Awakened by Her Desert Captor(8)

 She was in a reception area that would have housed her small Parisian  apartment three times over. It was a huge octagonal space, with a small  pond in the centre with a tiled bottom and sides, where exotic fish swam  lazily.

 There were eight rooms off this main area. Two guest bedrooms, a  dining room, and a living room complete with state-of-the-art sound  system and media centre which had had all channels available when Sylvie  had flicked it on.

 The decor throughout was subtle and understated. The stone walls of  the castle had been left exposed. and modern artwork and an eclectic mix  of antiques enhanced the rather austere ancient building. Huge oriental  rugs adorned the floors, softening any sharp edges further. The windows  were all open to the elements, and even though it was sweltering  outside, the castle had been designed so that balmy breezes wafted  through the open rooms.

 There was also a gym, and an accompanying thermal suite with hot-tub  and sauna/steam room. And then there was the main bedroom suite, dressed  in tones of dark red and cream. A fan circled overhead, distributing  the air to keep it cool.

 She'd never considered herself much of a sensualist, beyond tapping  into her inner performer for her work, but right now her senses were  heightened by everything she'd seen since she'd arrived in this country.

 The bed was situated in the middle of the room, and strewn with  opulent coverings and pillows. It had four posters and luxurious drapes,  which were held back in place by delicately engraved gold curtain ties.  The bed looked big enough to hold a football team with room to spare,  let alone one person... Or two, inserted a snide voice, which Sylvie  ignored.

 One thing she was sure of: Arkim Al-Sahid would not be sharing her  bed. Yet something quivered to life deep inside her and she couldn't  seem to take her eyes off it...an image filled her brain of naked pale  limbs entwined with much darker ones.

 For years Sylvie had seen her peers indulge in casual sexual  relationships and on some level had envied them that ease and freedom.  She'd gone on dates...but the men involved had all expected her to be  something she wasn't. And when they'd pushed for intimacy she'd found  herself shutting down. The prospect that they'd somehow'see' the real  her and reject her was a fear she couldn't shake.         

     



 

 It was galling that she seemed to be hardwired to want more than  casual sex-based on a fragile memory of the happiness and joy that had  existed between her parents before her mother had so tragically died.  She'd somehow clung to it her whole life, letting it sink deep into her  unconscious.

 It was even more galling, though, that Arkim Al-Sahid could look at  her with explicit intent and have the opposite effect from making her  shut down. When he looked at her she felt as if something was flowering  to life deep inside her.

 Irritated with the direction of her thoughts, and telling herself she  was being ridiculous, Sylvie walked over to the French doors of the main  bedroom and stepped outside. Heat washed over her like a dry caress,  sinking into her bones and melting some of the tension away in spite of  her wish to stay rigid at all costs.

 She had her own private terrace, complete with a sparkling lap pool,  its turquoise tiles illuminating the water. Low seats were scattered in  twos and threes around low tables, with soft raw silk cushions. Lanterns  hung from the walls, but weren't lit. Sylvie could imagine how  seductive it might be at night, with only the flickering lights and the  vast expanse of a star-filled night sky surrounding her.

 And then she berated herself for getting sucked into a daydream so  easily. Pushing the images out of her head, she walked over to the  boundary wall, with its distinctive Arabic carvings. Outside she could  see nothing but desert and dunes. A bird of prey circled lazily against  the intense blue of the sky.

 It compounded her sense of isolation and entrapment, and yet...much to  her chagrin...Sylvie couldn't seem to drum up any sense of urgency. She  realised that she was exhausted from the shock and adrenalin of the  day.

 A sound made her whirl around from the wall, her heart leaping into  her throat. But it was only Halima again, with her shy smile.

'Sheikh Al-Sahid has sent me to tell you that he would be happy for  you to join him in an hour for dinner. He said that should give you time  to freshen up.'

 Sylvie felt grim.'Did he, now?' She thought of something and said, 'Wait here a moment-I'd like you to give him something, please.'

 When she came back she felt unaccountably lighter. She handed the girl  a folded-up note and said sweetly,'Please give this to Sheikh Al-Sahid  for me.'

 The girl scurried off and Sylvie closed the door. A wave of weariness  came over her, dousing any small sense of rebellious triumph. She set  about unpacking only the most necessary items from her case, having no  intention of staying here beyond a night. Whatever she had to do to  persuade Arkim to let her go, she'd do it.

 She was disappointed but unsurprised to see that her mobile phone  didn't work. Exactly as he'd told her. She put it down and sighed, then  took off her clothes, finding a robe. When she got to the door leading  into the bathroom she had to suck in a breath. The sinks and the bath  seemed to be carved out of the stone itself, with gold fittings that  managed to complement the stark design without being tacky.

 The bath was more like a small pool. When she'd filled it up, and  added some oils she'd found in a cleverly hidden cabinet, exotically  fragrant steam wrapped around her in a caress.

 She drew off the robe and took the few steps down into the bath,  trying not to feel too overwhelmed by the sheer luxury. The water closed  over her body and as she tipped her head back she closed her eyes and  pushed all thoughts of Arkim Al-Sahid out of her mind, trying to pretend  she was on a luxury mini-break and not in the middle of an unforgiving  desert, cut off from civilisation with someone who hated her guts.

 * * *

 Arkim stood looking out over the view, at the fading twilight casting  the dunes into mysterious shadows. He had claimed this part of his  maternal ancestral home for himself. His mother's family had no interest  in him, and he'd told himself a long time ago that he didn't care.  They'd rejected her and he wanted nothing to do with them-even if they  came begging.

 He'd come here initially as an exercise in removing himself from his  father's sphere. He'd never expected this land to touch him as deeply as  it had done on first sight. Almost with a physical pull. His mind  automatically felt freer, less constrained, when he was here. He felt  connected with something primal and visceral.         

     



 

 When he'd made his first million this property had been his first  purchase, and he'd followed it up with properties in Paris, London and  New York. He'd surpassed his goals one by one. All of them. Only to fall  at the last hurdle: gaining the stamp of social approval and respect  that would show everyone that he was not his father's son. That he was  vastly different.

 He thought of Sophie Lewis now and his conscience twinged. He hadn't  thought of her very often. In truth, he'd had his doubts-their  relationship had been very...platonic. But Arkim had convinced himself  that it suited him like that. Her father had been the one to suggest the  match, and the more Arkim had thought about it the more the idea had  grown on him.

 In contrast to her flame-haired provocative sister, Sophie had been  like a gentle balm. Shy and innocent. Arousing no hormone-fuelled lapses  of character. He'd courted her. Taken her for dinner. To the theatre.  Each outing had soothed another piece of his wounded soul, making him  believe that marriage to her would indeed offer him everything he'd ever  wanted-which was the antithesis of life with his father.

 He would be one of those parents who was respectable-respected-who  came to school to pick up his son with his beautiful wife by his side. A  united front. There would be no scandals. No children born out of  wedlock. No mistresses. No sordid rumours and sniggering behind his  back. No child of his would have to deal with bullying and fist fights  when another kid taunted him about the whores his father took to his  bed.

 But the gods had laughed in his face at his ambitions and shown him  that he was a fool to believe he could ever remove the stain of his  father's legacy from his life.

 He looked at the crumpled piece of paper in his hand and opened it out again to read.

 Thank you for the kind'invitation' to dinner, but I must decline. I've already made plans for this evening.

 Sincerely, Sylvie Devereux.

 Arkim had to battle both irritation and the lust that had held his  body in an uncomfortable grip since he'd seen Sylvie earlier that day.  He fought the urge to go straight to her room to confront her. No doubt  that was exactly what she wanted.