Awakened by Her Desert Captor(12)

     



 

 He'd expected her to be a lot more sophisticated, knowing... Giving in  to her situation and manipulating him as much as she could. That was  how the women he knew operated-ultimately they would follow the path of  least resistance and take as much as they could.

 That was what had attracted him to Sophie Lewis and made him believe  he could marry her-her complete lack of guile or artifice. A rare thing  in this world.

 And that was as far as the attraction had gone.

 Arkim ignored the voice. But he had to acknowledge uncomfortably that  if the wedding had gone ahead and he'd married Sophie Lewis he wouldn't  be here now with her sister. And for a sobering and very unpalatable  moment Arkim couldn't regret that fact.

 A deeper, darker truth nudged at his consciousness-the very real  doubts he'd had himself about the wedding as it had come closer and  closer. But he wasn't a man who spent fruitless time wondering about  what might have been. And he didn't entertain doubts. He made decisions  and he dealt in reality, and this was now his reality.

 Sylvie was avoiding looking at him and he hated that.

 He said,'Your eyes... I've never seen that before.'

 * * *

 Sylvie was straining with every muscle she had not to let Arkim see  how much he was getting to her, lounging on the other side of the table  as he was, like some kind of robed demigod. When she'd leant across the  table- provoked into taking that food off his fork-and she'd seen him  looking down her top, she'd almost combusted.

 Distracted, and very irritated, she said,'They're just eyes, Arkim. Everyone has them. Even you.'

 She risked a look and saw that half-smile again. Lord.

'Yes, but none as unusual as you. Blue and blue-green.'

 Sylvie hated the frisson she felt to think of him studying her eyes. 'My mother had it too. It's a condition called heterochromia iridum.  There's really nothing that mysterious about it.'

 Arkim frowned now.'Your mother was French, wasn't she?'

 Sylvie nodded, getting tenser now, thinking of Arkim's judgmental gaze  turning on her deceased mother. Sophie must have mentioned it to him.

'Yes, from just outside Paris.'

'And how did your parents meet?'

 Sylvie glared at him.'You're telling me you don't know?'

 He shrugged lightly and asked,'Should I?'

 For a moment she processed that nugget. Maybe he genuinely didn't.

 From what she'd learnt of this man, he would not hesitate to take  advantage of another excuse to bash her-so, anticipating his scathing  reaction, she lifted her chin and said,'She was a dancer-for a revue in  Paris that was in the same building where I now dance. It had a  different name when she was there and the show was...of its time.'

'What does that mean?' he drawled derisively.'Not so much skin?'

 Sylvie cursed herself for being honest. Why couldn't she just have  said her mother had been a nurse, or a secretary? Because, her  conscience answered her, her mother would never have hidden her true  self. And neither would Sylvie.

'Something like that. It was more in the line of vintage burlesque.'

'And how did your father meet her? He doesn't strike me as the kind of man who frequents such establishments.'

 Sylvie pushed down the hurt as she recalled sparkling memories full of  joy-her father laughing and swinging her mother around in their back  garden. She smiled sweetly and said,'Just goes to show that you can't  always judge a book by its cover.'

 Arkim had the grace to tilt his glass towards her slightly and say,'Touché.'

 She played with her champagne glass, which was still half full. She  grudgingly explained,'He was in Paris on a business trip and went with  some of his clients to the show. He saw my mother...asked her out  afterwards...that was it.'

 Sylvie would never reveal the true romance of her parents' love story  to this cynical man, but the fact was that her father had fallen for  Cécile Devereux at first sight-a coup de foudre-and had wooed her for  over a month before her mother had finally deigned to go out with him-an  English businessman a million miles removed from the glamorous Cécile  Devereux's life. Yet she'd fallen in love with him too. And they'd been  happy. Ecstatically.         

     



 

 Familiar emotion and vulnerability rose up inside Sylvie now and she  knew she didn't want Arkim to probe any further into her precious  memories.

 She took a sip of champagne and looked at him.'What about your parents?'

 Arkim's expression immediately darkened. It was visible even in the flickering light of the dozens of candles and lanterns.

'As you've pointed out-you know very well who my father is.'

 Sylvie flushed when she recalled throwing that in Arkim's face in her  father's study. She refused to cower, though. This man had judged her  from the moment he'd laid eyes on her.

 She thought of how he was doing everything he could to distance  himself from his parent and she was doing everything to follow in her  mother's footsteps. The opposite sides of one coin.

'I don't know about your mother-were they married?'

 His look could have sliced through steel. Clearly this wasn't a  subject he relished, and it buoyed her up to see him lose that icy  control he seemed to wield so effortlessly. It reminded her of how she'd  wanted to shatter it when she'd first met him. Well, it had shattered  all right-taking her with it.

 Arkim's tone was harsh.'She died in childbirth, and, no, they weren't  married. My father doesn't do marriage. He's too eager to hang on to  his fortune and keep his bedroom door revolving.'

 Sylvie didn't like the little dart of sympathy she felt to hear that  his mother had died before he'd even known her. She moved away from that  kernel of information.'So, you grew up in America?'

 His mouth tightened.'Yes. And in England, in a series of boarding  schools. During holidays in LA I was a captive audience for my father's  debauched lifestyle.'

 Sylvie winced inwardly. There was another link in the chain to understanding this man's prejudices.

 Hesitantly she said,'You've never been close, then?'

 Arkim's voice could have chilled ice.'I haven't seen him since I was a teenager.'

 Sylvie sucked in a breath.

 Before she could think how to respond, Arkim inserted mockingly, 'Living with him taught me a valuable lesson from an early age: that  life isn't some fairytale.'

 The extent of his cynicism mocked Sylvie's tender memories of her own parents.'Most people don't experience what you did.'

 His eyes glittered like black jewels. He looked completely relaxed, but she could sense the tension in his form.

 The question was burning her up inside.'Is that one of the reasons  why you agreed to marry Sophie? Because you don't believe real marriages  can exist?'

'Do you?' he parried.

 Sylvie cursed her big mouth and glanced away. She longed to match his  cynicism with her own, but the truth was that even after witnessing how  grief had torn her father apart she had seen real love for a while.

 She looked back.'I think sometimes, yes, they can. But even a happy  marriage can be broken apart very easily.' By devastating illness and  death.

 He looked at her consideringly for a long moment and she steeled herself. But then he asked,'What was your mother like?'

 Sylvie's insides clenched harder. She looked at her glass.

'She was amazing. Beautiful, sweet...kind.' When Arkim didn't respond  with some cutting comment, she went on,'I always remember her  perfume...it was so distinctive. My father used to buy it in the same  shop for her whenever he was in Paris. It was opposite the Ritz hotel,  run by a beautiful Indian woman. He took me with him once. I remember  she had a small daughter...' Her mouth quirked as she got lost in the  memory.'I used to sit at my mother's feet and watch her get ready to go  out with my father. She used to hum all the time. French songs. And she  would dance with me...'

'Sounds just like one of those fairytales-too good to be true.'

 Arkim's voice broke through the memories like a rude klaxon. Sylvie's  head jerked up. She'd forgotten where she was for a moment, and with  whom.         

     



 

'It was true. And good.'

 She hated it that her voice trembled slightly. She wouldn't be able to  bear it now if Arkim was to delve further and ask about her mother's  death. That excruciating last year, when cancer had turned her mother  into a shadow of her former self, would haunt Sylvie for the rest of her  life. She'd lost both her parents from that moment.

 She felt prickly enough to attack.'Why did you agree to marry my sister? Really?'

 Arkim was expressionless.'For all the reasons I have already explained to you.'

 Beyond irritated, and frustrated at the way he made her feel, Sylvie  put down her napkin and stood up, walking over to the wall. She heard  him move and turned around to face him, feeling jittery.

 He stood a few feet away. Too close for comfort. Before she could say  anything, Arkim folded his arms and said,'I won't deny I had my  doubts...'