Awakened by Her Desert Captor(13)

 Sylvie went still.

'That night in the study, when you found me... I wasn't altogether  certain that I was going to go through with it. But then you  appeared...' Something like anger flashed in his eyes.'Let's just say  that you helped me make up my mind.'

 Sylvie reeled. He might have called it off? And then his words registered. Anger flared.'So it was my fault?'

 He ignored that.'Why did you break up the wedding? Was it purely for spite?'

 The realisation that Arkim might have called the whole thing off was  mixing with her anger, diluting it. Making her heart beat faster. Words  trembled on her lips. Words that would exonerate her. But she couldn't  do it; she'd promised her sister.

 She lifted her chin.'All you need to know is that if I had to do it over again I wouldn't hesitate.'

 Arkim's face hardened even more. He didn't like that. But his drawling  voice belied his expression.'The motorbike was a cute touch. Did you  learn how to ride one especially for dramatic effect?'

 Sylvie flushed.'I used to have one in Paris-to get around. Until it  got stolen. I hired one that day...more for expediency than anything  else.'

 He sneered now.'You mean a quick, cowardly getaway so you didn't have to deal with the fallout...?'

 Before Sylvie could formulate a response, Halima and some other  discreet staff appeared at that moment, defusing the tension a little,  and removed the remains of their dinner from the table.

 When they were gone Sylvie was still facing Arkim, like an adversary  in a boxing ring. The revelation that she'd inadvertently influenced his  decision to marry Sophie was crowding everything else out of her head.  Presumably it had been because she'd reminded him of exactly the kind of  woman he didn't want. And that stung.

 She pushed down her roiling emotions and tried to appeal to his  civilised side.'Arkim...you've made your point. You need to let me go  now.'

 His expression remained as hard as granite. Unforgiving. Sylvie shivered. This man wasn't civilised here.

 And then he said,'I've paid a substantial sum of money for your  presence and I believe that I'd like to see you dance for me.' The shape  of his mouth turned bitter.'After all, thousands have seen you dance,  so why shouldn't I?'

 The thought of performing in front of this man made Sylvie go cold, and then hot.'Now?' Her voice squeaked slightly.

 A ghost of a smile touched his lips.'No, tomorrow evening. You'll perform a very private dance. Just for me.'

 She straightened her spine.'If you're expecting a lap dance, I hate  to disappoint you but I really don't do that kind of thing.'

 He moved close enough to reach out and trail a finger down over her  cheek and jaw, and said softly,'I'm looking forward to seeing what you  do do.'

 She slapped his hand down, terrified of the way his touch made her  melt so easily. Terrified he'd kiss her again.'And why on earth should I  do anything you ask me to?'

 Arkim's jaw clenched, and then he said baldly,'Because you owe me, and I'm collecting.'         

     



 

 * * *

 The following evening Halima held up one of Sylvie's  rhinestone-encrusted outfits and stroked it reverently.'This is so  beautiful.'

 The thought of the robed young woman wearing it, baring her skin so  comprehensively, made Sylvie feel a little uncomfortable, and she gently  took the garment out of Halima's hands to hang it up, along with the  other costumes the girl had insisted on taking out of her suitcase.

 She hadn't been able to eat since breakfast that morning, and her  belly had been doing somersaults all day at the thought of dancing for  Arkim. She'd realised that of course he'd be expecting her to rebel,  refuse. And then maybe he'd initiate another cosy dinner and tell her  more things about himself that would put her on uneven ground where her  feelings towards him were concerned.

 As she'd lain in bed last night and gone over everything he'd told her  she had found her antipathy hard to cling on to. So she'd decided to  keep him at arm's length and do the opposite of what he was expecting  and dance for him. She realised with some level of dark irony that if he  was reverse psychoanalysing her, then it was working.

 And if Sylvie was being completely honest with herself, a part of her  still wanted to provoke Arkim-make him admit that he was just like  everyone else.

 It was that damned icy façade of his that had sneaked under her skin  and made her want to break it apart as soon as he'd looked at her for  the first time with such disdain. And where had breaking that control  apart got her? To one of the hottest places on earth. About to strip  herself bare in front of a man who wanted her, yet despised her.

 Words trembled on Sylvie's tongue. Words to instruct Halima to go and  tell the Sheikh that she wasn't available this evening after all. But  she couldn't back down now.

 She surveyed herself in the mirror as Halima clipped a veil behind her  head, obscuring her mouth, so only her heavily kohled eyes were  visible. Her hair was tucked and hidden under another veil.

 Sylvie wondered if Arkim would appreciate the fact that the act she'd  decided to do was based on the story of Scheherazade. Somehow, she  didn't think he'd be amused.

 She took a deep breath and turned to Halima.'Now all I need is a sword...do you think you can find one here?'

 The young girl thought for a moment, then brightened.'Yes!'

 * * *

 Anticipation lay heavy and thick in Arkim's bloodstream as he waited  for Sylvie to appear. He'd given instructions for her to be brought to  one of the ceremonial rooms, where traditionally the Sheikh would greet  and entertain his important guests. The room was open to the elements  behind Arkim. Lanterns lit the space with golden flickering shadows.

 Just then he noticed that a strong gust of wind whipping through the  open space had almost put out one of the candles. The storm. It was  coming. It made Arkim feel reckless. Wild. He'd gone out on Aziz earlier  that day, tracking it, seeing the wind pick up. The stallion had moved  skittishly, wanting to get back to cover.

 There was a raised marble dais in the centre of the room, where the  Sheikh would usually sit to greet his guests, and it was also sometimes  used for ceremonial performances and dances. Arkim didn't doubt that he  was about to bring this space into serious disrepute by having Sylvie  dance here, but he couldn't seem to care too much.

 He took a sip of his wine. Where was she? He tensed at the thought that she was defying him again.

 Just as he was about to put down his glass and stand up and go to her,  his blood fizzing, she appeared. She was slight and lissom...in bare  feet. Arkim blinked as blood roared up into his head and south to  another part of his anatomy.

 She didn't look in his direction or acknowledge him as she stepped up  onto the dais. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't  this. She was wearing gold figure-hugging trousers that were flared at  the ends and partially slit up the sides, embellished with jewels and  lace. They sat low on her hips, along with a belt from which tassels  dropped and moved and swayed with her body.         

     



 

 Her middle was toned and bare, and encircled with a delicate gold  chain that sat just above the curve of her hips. A cropped black top  with long trailing sleeves was tied in the front, between her breasts,  worn over a gold-coloured and very ornate-looking bra.

 Her breasts were...perfection. Full and luscious, beautifully shaped. Her provocative cleavage was framed by the top.

 She still hadn't even so much as flicked a glance in his direction,  and he noticed properly for the first time that the lower half of her  face was obscured by a black veil, and that a black covering also hid  her hair. Arkim wanted to rip it off and see those red tresses tumbling  around her shoulders.

 All that was visible of her face were her heavily kohled eyes. She was  bending down now, doing something with speakers, and then a slow,  sultry and distinctly Arabic beat filled the space.

 Arkim's eyes widened when he saw her pick up a large curved sabre-he'd  been too distracted to notice it before. He frowned. It looked  disturbingly like the one that hung in the exhibition room that housed  all his precious antiques and old weapons.

 Sylvie faced away from him now, and all he could see was the tempting  curve of her buttocks, the tantalising line of her waist and hips, and  that gold chain glinting in the flickering glow of the lamps. And then  she lifted the sword high in her hands over her head and slowly turned  to face him. Those distinctive eyes met his, and she started to move  sinuously to the beat of the music.

 And Arkim's brain stuttered to a halt.

 He was aware of pale skin, dips and hollows, a toned belly. She played  with the huge sword as if it was a baton-twirling it in one hand and  then in the other. She was on her knees now, one leg raised at a right  angle, and arching her body backwards like a bow, with the sword resting  on its tip behind her and her free arm stretched out in front of her.  The line of her throat was long and graceful, and curiously vulnerable.