hair, traced his way down
her shoulder, her arm, to the tips of her fingers, captivated by the creamy
velvet of her skin.

She shivered, her beautiful eyes limned with doubt and a
lifetime of pain. “Sorcha is much prettier.”

Sorcha? His brow furrowed. Was she serious? Sorcha was cold.
Brittle. Hard. Whereas Aimalee… He cupped an ample breast. So smooth. So
supple. Gods! Her nipple was hard, swollen. He could practically taste her
arousal. “She does not compare. You are…”

Much to his consternation, she scooted even farther from him
on the pillows. “I am…what? What? You can say it. Fat?”

Fat?
He stared at her in astonishment. Did she really
think she was fat? She was just right. “What’s the word they use?” He searched
his mind, trying to remember the woman who had come to him in the seventeenth
century. “Rubenesque?”

“No.” Aimalee crossed her arms over her chest. “The word
they use is fat.”

“I think you are perfect.” Delicious. Divine.

“I’m hardly a fashion plate. Not in today’s world. Chunky is
definitely not in style.”

Keeshan laughed. “What do I care about what is in style? I
have lived in this lamp for thousands of years. Styles come and go like a leaf
on the wind. All I care about is what I like. And this,” he punctuated his
comment with a squeeze to her delightfully curved buttocks, “is what I like.”

She huffed again. A pout. “Why don’t I believe you?”

He grinned. “Because you’re not paying attention?” Gently,
he took her hand and set it upon his cock. He was hard. Then again, all he
needed was a glimpse of her and he was hard.

It was partly the enchantment—he never had much of a choice
about his arousal or his ability to perform. That was his punishment, after
all. But this time, with Aimalee, it was different. This time he really wanted
to.

He wanted to
be
with her.

More than that, he wanted her to want to him too.

Without the damn spell.