Awakened by Her Desert Captor(15)

 Arkim was sitting in his chair again, with a table beside him holding  more wine and food. The anger surged back. He was so arrogant.  Demanding. Judgemental. Cold.

 She did her best to avoid his eyes, but she was burningly aware of  him. He looked dark and unreadable when she sneaked a glance at his  face. He seemed so in control. As if nothing would ruffle his cool.

 Sylvie badly wanted to ruffle his cool.

 She put on her music again, aware of the tension spiking in the room  when the slow, sultry, sexy beat filled the space. She saw the chair  that she'd asked Halima to provide in the centre of the dais, and she  slowly unbelted her robe and then slid it off, throwing it to one side.

 Did she hear an intake of breath coming from his direction?

 She ignored it and walked up to the chair, turning to face Arkim with  her hands on the back of it. And now she looked him straight in the eye.  Unashamed. Exuding confidence even if she was quivering on the inside.

 She started to move, using a mixture of what she'd seen some of the  other girls do for their routines and her own modern dance moves. And a  hefty dose of inspiration from one of her favourite movies of all time:  Cabaret.         

     



 

 She kept eye contact with Arkim, even though her confidence threatened  to dissolve when his gaze moved down, over her body, over her splayed  legs as she sat in the chair. She dipped her head down between her legs  before coming back up, deliberately making sure her cleavage would be  visible, and running her hands up her bare thighs.

 His gaze was so black it seemed to suck all the light out of the  room-or was that the storm? Sylvie didn't know. She only knew that as  his eyes tracked her movements she became more and more emboldened. She  felt as if she was becoming one with the music. The throbbing bass beat  was deep in her blood...telling her where to move next. Telling her to  stand up, to put her hands on the seat of the chair and bend over, while  sending a sideways look to Arkim. Telling her to straighten and then  arch her back as she pulled her hair tie off so her hair tumbled down  around her shoulders.

 And telling her to open the buttons on her shirt, down to where it was tied under her breasts, so that they would be revealed.

 Something dangerous was pounding through her blood-the same something  that had coursed through it that night in the garden, when Arkim had  pressed against her, letting her feel how aroused he was by her...even  though he disapproved of her.

 Sylvie felt powerful-because she could sense his control cracking.  Arkim's cheeks were flushed, eyes glittering darkly. Jaw clenched. This  was what she wanted...to make him admit he was a hypocrite.

 Without really thinking about what she was doing, Sylvie stepped down  from the dais and walked over to Arkim. His chin tipped up and their  gazes clashed-just as the music faded away and stopped, bursting the  bubble of illusion around them.

 She knew instantly that she'd made a tactical error. Desperate to try  and regain her sense of power, she started to walk away from his  chair-but a big hand shot out and gripped her wrist, stopping her in her  tracks.

 She looked down at him, heart bumping violently. That obsidian gaze  glittered up at her, and she saw the fire in their depths. The knowledge  that she'd managed to ruffle him wasn't as satisfying as she'd expected  when she was this close to him.

 He stood up and they were almost touching. The air sizzled.

'What the hell,' he said in a low voice,'do you think you're doing?'

 The disgust Sylvie read in his eyes made her pull her wrist free of  his grip with a jerk. She was aware that the huge sand cloud was  approaching closer and closer through the massive windows behind Arkim,  about to envelop them totally, blotting everything out. It made her feel  reckless-as if everything was about to be altered for ever.

'Isn't this what you expected of me?' she asked tauntingly.'I'm giving you exactly what you want.'

'Exactly what I want?' he asked.

 And before she could say anything, just before the sandstorm  inexorably claimed the castle in its path, Arkim speared both hands into  her hair, angling her face up to his.

'I'll show you exactly what I want,' he said gutturally.

 * * *

 Arkim crushed Sylvie's mouth under his, his need too great to be gentle or finessed. He wanted to devour her.

 Her lips were soft, but she kept her mouth closed and there was  tension in her body. Damn her. She would not deny him. Not after that  cheap little show. Yet even in spite of the tackiness he'd still been  turned on. Again. And she was right-he'd asked for this.

 That knowledge wasn't welcome.

 Neither was her resistance.

 Arkim was aware of the changing quality of sound around them. How  everything was muffled. The sandstorm must have enveloped them by now.  But all of that was secondary to the woman in his arms. The woman who  would pay for turning his life upside down.

 He took his mouth off hers and looked down to see those extraordinary  eyes glaring at him. If he wasn't acutely aware of how her body quivered  against his he would have let her go, been done with her. A reluctant  lover was not something he was interested in-not that he had much  experience of that.

 But Sylvie wanted him. It had sparked between them from the moment  their eyes had met-from the moment he'd rejected her outright. And in  spite of that rejection they were here now, as if this course had always  been inevitable.         

     



 

 There was no turning back until this was done and she'd paid. And he was sated.

 He relaxed his hands in her hair, started to subtly massage her skull. It felt fragile under his hands.

'What are you doing?' she said huskily.

 Her hands were against his chest, but she wasn't pushing him away. His  arousal was so hard he ached with the need to sheathe himself inside  her body, feel her contract around him. But her innate fragility did  something to him...it tempered his anger, turned it into a need to  seduce. To make her acquiescent.

'I'm making love to you.'

 Her hands pushed against his chest now.'Well, I don't want to be made love to.'

 Arkim shook his head, his fingers all the while massaging her skull in  slow, methodical movements.'You've admitted you want me. And I think  you do want to be made love to-very much. After all, you're a highly  sexed woman...aren't you, Sylvie?'

 Sylvie looked up into his eyes. Even in heels she felt tiny next to  him. Puny. Weak. His fingers were in her hair, massaging her... She felt  like purring. Not like pushing him away. But she had to. Highly sexed?  If he found out what she really was-

 She went cold at the thought and pushed him again, but his chest was  like a steel wall. Immovable. At the same time she was aware that she  wasn't scared; the fight to get away from him was as much a fight with  herself as it was with him. More so. And he knew it-the bastard.

 His hands were moving now...down to her jaw, cradling her face.  Something dangerous lurched inside Sylvie-some emotion that had no place  there. It seemed to be the hardest thing in the world to free herself  completely and move away.

 Arkim's scent was heady, masculine. It enticed her on a very basic  female level. He didn't even say anything this time. He just bent his  head and kissed her again, those sensual lips moving over hers with  masterful precision and an expertise she couldn't resist even though she  tried.

 She tried to keep her mouth closed, like before. But Arkim was biting  gently on her lower lip, making it tingle, making her want more... She  felt some of her resistance give way, treacherously, and he took  advantage like the expert he was-slipping his tongue between her lips,  finding hers and setting her world on fire.

 His hands moved over her shoulders, down her back, urging her into  him, against the hard contours of his body. Her scanty costume offered  little protection. She was helplessly responding to his kiss, to the  tantalising slide of his tongue against hers, urging her to mimic him,  initiate her own contact.

 Sylvie couldn't think. Everything was blurry, fuzzy. Except for this  decadent pleasure, seeping into her veins and making her feel  languorous. Treacherously, she didn't want this moment to stop. Ever.

 Her hands were moving, lifting of their own volition, sliding around  Arkim's neck so that she could press closer. She was aware of her  breasts, crushed to his chest, tightening into hard points. One of his  hands was on her lower back and it dipped down further, cupping one  buttock, squeezing gently. Between her legs she felt hot, moist...

 But as Arkim's hand slipped even lower, precariously close to where  Sylvie suddenly wanted to feel him explore her, she had a startling  moment of clarity-this man hated her. He believed that she was little  more than a common tart, debauched and irredeemable, and she was about  to let him be more intimate with her than anyone else had ever been.

 Disgusted with her lack of control, Sylvie took Arkim by surprise and  pushed herself free of his embrace. For a second when he opened his eyes  they looked glazed, unfocused, and then they cleared and narrowed on  her. She felt hot and dishevelled. And exposed.