by Abby Green
He turned to walk away again and she blurted out before she could stop herself, ‘What do you mean, “we’re done”?’
Arkim stopped and looked at her. He seemed to be weighing something up in his mind and then he said, ‘We’ll be leaving as soon as the storm has passed.’
Then he just turned and walked out, leaving Sylvie gaping. ‘We’ll be leaving...’ She’d done it. She’d provoked him into letting her go. She’d finally made him listen to her—made him listen as she tried to explain who she really was. And now he didn’t want to know. Yet instead of relief or triumph all Sylvie felt was...deflated.
* * *
‘I don’t feel anything for you except physical desire.’ Arkim’s own words mocked him. He couldn’t get the flash of hurt he’d seen in Sylvie’s eyes out of his head. And he tried. He couldn’t deny that it made him feel...guilty. Constricted.
He’d lied. What he felt for her was much more complicated than mere physical desire. It was a tangled mess of emotions, underscored by the most urgent lust he’d ever felt.
He didn’t ever say things to hurt women—he stayed well away from any such possibility by making sure that his liaisons were not remotely emotional. Yet he seemed to have no problem lashing out and tearing strips off Sylvie Devereux at every opportunity.
It should be bringing him some sense of pleasure, or satisfaction. But it wasn’t. Because he had the skin-prickling feeling that there was something he was missing. Something in Sylvie’s responses. He would have expected her to be more petulant. Whiny. More obviously spoilt.
She’d shown defiance, yes, and even though her dash into the desert had been foolhardy she’d shown resilience.
Arkim sat in his book-lined study with its dark, sophisticated furniture and classic original art. He’d always liked this room because it was so far removed from what he remembered of his childhood in LA: his father’s vast modern glass mansion in the hills of Hollywood. Everything there was gaudy and ostentatious, the infinity swimming pool full of naked bodies and people high on drugs.
And now he felt like a total hypocrite. Because when Sylvie had stood in front of him in some parody of what strippers wore—because he’d all but goaded her into it—he’d been as hard and aching as he could ever remember being. The insidious truth that he really was not so far removed from his father whispered over his skin and made him down a gulp of whisky in a bid to burn it away.
He’d brought her here and asked for it—and she’d called his bluff spectacularly. She was turning him upside down and inside out with her bright blue and green gaze that seemed to sear right through him and tear him apart deep inside. Showing up everything he sought to hide.
The fact that she’d seemed intuitively to sense the maelstrom she inspired within him had galvanised him into kissing her into submission. And yet she’d been the one who had stood there proudly and told him she wouldn’t sleep with someone who hated her.
He’d walked away from her just now because she’d shamed him. The irony mocked him.
Arkim couldn’t deny it any more: Sylvie made no excuses for what she did and she had more self-worth than most of the people he encountered, who would look down their noses at her. As he had.
When she’d mentioned going to Paris at seventeen he’d felt a tug of empathy and curiosity that no other woman had ever evoked within him. He’d been seventeen when he’d last seen his father. When he’d told him he wasn’t coming back to LA and when he’d decided that he would do whatever it took to make it on his own.
Arkim stood up and paced his study. It felt claustrophobic, with the shutters closed against the storm which raged outside—not unlike the turmoil he felt within.
The truth was that he wanted to know more about Sylvie—more about why she did what she did. About her in general. And he’d never felt that same compulsion to know about her sister.
He’d told Sylvie that they’d be leaving as soon as the storm was over—a reflexive reaction to the fact that she affected him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He’d thought it would be easy, that she’d be easy. The truth was that the storm might pass outside, but it would rage inside him until he quenched it.
If he left this place without having her she would haunt him for the rest of his life.
* * *
When Sylvie woke the next morning everything was dark and quiet. She got up and padded to the shutters over her windows, not sure what to expect. Maybe the castle would be completely buried in sand? But when she opened them she squinted as beautiful bright blue skies were revealed. What looked like just a thin layer of sand lay over the terrace—the only clue to the formidable weather of the previous evening.
Her mind skittered away from thinking of what else had happened. She wanted to cringe every time she thought of how she must have made such a complete fool of herself—prancing around in those stupid clothes. Even more cringeworthy was recalling how for a few moments she’d got really into it, and had seriously thought she might be turning Arkim on.
But he’d been disgusted. Yet not disgusted enough not to kiss her. And she’d responded—which said dire things about her own sense of self-worth.
Thank God she’d managed to pull back. To show some small measure of dignity. If she hadn’t, she could well imagine that Arkim might have laid her down on that stone floor and had her there and then—and discovered for himself just how innocent she was. Sylvie balked at that prospect.
The sunlight streaming into the room reminded her of the fact that Arkim had said they’d be leaving. She sank back on the bed. She’d done it. She’d managed to resist him and disgust him so completely that he was prepared to take her home. In spite of the mutual physical lust that sparked between them like crackling fire whenever they got close.
She hated to admit it, but that sense of deflation hadn’t lifted. Had she enjoyed sparring with Arkim so much? Had she wanted him to take her in spite of what he thought of her? In spite of her brave words last night?
Yes, said a small voice, deep inside. Because he’s connected with you on a level that no other man ever has.
Sylvie felt disgusted with herself. Was she so wounded inside after her father’s rejection of her that this was the only way she could feel desire? For a man who rejected her on every level but the physical?
Someone knocked on the door and she reached for her robe, pulling it on. Halima appeared, smiling, with breakfast on a tray. She set it up on a table near the French doors and opened them wide.
‘The storm has passed! It will be good weather for your trip with the Sheikh.’
‘My trip...?’ Sylvie said quietly, assuming Halima meant her trip home.
The other girl chattered on. ‘Yes, the oasis is so beautiful this time of year...and the way it emerges from the desert—it’s like a lush paradise.’
Sylvie frowned, confused. ‘Wait—the oasis? Arkim—I mean, the Sheikh isn’t leaving to go home today?’
Now Halima looked confused. ‘No, he is preparing for his trip and you are going with him. I am to pack enough things for a few days.’
Sylvie’s heart-rate picked up pace, along with her pulse. What was Arkim up to now?
She rushed through her breakfast and got washed, and when she re-emerged into the suite Halima was waiting with her bag packed.
Sylvie had dressed in simple cargo pants and a T-shirt. Halima took one look and tutted, saying something about more suitable clothing. Sylvie followed the girl into the dressing room, which Sylvie hadn’t explored fully yet, having been intent on using her own clothes. But now Halima was opening the wardrobe doors, and Sylvie gasped when she saw what looked like acres of beautiful fabric: dresses, trousers... All with designer labels.
‘Whose are these?’ she breathed, letting the silk of one particularly beautiful crimson dress move through her fingers. The thought of them belonging to another
woman—or women—was stinging Sylvie in a place that was not welcome.
‘They’re yours, of course. The Sheikh had them delivered especially for you before your arrival.’
Shock made Sylvie speechless for a moment, and then she said carefully, ‘Are you sure they aren’t left over from the last woman he had here?’
Halima turned and looked at her, incomprehension clear on her pretty face. ‘Another woman? But he’s never brought anyone else here.’
Sylvie knew she wasn’t lying—she was too sweet...innocent. Her heart started beating even harder. She’d assumed this exotic remote bolthole was one of Arkim’s preferred places to decamp with a mistress. She would never have guessed she was the first woman he’d brought here.
‘Here—you should change into this.’
Sylvie blinked and saw Halima holding out a long cream tunic with beautiful gold embroidery. Like a more elaborate version of the tunic Arkim had put on her when he’d found her in the desert. ‘You’re burning.’ His reprimand came back.
‘Is this a cultural thing?’ Sylvie asked Halima as she slipped out of her trousers.
‘Well, yes. Where you’re going is more rural, and conservative. But it’s also practical. It protects you from the heat and sun.’
‘Where you’re going.’ Sylvie was very aware that she had given no indication to the girl that she was not going on this trip. Was she going to just...go? Acquiesce? Her pulse tripped again at the thought, and a wave of heat seemed to infuse her skin from toe to head.
The tunic was matched with close-fitting trousers in a beautiful soft cotton material. They too were embroidered with gold. And then Halima was placing a gossamer-light matching shawl around her shoulders. Soft flat shoes completed the outfit.
Sylvie caught sight of herself in a mirror and sucked in a breath. Her hair stood out vibrantly against the light colours of the clothes. She looked...not like herself—but perversely more like herself in a way she’d never seen before.
Halima tweaked Sylvie’s shawl over her head, and then they were walking down the corridor. She felt a little like a bride being walked to face her fate.
Sylvie chastised herself for being so compliant. Of course she wanted to leave. Of course she had no intention of going off to this admittedly, intriguing-sounding oasis with a man who felt nothing for her and yet made her body come alive in a way that made her want to descend with him into a pit of fire.
She was going to tell Arkim she had no intention of—
All her thoughts faded to nothing when they rounded the corner into the main hall and Sylvie saw Arkim waiting for her.
CHAPTER SIX
HE SIMPLY TOOK her breath away. It was as if she’d never seen him before. He was so tall and exotic, in a long dark blue tunic. Still stern...
It made her yearn for things: to see him smile, unbend. To know more about him. Dangerous things.
The staff left their bags between two Jeeps and melted away into the shadows. Sylvie was aware that this was the moment when she should make it absolutely clear that she had no intention of going with Arkim to this oasis. But she was rooted to the spot—caught and mesmerised by those obsidian eyes.
There was an intense silent conversation happening between them. He was issuing a direct challenge with that fathomless gaze. A challenge that she felt in every pulsing, throbbing beat of her blood. A challenge of the most sensual kind. A challenge to step up and own her femininity in a way she’d never done before. A challenge to go with him.
She felt giddy...breathless. The palms of her hands were damp with perspiration that had nothing to do with the heat.
It came down to this: did she want this man enough to throw her self-respect to the winds and risk the bitter sting of self-recrimination for ever? Did she want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was right? That ultimately she couldn’t resist him? And did she want to risk the worst kind of rejection?
He moved, and her breath hitched at the sheer grace and beauty of his masculinity. He stopped in front of her. She could see the tension in his form and on his face. It made something inside her soften, uncoil. Closer, like this, he was infinitely more seductive, less formidable. And infinitely harder to resist.
‘There are two Jeeps behind me.’
Sylvie had seen them. She nodded.
‘The one on the left will take you back to the airfield where we landed the other day—if you want it to. The one on the right is the one I’m taking to the oasis. I told you last night that we’d both be leaving, but I’ve decided to stay. I want you to stay with me, Sylvie. I think there are things about you that I don’t know...that I want to know. And I want you. This isn’t about the past or the wedding any more. I’ve made my point. This is about...us. And it’s been about us since the moment we met.’
His mouth twisted.
‘Perhaps our failing all along has been that we didn’t pursue this attraction at the time. If we had we wouldn’t be standing here now.’
Sylvie’s chest contracted with a mixture of volatile emotions. ‘Because you’d be married to my sister? That’s heinous—’
His finger against her lips stopped her words. He looked disgusted. He took his finger away, but not before Sylvie had the strongest urge to take it into her mouth.
‘No. I never would have pursued your sister with marriage in mind if we had had an affair.’
Affair. The word hit her hard. Arkim didn’t need to clarify the fact that Sylvie would never in a million years be a contender for marriage or a relationship.
Right now she felt very certain that she would be getting into the Jeep on the left. But then his mouth softened into those dangerously sensual lines and he slid a hand around her neck, under her hair. Suddenly she couldn’t think straight.
‘If we don’t do this...explore our mutual desire...it’ll eat us up inside like acid. If you’re strong enough to walk away, to deny this, then go ahead. I won’t come after you, Sylvie. You’ll never see me again.’
She wanted to pour scorn on Arkim’s words. The sheer arrogance! As if she wanted to see him again! She should be pulling away from him and saying good riddance. But there was a quality to his voice... Something almost...rough. Pleading. And the thought of never seeing him again made her want to reach out and grip the material of his tunic in her fist. Not walk away.
God. What did that mean? What did that make her?
Arkim took his hand away and stepped back. Sylvie almost reached out for him. She teetered on the cliff-edge of a very scary and precipitous drop into the unknown. His words seduced her: There are things about you that I don’t know...that I want to know.
A fluttering started low in her belly. Nerves, excitement. The thought of going with him...getting to know him more...letting him be intimate with her...was terrifying. But the thought of leaving...going back to her life and not knowing him...was more terrifying.
Sylvie’s gut had been guiding her for a long time now—taking her out of the toxic orbit of her stepmother and her father’s black grief at the age of seventeen—and it was guiding her towards the Jeep on the right-hand side before she could stop herself.
Arkim displayed no discernible triumph or sanctimony. He just held the passenger door open for her to get in, closed it, and got in at the other side. Sylvie was aware of the staff re-materialising, to put their bags in the back of the Jeep, and once that was done Arkim was pulling away and out of the castle.
She tried to drum up a sense of shame for her easy capitulation but it eluded her. All she felt was a fizzing sense of illicit anticipation.
Endless rolling desert and blue skies surrounded them. It should have been a boring landscape but it wasn’t. And the silence that enveloped them was surprisingly easy as Arkim navigated over a road that was little more than a dirt track.
Eventually, though, Sylvi
e had to say the words beating a tattoo in her brain. She looked at him, taking in his aristocratic profile. ‘Halima told me you’ve never brought anyone else to the castle.’
His hands tightened on the steering wheel momentarily and his jaw twitched. ‘No, I haven’t taken anyone else there.’
She hated it that she cared, because it meant nothing, and the feeling of exposure after having mentioned it made her say frigidly, ‘I should have guessed that you’d prefer to keep this...situation well out of the prying gaze of the media. The last thing you want is to be publicly associated with someone like me.’
Arkim glanced at Sylvie, and she was surprised to see his mouth tip up ever so slightly at one side. ‘I think our association became pretty public when you broke apart the wedding and claimed that I’d spent the night in your bed.’
She flushed. She’d conveniently forgotten that. She never had been a good liar. Afraid he’d ask her again about her motive for doing such a thing, she said hurriedly, ‘This oasis—it’s yours?’
Arkim finally looked away again to the road—but not before Sylvie’s skin had prickled hotly under his assessing gaze. ‘Yes, it’s part of the land I own. However, nomads and travellers use it, and I would never disallow them access as some others do. It’s really their land.’
There was unmistakable pride in Arkim’s tone, and it made Sylvie realise that, whatever their tangled relationship was, this man was not without integrity.
Genuinely curious, she asked, ‘What’s your connection to Al-Omar?’
Arkim’s jaw tightened. ‘This is where my mother is from—hence my name. The land belonged to a distant ancestor. She grew up in B’harani; her father was an advisor to the old Sultan, before Sadiq took over.’
‘And do you see any of your family here?’
Before he’d even answered Sylvie might have guessed the truth from the way his face became stern again.
