by Abby Green
The girl scurried off and Sylvie closed the door. A wave of weariness came over her, dousing any small sense of rebellious triumph. She set about unpacking only the most necessary items from her case, having no intention of staying here beyond a night. Whatever she had to do to persuade Arkim to let her go, she’d do it.
She was disappointed but unsurprised to see that her mobile phone didn’t work. Exactly as he’d told her. She put it down and sighed, then took off her clothes, finding a robe. When she got to the door leading into the bathroom she had to suck in a breath. The sinks and the bath seemed to be carved out of the stone itself, with gold fittings that managed to complement the stark design without being tacky.
The bath was more like a small pool. When she’d filled it up, and added some oils she’d found in a cleverly hidden cabinet, exotically fragrant steam wrapped around her in a caress.
She drew off the robe and took the few steps down into the bath, trying not to feel too overwhelmed by the sheer luxury. The water closed over her body and as she tipped her head back she closed her eyes and pushed all thoughts of Arkim Al-Sahid out of her mind, trying to pretend she was on a luxury mini-break and not in the middle of an unforgiving desert, cut off from civilisation with someone who hated her guts.
* * *
Arkim stood looking out over the view, at the fading twilight casting the dunes into mysterious shadows. He had claimed this part of his maternal ancestral home for himself. His mother’s family had no interest in him, and he’d told himself a long time ago that he didn’t care. They’d rejected her and he wanted nothing to do with them—even if they came begging.
He’d come here initially as an exercise in removing himself from his father’s sphere. He’d never expected this land to touch him as deeply as it had done on first sight. Almost with a physical pull. His mind automatically felt freer, less constrained, when he was here. He felt connected with something primal and visceral.
When he’d made his first million this property had been his first purchase, and he’d followed it up with properties in Paris, London and New York. He’d surpassed his goals one by one. All of them. Only to fall at the last hurdle: gaining the stamp of social approval and respect that would show everyone that he was not his father’s son. That he was vastly different.
He thought of Sophie Lewis now and his conscience twinged. He hadn’t thought of her very often. In truth, he’d had his doubts—their relationship had been very...platonic. But Arkim had convinced himself that it suited him like that. Her father had been the one to suggest the match, and the more Arkim had thought about it the more the idea had grown on him.
In contrast to her flame-haired provocative sister, Sophie had been like a gentle balm. Shy and innocent. Arousing no hormone-fuelled lapses of character. He’d courted her. Taken her for dinner. To the theatre. Each outing had soothed another piece of his wounded soul, making him believe that marriage to her would indeed offer him everything he’d ever wanted—which was the antithesis of life with his father.
He would be one of those parents who was respectable—respected—who came to school to pick up his son with his beautiful wife by his side. A united front. There would be no scandals. No children born out of wedlock. No mistresses. No sordid rumours and sniggering behind his back. No child of his would have to deal with bullying and fist fights when another kid taunted him about the whores his father took to his bed.
But the gods had laughed in his face at his ambitions and shown him that he was a fool to believe he could ever remove the stain of his father’s legacy from his life.
He looked at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and opened it out again to read.
Thank you for the kind ‘invitation’ to dinner, but I must decline. I’ve already made plans for this evening.
Sincerely, Sylvie Devereux.
Arkim had to battle both irritation and the lust that had held his body in an uncomfortable grip since he’d seen Sylvie earlier that day. He fought the urge to go straight to her room to confront her. No doubt that was exactly what she wanted.
He’d annoyed her by bringing her here and she was toying with him to get her own back. His mouth tipped up in a hard smile. No matter. He didn’t mind being toyed with as long as she ended up where he wanted her— underneath him, naked and pliant and begging for mercy. Begging forgiveness.
* * *
When Sylvie woke it was dawn outside. She felt as if she’d slept for a week, not just the ten or so hours she had slept. Strangely, there was no disorientation—she knew exactly where she was.
She was still in the robe and she sat up, looking around warily, as if she might find Arkim lurking in a corner, glaring at her. She wondered how he’d reacted when she hadn’t shown for dinner. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know...
She got up and opened the French doors, the early morning’s cool breeze a balm compared to the stifling heat which would no doubt come once the sun was up. She walked to the boundary wall again and sucked in a deep breath. The intense silence wrapped around her. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d experienced this level of stillness—if ever. It seemed to quiet something inside her...some sense of restlessness. It was disconcerting—as if she was betraying herself by finding an affinity with any part of this situation.
She went back inside and dressed in jeans and a clean T-shirt, loath to make any kind of effort with clothes or to leave her rooms in case it showed acquiescence to Arkim. But she was also feeling somewhat trapped, and she didn’t like it.
In the end Halima appeared, fresh-faced and smiling, with a tray of breakfast, bringing it into the dining room.
Sylvie’s stomach rumbled loudly and she realised that because she’d turned down dinner the previous evening she’d not eaten since she’d been on the plane the day before. She was starving, and when Halima pulled back a cloth napkin to reveal a plate of fragrant flat breads Sylvie had to bite back of a groan of appreciation. It was a mezze-style feast, with little bowls of olives and different cheeses, hard and soft. And a choice of fragrant coffee or sweet tea.
Before she left, Halima said, ‘Sheikh Al-Sahid sends his apologies. He’s been detained by a business call otherwise he would have joined you. He said he will meet you for lunch.’
Sylvie forced a smile. She couldn’t shoot the messenger. ‘Thank you.’
After Halima left and Sylvie had eaten her fill, she wandered around her rooms for a bit, feeling increasingly claustrophobic. She knew she should really do some exercises to keep herself flexible, especially after travelling, but she was feeling too antsy to focus. She left her rooms and walked down long stone corridors that gave glimpses into intriguing courtyards and other open spaces.
Through one open courtyard she saw a terrace with tall ornate stone columns and a vast pool that stretched around the side of the castle. It was breathtaking. Idyllic.
Sylvie backed away from the seductive scene and explored further. Some doors were closed, and she refrained from opening them in case she stumbled into Arkim.
Eventually she found herself at the main door, which led out to the central courtyard. Adrenalin flooded her system when she saw the golf buggy that Arkim had used to bring them into the castle the previous day. The key was in the ignition. And from here she could see that the main doors to the castle complex were open.
She had a sudden vision of Arkim wearing down her defences, slowly but surely. If he kissed her again she was very much afraid that she’d melt—just as she had before, when she’d lost all control of her rational functions.
The truth was that she didn’t have an arsenal of experience to fend off someone like Arkim, and the thought of him ever discovering how flimsy her façade was made her go cold with terror.
She didn’t think. She reacted. She got into the golf buggy and turned the key, setting it in motion. Her heart was clamouring as she sped out o
f the castle complex.
* * *
Less than an hour later Sylvie’s feet sank into the sand. She was on top of a dune, with the now dead golf buggy in front of her. Futile anger made her kick ineffectually at the inanimate object. It had started sputtering and slowing down about ten minutes before, eventually conking out.
The sun beat down mercilessly and there was nothing as far as the eye could see except sand, sand and more sand. Heat waves shimmered in the distance.
Of course it was only now that Sylvie realised just how stupid she’d been to react to her own imagination like that and set off in a panic. She had no water. No food. No idea where she was. Even if she’d had the means she wasn’t sure which way she’d come!
Her T-shirt was stuck to her skin and her jeans felt red-hot and too tight. Right now she would have given anything for a cool white tunic and a head-covering. She could feel her skin prickling uncomfortably under the sun, and the roof of the buggy offered scant protection.
She gulped and, absurdly, tears pricked her eyes. Arkim Al-Sahid had driven her to this desperate measure. She wished she’d never laid eyes on the man. She wished he’d never kissed—
Something caught at her peripheral vision and she looked. For a second she wondered if she was seeing things, and then as the image became more distinct her eyes widened.
It was a man on top of a horse... Except this looked like no ordinary horse. It was a huge black stallion. And the man...
Sylvie felt as if she might have slipped back a few centuries. At first she thought it must be one of Arkim’s staff, because he was dressed in white robes, with a keffiyeh around his head. His face was obscured by the material, leaving only his eyes and dark skin visible. And was that a jewelled dagger stuck into the roped belt around his waist?
He drew up alongside her, the horse rearing up, making Sylvie back away skittishly. Even now—even though her accelerated pulse told her otherwise—she was hoping she was mistaken.
But the man who jumped off the horse had such grace and innate athleticism that her mouth dried.
He tied the horse to the buggy and then stalked towards her, growing bigger and taller as he did so. Right up until the moment that he ripped aside the material covering his mouth and face Sylvie was still hoping it was anyone but...him. Of course he’d found her. This man seemed to have a heat-seeking radar, able to pin her to the spot no matter where she was.
‘You damned little fool. What the hell did you hope to achieve by this stunt?’
She tried to ignore how Arkim’s almost savage appearance made her feel as if she was losing it completely. He looked even more ridiculously handsome against this unforgiving backdrop.
She shouted back. ‘I was trying to get away from you, in case it wasn’t completely obvious.’
Arkim’s eyes glittered like obsidian. ‘In a golf buggy? With none of your things?’ He was scathing. ‘Did you really think you could just bounce merrily across hundreds of miles of desert and roll into the nearest petrol station to refuel?’
Humiliated beyond measure, Sylvie launched herself at Arkim, hands balled into fists and beating against his chest.
He caught her arms easily and held her immobile. Tension crackled between them, and for a heart-stopping moment Sylvie thought he was going to kiss her—but then a piercing sound shattered the air and they both looked up to see two Jeeps coming towards them over the top of the dune, horns blasting.
Sylvie felt so jittery all she wanted was to escape back to the castle as quickly as possible and lock herself in her rooms. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. Literally. The thought didn’t amuse her.
The Jeeps pulled up and concerned-looking staff spilled out. Sylvie immediately felt guilty for having precipitated this search.
Arkim wordlessly led her over to the nearest vehicle and said a few words to the driver. Then he opened up the back door for her. When she would have expected to get in, he handed her a bottle of water. She looked at him and he was grim.
‘Drink, you’ll be dehydrated.’
Sylvie couldn’t argue with that, and she was thirsty, so she took several large gulps. Then Arkim reached into the back of the Jeep again and pulled out a long white robe. He thrust it at her.
‘I’m supposed to put this on?’ Sylvie said waspishly.
Arkim’s expression darkened. ‘Yes. You’re already burning.’
Her skin was still prickling, but Sylvie was afraid that it was more to do with his effect on her than the sun—even though when she looked her arms were ominously pink.
Mutinously she pulled on the long-sleeved robe, and was surprised at how much cooler she felt instantly—which was crazy when she was pulling on more clothes.
Then he was unwinding his keffiyeh from his head, and before she could stop him he’d placed it over her hair, like a shawl. He started to wind it around her head, tucking it in, until there was only one long piece left that he drew across her mouth and tucked in at the back.
She was effectively swaddled. And it was only then that she realised that the Jeeps were driving off into the distance, towing the buggy behind them. Arkim’s scent was disturbing, and all around her. The thought that this fabric had been across his mouth was almost too intimate to take in.
He held his horse by the reins and was leading it over. Sylvie pulled down the material covering her mouth. ‘What are you doing? Where are the Jeeps going?’
He stopped in front of her, the huge horse prancing behind him. ‘We are going for a little trip.’
Before she could ask more, Arkim had his hands around her waist and was lifting her effortlessly onto the horse. His sheer strength took her breath away and she clung to the saddle, her brain reeling at being so high up. She hadn’t been on a horse since she was a teenager...
Arkim put his foot in the stirrup and vaulted on behind her, his agility awesome. And suddenly he was all around her. Strong muscled thighs gripping hers, his torso against her back, his arms coming around her to take the reins.
‘Cover your mouth.’
Sylvie was too stunned to move. ‘Wh—where are we going?’
Arkim angled himself so he could see her and made a rude sound. ‘Don’t you ever do anything you’re told?’ The material was firmly pulled back over her mouth and he said, ‘It’ll stop sand getting in.’
Sylvie couldn’t say anything else, because Arkim was turning the horse around and they were galloping in the opposite direction from where the Jeeps had gone. For a semi-hysterical moment Sylvie thought that perhaps she’d pushed Arkim so far he was just going to dump her in the desert and leave her to die a slow, painful death.
Gradually, though, as they galloped into the seeming nothingness of the sandy landscape, almost against her will she felt herself relaxing into Arkim’s body, letting him take her weight. One of his arms was around her torso, holding her to him, and she felt the intimate space between her legs soften and moisten.
She was fast losing all sense of reality. The real world and civilisation felt very far away.
After about twenty minutes Arkim drew the stallion to a stop, its muscles quivering under Sylvie’s legs. He got off the horse and Sylvie looked down to see his arms outstretched towards her. His mouth was stern.
‘Bring your leg over the horse, Sylvie.’
She wanted to disobey, but she knew Arkim would pull her off the horse anyway. Better to do it with a modicum of decorum and not let him see how intimidated she was. And she was scared... Even though she knew—in some way she didn’t like to investigate—that he wouldn’t harm her.
Her hands landed on Arkim’s wide shoulders and his hands clamped around her waist as he lifted her down as effortlessly as before. She saw the reins on the ground and said nervously, ‘Won’t the horse just go?’
‘Aziz won’t move unless I say so. And we
won’t be long.’ Arkim’s tone brooked no disobedience—from her or the horse.
Sylvie broke away from Arkim’s hands. The keffiyah was still around her mouth and she pulled it down as she looked around at a sea of nothing but blue sky and dunes.
‘Why are we here?’
Arkim planted himself in front of her, hands on hips. ‘Because this is where you would have ended up if the buggy hadn’t run out of fuel. This is where we might have found you in two days, if we were lucky enough, dehydrated and burnt to a crisp.’
Sylvie looked at him and shivered. ‘You’re exaggerating.’
Arkim looked livid. He grabbed her arms with his hands. ‘No, I’m not. Men who know this area, who have lived here for years, can still get caught out by the desert. Right now it looks calm, wouldn’t you agree?’
Sylvie nodded hesitantly.
Arkim’s mouth thinned. ‘It’s anything but. There’s a sandstorm due to hit any day now. Have you ever been in a sandstorm?’
She shook her head.
‘Imagine a tidal wave coming towards you—except in this case it’s made of sand and debris, not water. You’d be obliterated in seconds. Suffocated.’
Genuine horror and fear finally made her realise just how reckless she’d been. She seized on the surge of anger. He made her feel as if she was a tiny ship bobbing about in a huge raging sea.
‘Okay, fine—I get it. What I did was foolish and reckless and silly. I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to put everyone to so much trouble...’ A very unwelcome sense of vulnerability made her lash out. ‘But, in case you don’t remember, it’s your fault I’m even here!’
* * *
Arkim looked down at that beautiful but defiant face and felt such a mix of things that he was dizzy. He shook his head, but nothing rational would come to the surface. All he could see was her.
He gave in to the urgent dictates of his blood and lowered his mouth to the lush contours of hers—and drowned.
