Lust Eternal (13 page)

When Aimalee awoke she was tangled in the shrouds of a
persistent dream. It was aggravating because she could smell it, sense it,
taste it, but when she tried to capture it, it wafted away.

She rolled over in her bed and draped an arm over her face
to block the sunlight streaming through the window and tried desperately to
remember. It had been so…pleasant. So warm. So real. But even as she reached
for the memory, it danced away.

She groaned in frustration and rolled over. When she saw the
clock, she groaned again. Damn it all. She was late.

She dragged herself from bed and padded to the bathroom. All
through her shower she was haunted by snippets and sinuous trails of that
tantalizing dream.

There had been man. She remembered as much. And phenomenal
sex. But strange things like floating candles and mirrors that were televisions
and…cheesecake. She definitely remembered that. As she stood at the sink,
brushing her teeth and gazing blankly at her reflection, she tried to remember.
But like a fog it was impossible to grasp and a filmy vision at best.

And all through breakfast as she ate her egg and toast and
sipped her coffee, she was haunted by a lingering, incomprehensible sense of
loss. Which made no sense—because it was only a dream.

She dressed slowly, still in a daze, and made her way to
work, careful to avoid everyone. She simply wasn’t in the mood for
conversation.

When she got to her office, she expected everything to
return to normal. Her work had always done that for her—washed everything else
away. But that odd, restless melancholy clung to her. She sat at her desk and
stared at the items cluttered there, unable to dive in. Unable to make any
sense of things.

First of all, these weren’t the same items she had been
working with yesterday. They were all new and completely unfamiliar to her.
There was an opened crate by her worktable filled with straw, so clearly these
items had just come in and were waiting for her to catalog them. But she’d
never seen any of them before. The artifacts from last night’s event were all
neatly stacked on shelves by the far wall but there was something just…wrong
about them. Like something was missing. But she couldn’t put her finger on it.

She was still in a numb stupor when the door to her workroom
opened.

“There you are.”

Aimalee flinched. Sorcha was the last person she wanted to
see this morning.

“For God’s sake, where have you been? You missed all the
excitement.”

Aimalee picked up a clipboard and studied it. Flipped
through the pages. She knew Sorcha was standing there, waiting for a response,
but she had no inclination to engage.

“Did you have a nice vacation? Must be nice. Just taking off
like that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Carter was pretty upset.”

“Carter?” Carter had been in her dream. Hadn’t he?

“But then, I suppose that’s a moot point…considering.”

“Considering what?”

Sorcha gaped at her. “Do you mean you don’t know? Carter was
fired.”

Aimalee blinked. “Fired?”

“Yes. The idiot tried to pass your dissertation off as his
own and the board found out.”

A vague memory washed through her. Sitting on a throne.
Eating popcorn. Watching Carter get fired on television. She had dreamed that.
Hadn’t she?

“After the big confab, he just disappeared. Didn’t clean out
his desk or anything. But then you can hardly blame him, I suppose. It was
probably mortifying. Getting hauled before the board of directors. Humiliated
in the press. I would disappear too.” She laughed, a harsh, forced offering.

That Sorcha was amused by another’s trials churned in her
gut and Aimalee turned away, repulsed by how much she disliked her coworker.

There was something else there too, something larger. A
betrayal she could sense but just couldn’t pin down. “Did you want something,
Sorcha? I’m busy.”

“Oh, yes.” She smoothed her hair. “The new director wants to
see you.”

“The new director?”

“Bring your dissertation. He wants to discuss that with
you.” Sorcha leaned closer and whispered in a cloying, conspiratorial tone,
“He’s gorgeous.”

“Really?” Aimalee set the clipboard back on the hook.

“I don’t know where they found him but he’s got a pedigree
like you wouldn’t believe. He worked overseas for the international archives
and knows absolutely everybody who’s anybody. Did I mention he’s hot?”

“I believe you did.”

“Really, Aimalee. You really should show more interest. This
man will have your career in the palm of his hand. He could make you or break
you.”

Aimalee fished through her files to find a clean copy of her
dissertation. She pulled it out and cradled it in her arms. “Unlike you,
Sorcha, I don’t need to rely on a man to make me.”

Sorcha sniffed. “You don’t need to be pissy.”

“Not being pissy. Just telling it like it is.”

Sorcha puckered her lips. “There’s something different about
you.” Aimalee shrugged and angled her way past Sorcha toward the door. “Did you
get laid?”

Aimalee rolled her eyes and, ignoring the question, slipped
out into the hall. She tried to ignore the emotions that question evoked,
visions of a tall, handsome perfect man, of love and loving, the memory of a
dream lover she just couldn’t shake, but the thoughts were rooted in her mind.
She couldn’t brush them away.

In a haze she made her way to Carter’s office.

No. Not Carter’s office. Not anymore. There was some new
boss. That was going to take some getting used to.

Oddly enough, she had no sense of panic, of betrayal at his
sudden desertion.

It was as though her fixation on Carter had been simply
erased.

This was turning out to be the oddest day.

“Hi, Marie.” She forced a smile as she greeted Carter’s
secretary and Marie beamed back. Funny. Aimalee didn’t remember Marie grinning
when Carter was her boss.

“Morning, Aimalee. Welcome back.” Aimalee was about to open
her mouth and say she hadn’t gone anywhere—why did everyone think she’d been on
vacation?—when Marie stood and crossed to Carter’s door. “He’s ready to see you
now.”

“He?”

“The new boss? Mr. Keeshan?”

Aimalee nearly fainted as a wash of prescience flooded her.

Keeshan
.

There was something about that name that made her tingle,
down to her toes.

Marie winked. “I think you’re going to like him.” She
knocked on the door and poked her head in. “Aimalee West is here to see you.”

A low murmur echoed through the door and Aimalee’s sense of
unreality swelled. She knew that voice.

No. She didn’t know it. But she remembered it. Somehow.

Marie held open the door and Aimalee walked through.

There was a man sitting at Carter’s desk but this man was
not Carter. This man was nothing like Carter. Sorcha had been right on. He was
handsome. He was hot. But he was something more. Someone more.

Aimalee stared at him, her dissertation clutched to her
chest. She’d never met this man but somehow she knew him.

He stood when he saw her and she boggled at his height, his
breadth. And heavens.

The look on his face.

It was a hunger.

An aching unlike anything she’d ever seen in a man’s
expression—leastways when he was gazing at her.

“Aimalee.” He said her name like a prayer.

She stood there mute, an idiot, as an odd emotion, a
peculiar recognition swirled through her.

It’s him!
her mind kept crying but she didn’t know
what that meant.

It’s him, who?

She swallowed the drool pooling in her mouth and nodded
jerkily. “Mr. Keeshan.”

He tipped his head to the side and gave her a crooked smile.
“It’s just Keeshan, Aimalee.” He stepped out from behind the desk, looking
heart-stopping in a crisp three-piece suit. She caught a whiff of his scent and
little alarms started going off in her head. Her heart began to pound.

When he put out his hand, she just stared at it.

He wanted her to touch him? Glory be. What would that be
like? He stepped closer and she took a step back.

“Aimalee.” She tried to ignore the dimples blossoming on
both cheeks. “Aren’t you going to shake my hand?”

She tried to force her mind to function. She lurched forward
and slipped her hand in his.

And her world exploded. Memory drenched her. Memories of
Keeshan and the lamp and their kisses and loving. Their love. Everything came
back in a flash.

A laugh bubbled up inside her. It was him. It was Keeshan!
Her Keeshan.

He was here.

His pupils dilated as their palms met. His grip tightened
and he yanked her closer. The next thing she knew, she was in his arms, her
precious dissertation falling to the floor in a fluttering, forgotten sheaf.

“Oh Keeshan. Is it really you?”

His grin broadened. “You remember?”

“I do. I remember everything. But…how?”

He kissed her. Their lips met in a tingling wash of passion
and relief. “I’ve missed you.”

She laughed. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“It’s been far too long.” Their lips met again and this time
they clung. He tasted her. Groaned and tasted her again.

“But…what happened?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We broke the spell, Aimalee. Together we
finally broke the spell.”

She cupped his cheek. “You’re free?”

“Yes. I’m free. And we are together. Could life be more
perfect?” A knock came at the door and Keeshan frowned. “What is it?” he
barked.

Marie pushed open the door and peeped in. Her eyes widened
when she saw Aimalee in Keeshan’s arms but she didn’t make a comment. She
merely cleared her throat and said, “Your sister is here to see you, sir.”

“Your sister!” Aimalee gaped at Keeshan. “She’s here?”

He nodded. She noticed tiny tears lurking on his lashes.
Tears of joy. “Yes, Aimalee. She’s here with us as well.”

“Well, for heaven’s sake, Marie. What are you waiting for?
Bring her in. I can’t wait to meet her.”

Marie nodded and ducked back out of the room.

Aimalee shot a brilliant smile at the man she loved. “We are
together again. Both you and Lisette are free of the Dark Djinn. Oh, Keeshan,
is it finally over?”

“No, my dearest,” he said, bending down to kiss her once
more. “It has only just begun.”

Far from the world, in a palace obscured from human sight by
a magic older than time, the Great Djinn reclined on her lush divan and gusted
a great sigh.

Her devoted servant, the ever-vigilant Rorrim, shimmered
into human form and stepped forward to offer her a chalice of cold wine. She
nodded to a platter of fruit and cheese and he brought it to her as well. He
watched her as she ate, sipped, awaiting her slightest command.

Setting down the chalice, she sighed once more. “So, Rorrim.
A happy ending after all.”

He dipped his head to hide his smirk, a grin of pure
delight. “We knew Sir Keeshan would figure it out.”

Nonchalantly, she fluffed out the foamy pouf of material
covering her slender arms. “Eventually.”

“I am surprised you let him go, my mistress.”

She glanced at him then, her gaze a weight on his soul. “Sir
Keeshan broke the enchantment, Rorrim. Fair is fair.”

“But he was your favorite entertainment.”

“Yes. He was delicious. But I can still watch him.” Her lips
twitched. “Never say you are jealous, Rorrim.” She patted his thigh. He
shivered. “You are one of my favorites too.”

He cleared his throat in an effort to dislodge a growing
annoyance. “For which I shall be ever grateful, my mistress.”

The Great Djinn sent him a charming, playful smile.
“Besides, I am a firm believer that a punishment should fit the crime.”

It was all Rorrim could do to contain his growl at that dig.
She had been punishing him, tormenting him far longer than his simple trespass
should warrant. “And did Sir Keeshan’s punishment fit the crime?”

“Hardly. Duvalli far overstepped his boundaries.” She
arranged her skirt now, a transparent effort to call his attention to her legs.
They were lithe and long. And he looked.

“Yet you allowed it.”

She shrugged insouciantly. “Free will.”

Rorrim merely snorted. Free will indeed.

“Come, my darling. Give me a massage.”

Obediently he stepped behind her and set his fingers to her
shoulders, kneading, working her. Her skin was warm and velvety smooth. He
shuddered.

“S-so what do you intend to do with Duvalli?” Now that Sir
Keeshan was free of the lamp, the Dark Djinn had no purpose in this realm.

She picked up a hand mirror, observing her flawless
reflection. He was certain she was observing him too. “Oh, he shall suffer.”

As did all men in her auspices. “I should think he’s
suffered enough. Two thousand years without the ultimate fulfillment?” A man
could only take so much. And Rorrim should know.

“He’s the one who brought that on by kidnapping and
enslaving an innocent woman.”

“So you will keep him entombed?”

She tossed her head back and laughed, a melody. “Don’t be
silly. I will release him.”

Rorrim paused in his ministrations. “I thought you wanted
him to suffer.”

“Oh, he’ll suffer.” She waved him back to work. “The idiot
is besotted with Lisette.”

How true. Pity the man besotted with a woman who did not
see
him. “So you’re going to release him?”

“Precisely. Send him out into the world. With the knowledge
that if he does not find her—and win her—in this lifetime, he will lose her
forever.”

“Forgive me, my mistress…”

“Yes?”

“But that doesn’t sound like you.”

She chortled. “Quite right. I intend to send him out into
the world with the knowledge that if he does not find her—and win her—in this
lifetime, he will lose her forever…and the knowledge that if he fucks another
woman, any woman, I will personally assure he never finds her.”

“And?”

She dipped her head. “And…Lisette will not remember him.”

“Ah. That’s more like it.” Rorrim gently pushed her forward
and began rubbing the tight muscles of her back. “I, for one, shall miss them.
They’ve been great entertainment during my captivity.”

“Mmm. A little harder.” She tipped her head “There.” And
then, “Never say I have not kept you entertained.”

“Mistress. You are always entertaining. But you are occupied
with other matters much of the time.”

She disengaged, frowned at him. “Are you pouting?”

“I simply thought that I would have more of your time.”

“You’ve been my servant for four thousand years. Surely that
is time enough for any man.”

“Closer to five. And not nearly enough. Not with you.”

She grinned and rose, paced over to the billowing curtains
opening to the grand balustrade, the bells around her ankles jangling in a
seductive harmony. Teasing him. Teasing his sanity. She struck a pose against a
pillar, glancing at him from beneath lush lashes. “Dear Rorrim, you should not
have made that wager in the first place. You most certainly should not have
lost it.”

He pretended to tidy some vials, uneasy with the direction
the conversation had taken, with what his expression might reveal. He heard her
return to the room, to the bed and his body tightened. Slowly, he turned. She
had draped herself across the velvet coverlet, the diaphanous froth of her gown
barely concealing her curves.

She lifted a lithe leg and wiggled her toes at him. The
bells around her ankles danced.

He arched a brow, pretending indifference. He always did. It
was better this way. “Another foot rub, my mistress?”

“Whenever I wish. Remember?”

Oh. He remembered. “When I made that wager, I had no idea
how demanding you would be.”

She sat up and surveyed him, tapping her lush lip with a
painted nail. “I have been wondering, Rorrim. Why did you make that wager? It
was truly a stupid move. You were bound to lose.”

He took in this vision, the beautiful, effervescent woman
sprawled across an enormous, comfortable bed and his passion stirred. Stirred
in a way she had not allowed for several millennia. But her hold on him was
loosening. He could sense it. Soon the beast within him, the true man, would be
unleashed. She did not realize this, did not sense the shifting sinews of
sortilege. But he did…

“Well?”

He stepped closer, drawn by her power, her beauty, her soul.
“Don’t you know?”

She shook her head. Her curls jounced.

“I made the wager because I knew I would lose.”

“What?”

He stepped closer still. “I wanted to lose.”

“You
wanted
to serve me for five thousand years?” She
gaped at him. Even in that, she was beautiful.

“Oh yes.”

“Why?”

In response, he sat on the bed and took her beautiful foot
in his hand. He explored her with leisurely strokes and then set the elegant
creation to his mouth and nibbled on her toes. She shivered and shook. Her expression
became dewy.

“Really, Delilah. Don’t you know?” She started when he used
her given name. But he noticed she did not protest. He lowered his head and
traced her arch with his tongue. She warbled a moan. “I would do anything to be
near you.”

“Even serve as my mirror?”

“Even serve as your slave.”

“But you’ve been bored? As my slave?” Was that a pout on her
luscious lips?

“I never said I was bored.” He ran a finger between her toes
and watched her squirm.

She tugged her foot from his grasp, uncomfortable, perhaps,
with his expanding passion, his power, with the rising wreath of excitement in
the room. She made her way back to the divan. He followed. Idly, she toyed with
the pieces of her game board, which she kept on the side table.

“You should be happy to learn then,” she said, “that the
lamp has a new inhabitant for you to torment.”

He chuckled. “I saw. That really was naughty of you.”

“Whatever can you mean? Carter was an absolute pig to
Aimalee. And for heaven’s sake, the idiot touched the lamp with his bare hands.
What would you expect me to do?”

Rorrim sat down beside her on the divan, a place he was not
supposed to sit. The heat of her thigh singed his. Their eyes met.

She looked away.

He hid his smile. “He was quite a pig, I suppose.”

She cleared her throat. Her attention flitted here and
there. Anywhere but on the man at her side. Because, sitting by her side, he
was a man. Not a slave. She cleared her throat again. “Yes. He was abominable.
But nothing a thousand years in the lamp cannot cure.”

“Naturally.”

Her lashes fluttered, fanning her cheeks. “So you don’t mind
going back?”

He settled back on the divan, made himself comfortable, not
bothering now to hide his dark grin. “Oh, I’m not going back to the lamp.”

“What? B-but you have to.”

“Do I?”

“You’re my slave. Remember? For five thousand years.”

He nodded, capturing her gaze with his own. And he held it,
like he’d held her foot, watching her squirm. “It has been five thousand
years.”

Her mouth fell open, her cheeks flushed. “No. No. It can’t have
been. It can’t have been five thousand years already.”

“But it has been.” With a flourish and a flurry of his own
brand of magic, a pleasure so long denied him, he produced the hourglass. Even
as she watched, the very last grain of sand fell to meet its brothers at the
bottom.

She stared in horror as the truth of it drove home. Her
long, elegant throat worked.

“I am no longer your servant, Delilah. No longer compelled
to remain here.”

When she finally met his gaze, he was surprised and
gratified to see tears lurking on her lashes. “So you’re leaving?” Her voice
was small.

“What did you think would happen when my time here was up?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think the time would come?”

“I-I didn’t think you’d leave.”

He quirked a dark brow. “I’m not a boy, Delilah. Not a
mortal you can play with and torment.” He was a Mage in his own right, with
powers that at least equaled hers. It was time she remembered that.

Her face fell. “Have I tormented you?”

“Every day.”

Her throat worked as she swallowed. “I didn’t mean to.”

Yes, he was a man who had taken a wager, a wild gamble to
win the woman he desired. Now was the moment of truth. Now he would learn if
the gamble would pay off.

A silent eternity passed between them. Then she said, so
softly, “Don’t go, Rorrim. Please.”

“My name is Wulfric. Remember?”

She blinked.

“Say it.”

“Wulfric.”

“And I’ve had enough of being your servant, Delilah. You
want me to stay?”

“Yes.”

“Then it shall be on my terms.”

“And…wh-what are your terms?” He rather liked the way she
fluttered. Her fingers, distressing the fabric of her dress, the lashes,
uncertain whether to open or close, her heart, in the pulse at her temple. He
rather liked her unsure, as she was now. “I think you should be mine.”

“Your…servant?”

He moved closer. She did not retreat. “For five thousand
years at least. Maybe longer.”

When he was close enough to take her in his arms, he did and
she leaned against him, into him, stoking a fire that had been banked for far
too long.

He held her like that for a long while until he could bear
the hunger no longer. Then he dipped his head and kissed her lips.

Ah, yes! Bliss.

Sweet, savory sin.

He ached to taste her elsewhere as well. And he would. He
had plans for his lady. Five thousand years worth of fantasies to bring to
life.

When he lifted his head, she shot a smile at him, wild and
wicked and wise.

“I don’t know, Wulfric,” she said, glancing at the game
table. “Perhaps we should wager on it…”