Awakened by Her Desert Captor(11)

  CHAPTER FOUR

 SYLVIE SAT CURLED up on one of the vast couches in the living area of  her suite. When she'd returned to her rooms a couple of hours ago she'd  found Halima waiting for her, with ointment for her sun-tender skin and  some lunch snacks-and plenty of water. Arkim's efficiency at work.  Afterwards she'd changed into loose pants and layered on a couple of her  sleeveless workout tops to keep her arms bare.

 On their return Arkim had taken her into an expansive stables area at  the back of the castle, and when he'd helped Sylvie off the horse she'd  felt wobbly-legged and suitably chastened after being shown the very  real dangers of the desert.         

     



 

 Arkim hadn't accompanied her back to the castle; he'd sent for one of  his staff to do it. Sylvie had recognised him as one of the drivers of  the Jeeps and had apologised to him for having dragged them out to look  for her. She wasn't even sure if he'd understood her, but he'd shaken  his head and looked embarrassed, as if it was nothing.

 The night was falling outside now: the sky was a stunning deep violet  colour and stars were appearing. Questions abounded in her head.  Questions about Arkim. Seeing him against this backdrop was more  intriguing than she liked to admit. And she hated to acknowledge it but  she was also fascinated by the barely repressed emotions below the  surface of his urbanity. He was different here. More raw. It should be  intimidating. But it excited her.

 What was his connection to this place? And if he had a connection  here, how could he-a man who had this desert in his blood, so timeless  and somehow base-agree to marry purely for business and strategic  reasons?

 A noise made her tense and she looked round to see the object of her  thoughts in the doorway to her living room. Dressed in a robe again,  with his head bare, he looked...powerful. Mysterious.

 Sylvie's belly tightened.'Come to check your prisoner is still here?'

 Arkim's mouth lifted slightly at one corner, as if he were wryly amused, and Sylvie felt it like a punch to the gut.

'Somehow I don't think even you would be so foolish as to try and escape again.'

 Sylvie scowled.'Next time I'll prepare better.'

 His smile faded.'There won't be a next time-believe me. You won't be leaving until I do.'

 She stood up, frustration running through her blood.'Look, this is crazy. I need to get back to Paris. I have to-'

 Arkim interrupted her.'You have to eat.'

 She could see staff now, coming up behind him, carrying things.

 He stood aside and said,'I've arranged for dinner to come to you this evening. We'll have it on the terrace.'

 She felt completely impotent. What could she do? Storm off to another part of the castle in protest?

 She preceded Arkim out to where the staff were setting up on the  terrace, and when she saw lanterns being lit, sending out soft golden  light, her heart flipped. She'd imagined this seductive scenario...

 Plates of fragrant steaming food were being placed on a low table and  the scents teased Sylvie's nostrils. She was an unashamed foodie, and  the prospect of an exotic feast was too much temptation to resist.

 Halima arrived then, with a bottle of champagne which she put in an  ice bucket by the table. Sylvie scowled at it, just as Arkim came into  her line of vision and held out a hand.

'Please, take a seat.'

 Sylvie sat down cross-legged on a low chair, and watched as Arkim  lowered himself athletically into a similar pose on the other side of  the delicately carved table. It should have made him look less manly,  but of course it didn't.

'How are your arms?'

 She glanced down, noting with relief that the vivid pink had faded and  they weren't so hot. In this day and age of knowledge of sun damage  she'd been very stupid.

 She said,'Much better. Halima's ointment was very effective.'

 She looked at Arkim and words of apology for running off earlier  trembled on her tongue. But he wasn't looking at her-he was piling a  plate high with different foods before handing it to her. Like a coward,  she swallowed the words back and took the plate, telling herself that  he would only spurn an apology.

 There was a faint popping sound as he expertly opened the champagne  and poured her a glass of the sparkling wine. She accepted it after a  moment's hesitation.

 Arkim arched a brow.'You don't like champagne?'

'I don't drink much of any alcohol, I never really acquired the taste.'

 Arkim made a noise and she looked at him, seeing him fill his own  glass as he said,'You forget that I've seen you inebriated.'

 Sylvie frowned, and then that night in the garden flooded back. Hotly  she defended herself.'My shoe got stuck in the ground. I was still on  antibiotics from a chest infection that night-the last thing I'd have  done was drink alcohol.'         

     



 

 He just looked at her, eyes narrowed, and she glared at him. After a  long moment he shrugged and said,'It hardly matters now, in any case.'

 Sylvie was disconcerted by how much it did matter to her. She looked  away from him and put down her glass without taking a sip, choosing to  focus on the food instead and trying to block him out. Ha! As if that  was possible.

 * * *

 Arkim could see how tense Sylvie's body was as she resolutely avoided  his eye and picked at the food. Her jaw was so tight he thought she  might break it if she had to chew. Her vibrant hair was piled high in a  haphazard bun, tendrils trailing down to frame her face. His fingers  itched to undo the knot and let her hair fall around her shoulders and  down her back.

 He diverted his attention from the urge he felt to undo that knot and  watched with growing incredulity, and something much earthier, as Sylvie  seemed to be absorbed by the food-spearing large morsels and evidently  taking extreme pleasure out of the discovery of the various tastes. It  was incredibly sensual to watch.

 She seemed to be completely oblivious to Arkim and he sat back  slightly, the better to observe her. He knew she wasn't oblivious to  him, though-it was there in the tension of her body, and in the pulse  beating under the delicate pale skin of her throat.

 He'd noticed for the first time this evening that his impression of  her being tall actually wasn't correct. He might have registered it  before if she hadn't distracted him so easily, but she'd always seemed a  lot taller. Maybe it was because she consistently stood up to him in a  way no one else did.

 That revelation wasn't welcome. It made him think of the fact that  he'd overheard her trying to apologise to a member of his staff earlier.  He'd have assumed it was for show, but she had been almost out of his  earshot, so patently not doing it for his benefit.

 Sylvie was actually only just above average height, and her whole  frame was on the petite side. He didn't like the way this fact made his  conscience smart a little. It made him see a vulnerability he'd blocked  out before, and reminded him of the way her stepmother had slapped her  in the church...

 She leaned forward at that moment, to get some bread, and her full  breasts swayed with the movement. Arkim's whole body seemed to sizzle,  and he was reminded of exactly who he was dealing with here-a mistress  of selfishness and manipulation.

'You like the food?' he asked now, in some kind of effort to wrench  his mind off Sylvie's physical temptations, angry with himself.

 She glanced at him-a flash of blue and green. She nodded and swallowed  what she was eating. Her voice was low, husky, when she said,'It's  delicious. I've never tasted flavours like this before.'

'The lamb is particularly good.'

 He speared a morsel of succulent meat with his fork and held it across  the table. When she reached for it with her hand he pulled it back and  looked at her. She scowled.

'Coward,' Arkim said softly.

 Something in him exulted when he saw the fire flash in her eyes as she  took the bait and leant across the table to take the piece of meat off  his fork and into her mouth.

 Her loose tops swayed, giving Arkim an unrestricted view of her  lace-clad breasts. Full and perfectly shaped. She moved back before he  could make a complete fool of himself by grabbing her and hauling her  across the table.

 Her cheeks were flaming. And he didn't think it was from the spices in  the lamb. Their mutual chemistry was obvious. So why would she fight it  like this?

 He leant back on one arm again. She took a sip of champagne and he  watched the long, graceful column of her throat work, jealous of even  that small movement. She might have passed for eighteen, with her face  free of make-up.

 Something niggled at him-where was the femme fatale? So far he had to  admit that the Sylvie he had here was nothing like the woman who had  provoked him beyond measure each time he'd seen her before. Not least  when she'd appeared in the church, dressed from head to toe in  motorcycle gear. The soft black leather jacket and trousers had moulded  to her body in a way that had been indecent-and even more so in a  church.