Awakened by Her Desert Captor(29)

     



 

 An alien lightness vied with a familiar surge of arousal just to see  her sitting on the floor, her hair in a plait down her back. She was  obviously just back from work, still dressed in leggings and a loose  top. Arkim was used to women in couture creations and the latest  ready-to-wear casuals. Yet Sylvie would blow them all out of the water  with her inherent grace and elegance, dressed just like this.

 She insisted on taking the Métro every day, refusing his offer of a  driver and car. And he hadn't even realised that his kitchen functioned  until he'd come in one evening and found Sylvie taking a Boeuf  Bourguignon out of the oven. Far from making him break out in a cold  sweat at the domesticity, he'd found it surprisingly appealing. He'd  never known what it was to come home to a cooked meal, and he'd found  himself laughing out loud at Sylvie's wry tales of learning to cook when  she'd first arrived in Paris.

 When she'd told him that she regularly baked for the members of the  revue, he'd found his conscience smarting at the thought of how badly  he'd misjudged her from that first moment he'd laid eyes on her. Because  at first glance she'd epitomised everything he'd grown up to despise in  a lewd, over-sexualised world.

 In fact she was anything but. He'd been wrong about her. So wrong.

 It had been two weeks now since she'd moved in...and just like before,  the more Arkim had of her, the more he wanted her. It made him nervous.  This...this lust he felt was too urgent. Desperate, even. He couldn't  let her go. Yet.

 She looked up then and saw him standing there. Her eyes widened,  brightened, and she smiled. But then the smile slipped slightly and a  guarded look came over her beautiful face. It made Arkim want to haul  her up and demand that she... What? asked a small voice. Stop shutting  you out?

 Ever since that night when she'd agreed to stay Sylvie had locked a  piece of herself away from him. She was careful around him-there was  some spark he'd come to expect in her missing.

 Except for when they made love... Then she could hold nothing back, in spite of herself.

 But when they were finished she would curl up on her side, away from  him. And Arkim would lie there and clench his hands into fists to stop  himself from reaching for her-because he didn't do that, did he? That  would send the wrong message...that this was something more than a  transitory slaking of mutual lust.

 Except it wasn't being slaked. It was being stoked.

 * * *

'A function?' Sylvie felt a flicker of trepidation. So far she and  Arkim had spent their time confined to his stunning apartment. They met  here after work and indulged in satisfying their mutual lust until they  couldn't move. Then they got up, went to work and repeated the process.

 Every morning Sylvie woke up praying that this would be the morning  when he didn't affect her so much...to no avail. And when they'd had  dinner the other night...dinner she'd made...it had felt far too  easy...seductive. She couldn't do that again.

 Arkim was leaning against the doorframe, looking edible in a dark three-piece suit, his jaw stubbled after the day.

'It's a charity benefit thing...to raise money for cancer awareness. I thought you'd have an interest.'

 Sylvie was shocked that Arkim obviously remembered her telling him that her mother had died of cancer.

'Well, of course I do... But... I mean, I didn't think you'd want to be seen with me. In public.'

 Some fleeting expression passed over his face and then he came over  and pulled her up from the floor, his hands resting under her arms.'The  reason we haven't gone out together is because the minute I see you I  need you. And I need you now.'

 Everything in Sylvie exulted. She felt exactly the same. The insatiable desire to cleave herself to this man.

 She was barely aware of Omar-she'd named him after Al-Omar-pawing her calf, looking for attention.

'What about the function?' The thought of going out in public with Arkim was alternately terrifying and exciting.         

     



 

'We're still going... But first...a shower?'

 Sylvie hid her reaction to the fact that he was prepared to be seen in  public with her and said, mock seriously,'I think your dedication to  water conservation is to be commended.'

 Arkim snorted and tugged her to the bedroom, shutting the door firmly  on Omar, who skidded to a stop outside the closed door and proceeded to  whine pitifully and unnoticed for the next half an hour.

 * * *

'Are you sure I look okay?'

 Arkim was the epitome of civilised style in a black tuxedo. Sylvie  hated feeling so insecure, but the full magnitude of what this public  outing meant was sinking in-and not in a good way. She was nervous of  people recognising him, recognising her, and the inevitable scrutiny.

 He reached for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers.'You look  amazing. Just think of this as one of your father's events...you looked  pretty confident to me in that milieu.'

 She fought back a blush to think of how forward she'd been and plucked  at the silky emerald-green material of her dress. The dress was  gorgeous-a slinky column of pure silk-it covered her from throat to  wrist to ankle but, perversely, it felt more revealing than anything  she'd ever worn before, skimming close to her curves and cut on the  bias.

 It had been waiting for her in a silver embossed box when she'd  emerged from her shower with Arkim, barely able to walk after his very  careful ministrations. Every feminist principle in her had risen up to  refuse it...but she'd taken one look and fallen in love. It reminded her  poignantly of a dress her mother had owned-which Catherine had  inevitably thrown out-and so, like a traitor, she'd accepted it.

 She'd styled her hair into movie star waves and hoped that it wasn't  too much. She knew how snobbish these events were, and if anyone  recognised her... She gulped.

'Relax... I know how you feel-believe me.'

 Sylvie was jolted out of her introspection and she looked at the wry  expression on Arkim's face. Of course he knew. He was the son of one of  the most infamous men in the world. When she thought of how proud he  was... Her heart felt ominously achy at the thought of people looking at  him and judging him.

 As he did you, she reminded herself. And even though she could understand his motives now the hurt still lingered.

 The car was drawing to a smooth stop outside one of Paris's most  iconic and glamorous hotels. Arkim got out, and Sylvie drew in a deep  breath as he opened the door and held out a hand for her. They joined a  very glitzy throng of beautiful people entering the foyer with lots of  expensive perfume and air-kissing. Arkim held Sylvie's hand, and she  found she was clinging to him.

 She reminded herself that she needed to be vigilant around him. She  didn't want to lose herself again so easily. So she forced herself to  relax and took her hand out of his, ignoring his look as she squared her  shoulders and entered the massive ballroom where the function was being  held.

 His hand stayed on the small of her back, though, as waiters offered  them drinks and they navigated their way around the room, constantly  stopping when Arkim was recognised by various people.

 Sylvie found, much to her relief, that she was usually given a quick  once-over and then summarily dismissed. She didn't mind. She preferred  that to scrutiny or recognition any day of the week.

 When they were momentarily alone again Sylvie asked curiously,'When  do they announce dinner?' She was beginning to feel hunger pangs after  their earlier activity.

 Arkim grimaced slightly and gestured with his head to where a waiter  was passing, with some teeny-tiny hors d'oeuvres that looked more like  art installations than food.'That's dinner, I'm afraid, I think most  people here haven't eaten in about ten years.'

 Sylvie grinned at his humour-and then her stomach growled in earnest and she blushed, ducking her head with embarrassment.

 Arkim slid an arm around her waist and pulled her into his tall, hard  body, creating a wave of heat that slowly engulfed her. When she looked  at him again he said,'Isn't there some leftover Boeuf Bourguignon at  home?'         

     



 

 His use of the word home caused butterflies. She fought to stay cool.'I believe there is...'

 Arkim's gaze moved down to her mouth and now he looked hungry.'Then let's get out of here. I've had enough.'

 The thought of leaving now, getting out of the evening intact, without  any awkward public meetings, was very appealing. Apart from what the  explicit hunger in his eyes promised... Well, she had made a promise to  herself to gorge, hadn't she?

 Sylvie looked up at him and felt as if she was drowning. As if she was fighting a losing battle.'Okay, then-let's go.'

 They were walking out through the vast marbled lobby-hand in hand  because Arkim refused to let her tug free-and Sylvie was floating on a  cloud of dangerous contentment at the thought of being alone with him  again, when a group of men stopped in front of them. Arkim stopped,  making her jerk to a halt beside him.