Awakened by Her Desert Captor (15 page)

The endearment made something melt inside Sylvie and she could feel all the muscles that were clamping so hard against him relax.

Arkim slid a little deeper. She felt so full...almost uncomfortable. But also...
amazing
. Arkim kept going until Sylvie could barely breathe and his hips touched hers. She felt impaled...but
whole
. It was such a new and alien sensation. And then he started to pull out, beginning a dance of movement between their bodies that Sylvie had never known existed. Just when she thought he was withdrawing from her completely he'd thrust back in, and each time it felt a little more imperative that he did so.

Her legs were wrapped around his waist and her hands were on his buttocks now, silently commanding his movements to be stronger, more forceful.

Arkim huffed out laboured-sounding words. ‘Should have known you'd be a fast learner...'

Sylvie smiled up at him—but then her smile got stuck as Arkim touched something deep inside her that sent shockwaves and thrills through her. His movements became faster, wilder, as if he couldn't control them any more, and the delicious tension Sylvie had felt before coiled tight within her again, and tighter. Until she begged for release.

Arkim put a hand between them and pressed his thumb against her, and Sylvie couldn't hold back her cry as she broke into shards of light and sensation. Her whole body convulsed with pleasure around Arkim's, her skin damp and slick.

Powerful shudders shook Arkim's body as he finally took his own release, and through the cataclysm Sylvie could feel the contractions of her body around his. In that moment she'd never felt so complete.

CHAPTER EIGHT

S
YLVIE
FLOATED
ON
her back, naked in the warm water, and looked up into an endless violet-hued sky. Early evening was practically the only time Arkim would let her out, for fear of the sun damaging her skin, even though she faithfully slathered on factor fifty.

The silky water lapped between her legs. Soothing the tenderness. She couldn't keep back a small smile... The last week had been the most illuminating, mind-blowing week of her life. It had been an intense tutorial in the sensual arts, with a master teacher.

She'd never known... She'd heard people talk about it, but had never really understood just what they'd been going on about. And that deep-rooted fear of rejection had made her shy away from any intimacy.

Not here, though. Every night and most of the day Arkim laid Sylvie bare, over and over again, until she was reduced to a mass of sensation and lusting and craving—no longer a human being. He'd turned her into some kind of animal.

That thought made something tighten inside her and Sylvie flipped over, lazily swimming to the far end of the pool. She wasn't worried about being seen—the staff knew not to come to the pool at this time, and used it only during the day.

She sat on a natural stone ledge in the water, the tops of her breasts exposed, and blushed when she imagined Arkim taking her here—pressing between her legs, urging her to wrap them around his waist as he thrust so deep inside her she'd have to bite down on his skin to contain her cries of ecstasy.

She wasn't entirely sure someone hadn't slipped a drug into her drink or food, and that this wasn't all some kind of crazy hallucination. But the air was warm on her wet skin, and the water was real enough. As was the smell of cooking. And the sounds of people in the distance, laughing and talking softly.

Sylvie hadn't seen much of the nomads—they kept themselves to themselves. And anyway...how could she notice anyone else when Arkim filled her vision larger than a twenty-foot statue?

Physically Sylvie had never been more replete or happy. Emotionally, however... Her insides tightened again.

Since she and Arkim had started sleeping together there had been no more intensely personal confessionals. She had no idea what he thought of her now, beyond the very physical evidence that he wanted her. And she wanted him.
Oh, God.
She wanted him more and more each day. As if the more she had of him the tighter would be the bonds holding them together.

For her.

Sylvie knew one thing: even though he'd said he accepted her, this was a moment out of time for Arkim. He didn't have to say it. Whatever he'd once thought of her—and whatever he thought of her now—was irrelevant. This was just a slaking of lust for him. And when they left here he would turn his back and walk away. Because a man like Arkim Al-Sahid, with all his dark secrets and troubled past, would never choose a woman like Sylvie.

Even if she
had
been a virgin, and that had changed his perception of her, she was still unpalatable in his real world. Sylvie had to remember that, and not get caught up in this interim magic and madness.

In spite of everything that had brought them here he'd given her an incredible gift. The gift of her own sensuality and sexuality. Which was ironic, considering she'd been successfully projecting it for years. He'd taken the broken pieces inside her and forged a new wholeness. And that was what she would take with her when this was over...

She heard a movement and looked up to see Arkim standing at the edge of the pool, with only a towel around his waist. Hair slicked back. He'd obviously just showered. Instantly Sylvie could feel the effect of his presence on her body—blood flowing to erogenous zones, flesh swelling, tingling, becoming engorged.

With his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face he looked truly intimidating. He was looking for her, and Sylvie's breath quickened as his gaze came closer and closer...
Zing!
Eye contact. Heat. Pulsing awareness.

The scowl faded and was replaced by a look of carnal intent. With one hand Arkim undid the towel and twitched it to the ground. He stepped into the pool—gloriously, unashamedly naked.

Like a little wanton, Sylvie had her legs open and ready for him when he came close enough to touch her. He registered her acquiescence with a feral smile that curled her insides.

The head of his erection notched against her sex, slipping between slick folds. His hands cupped and moulded her breasts, teasing the hard points, before he lowered his head so that he could tease first one, then the other, with his hot mouth and tongue and teeth.

Then his mouth was on hers, swallowing her cry as he seated himself with one smooth thrust, deep inside her. Everything quickened. She was so primed she couldn't hold back a series of shattering orgasms, and she felt Arkim's struggle as he fought to hang on... But it was too much. He pulled free of her clasping body at the last moment and the hot spurt of his seed landed on her belly and breasts. His face was drawn back into a silent scream of ecstasy.

The lash of his essence on her skin felt like a brand, and intensely erotic. But as suddenly as she felt that, Sylvie felt cold, in spite of the heat and languor in her bones. Because she ached with wanting to feel his seed lodged deep inside her, where it might create life, connecting her to this man for ever.

* * *

‘Are you planning on dropping off the radar for good?'

Arkim scowled into the satellite phone and answered his executive assistant. ‘Of course not.'

‘Good, because the deal with Lewis is still on—just about. But you need to be here to deal with it.'

After a few more minutes of discussion Arkim ended the call. He was on a horse, on a sand dune, looking down over the oasis.

He could see Sylvie's bright red hair as she played with a group of the nomad children, chasing them. He could hear their squeals of delight from here. Her skin had taken on a golden glow and more delicate freckles, in spite of the high-factor sun cream he insisted she wear every day.

He felt himself smiling, and a sense of deep contentment was flowing over him and through him. Along with that piquant edge of desire never far from the surface whether Sylvie was in sight or not.

His smile faded when he thought of that first night again. He'd been convinced he'd have to take them both back to civilisation after she'd walked out on him— justifiably—with all the hauteur of a queen. What she'd told him about the legacy of her father had eaten away at his guts like acid:
‘When you've protected yourself against rejection your whole life it's almost a relief not to have to fear it any more.'
But ultimately he hadn't been strong enough to walk away. Or to send her away. So he'd been selfish. And taken her for himself.

And even though she'd told him so fiercely,
‘You're not your father...'
he was afraid that he was. That he still had some deep flaw inside him. Yet somehow, right now, looking down at that bright head, the assertion didn't sting as much as it usually did.

He'd always ensured his lovers never strayed beyond the firm boundaries he laid down. He always went to their places, or met them in hotels. He never brought them to his personal space. Never encouraged them to talk of personal matters.

And he never spirited them away to a desert oasis to lose himself in their bodies before he went crazy...

‘Are you planning on dropping off the radar for good?'

It suddenly struck him:
what the hell was he doing?
His smile faded completely and he went cold inside. His reputation still hung in the balance, and it was thanks to that woman's actions. He'd meted out his vengeance. He'd had her under him, begging for release.
But not for forgiveness
. At what point had Arkim forgotten that?

Around the first time Sylvie opened her legs to you...

It started hitting him like a series of blows about the head and face. Just how much he'd let her in. Just how much he'd told her. And all because since the moment she'd arrived she'd been nothing like he'd expected. The biggest revelation of all having been her innocence. Her physical innocence.

He had to force himself to acknowledge now that that was as far as her innocence went. She still hadn't told him her reasons for disrupting the wedding that day.

Something trickled down his neck and spine. A sense of having been monumentally naive. Moments ago— before Arkim had had that phone conversation—he'd been contemplating what might happen after Al-Omar. He'd contemplated keeping Sylvie on as his lover. Because he didn't see an end in sight to this ravenous desire. The more he had of her, the more he wanted.

From his vantage point now he could see the children scattering as someone called them, the cry lifted on the wind.

Sylvie stood and looked up to where he was, shaded her eyes. Arkim felt her pull even from here as the breeze moulded the long tunic she wore to her body, showing off the curves of her high, full breasts.

He imagined a scenario of returning to civilisation and allowing Sylvie to slip under his skin even more indelibly. She was the last woman he needed in his life right now—right when everything hung in the balance
because of her
.

With a sharp kick of his heel on his horse's flank he made his way back to the oasis. He knew what he had to do.

* * *

‘Look! It's a puppy with eyes like mine!'

Sylvie was sitting cross-legged outside Arkim's tent, more happy than she cared to admit to see him returning from his satellite phone call, even if he did look very grim. She held up a squirming bundle of white fur with a tail, yapping intermittently.

Arkim crouched down and Sylvie held it so he could see the puppy's brown and blue eyes. There was something about Arkim's grimness that made her say nervously, ‘Sadim, one of the younger boys, showed him to me. They were excited because of the similarity...the eye discolouration.'

He straightened up again. ‘You shouldn't be handling it—dogs around here are feral.'

Sylvie's sense of something being wrong increased. Arkim's tone was harsh in a way she hadn't heard in days.

She stood up too, cradling the dog against her chest, feeling at a disadvantage. ‘He's not feral...he's gorgeous.'

The small boy Sylvie had spoken of hovered nearby. With a brusque movement Arkim gestured him over. He took the puppy out of Sylvie's arms, his hands brushing against her breasts perfunctorily, and handed it back to the boy, saying something that made the boy look at him as if he'd just kicked the puppy before he ran off.

Sylvie stared at him. ‘What did you do that for?'

Arkim was definitely harsh now. ‘Because we don't have time for this. It's time to leave... I have to return to London.'

‘Oh, is everything okay?' Sylvie struggled to assimilate Arkim's change in mood and this news.

‘I've arranged for the helicopter to come for you in a couple of hours. Halima will ensure your bags from the castle are on board.'

‘For me?' Sylvie repeated faintly, aware that Arkim hadn't really answered her question.

His face was expressionless, and it made Sylvie think of the passionate intensity he'd shown in bed only a few hours before. It suddenly felt like a long time ago. Not hours.

‘Yes, for you,' Arkim reiterated. ‘The helicopter will take you to the international airport in B'harani, where one of my staff will meet you and see you on to a plane back to France. I'm taking the Jeep back to the castle as I've some business to attend to there before I return to Europe.'

When she said nothing, feeling cold inside, and as if she'd been hit with a bat, Arkim asked almost accusingly, ‘Did you think we could stay here for ever?'

Yes
, came a rogue voice. And Sylvie felt like such a fool. She'd been weaving daydreams and fantasies out of something that didn't exist. This oasis and what had happened here was as much of a mirage as the kind a dying man in the desert might see through the heat waves in the distance. For ever unreachable.

She forced herself to look Arkim in the eye. ‘No, of course not.'

His voice was stark, stripped of anything remotely soft. ‘This can't ever be anything more than what's happened here. You
do
know that, don't you?'

Sylvie felt her old cynical walls—badly battered and crumbled—start to resurrect themselves. What Arkim really meant was,
You didn't really think I'd ever want to be associated with you outside of this remote outpost, did you?

She couldn't believe she'd let herself fall so hard and so fast for someone who would only ever hold her in mediocre esteem. Who had only seduced her as a form of retribution. And she'd been fully complicit.

‘Of course I know that, Arkim.' She tried to inject as much nonchalance into her voice as possible.

She felt brittle. If someone so much as brushed past her now she might shatter. She stepped back—out of the pull Arkim exerted on her with such effortless ease.

‘I should pack my things. I don't want there to be any delay when the helicopter gets here.'

‘Mariah will bring you some lunch.'

Sylvie forced a smile. ‘That's considerate—thank you.'

She turned and walked away before he could see the rise of tumultuous emotions within her. Anger and hurt and self-recrimination. She should have left when she had the chance. She should have protected herself better. She should have known that he would just drop her from a height when he was done with her... She just hadn't expected it to be so soon, so cold, and so brutal.

A month later, London...

Arkim stood at his office window, gazing out on a scene of unremitting grey skies and rain. An English summer in all its glory.