Awakened by Her Desert Captor (12 page)

Arkim had got out of the Jeep and was opening her door. She got out on wobbly legs, eyes on stalks.

Two big tents were set up nearby—dark and lavishly decorated, with their tops coming to a point in the centre. Smaller tents sat off at a distance, separated from the others by trees. Sand dunes rose up around the camp, almost encircling it on one side, and on the other side was a rocky wall. When Sylvie shaded her eyes to look, she saw the most exquisite natural pool.

She walked over, stunned. The water was so clear she could see right down to the rocks at the bottom. The air was warm and soft—a million miles from the harsh heat she'd experienced since she'd arrived.

She felt Arkim's presence beside her but was afraid to look at him because her emotions were all over the place—especially so soon after waking up. It was as if she was missing a layer of skin.

‘This is obviously a very special place,' she finally managed to get out, without sounding too husky.

‘Yes, it is. I think it's the most peaceful spot on this earth.'

Sylvie looked at him at last and saw that he was staring down into the water. When he lifted his head and looked at her his gaze was so direct that it took her breath away. It was the most unguarded she'd ever seen him, and she could see so many things in his eyes. But the one that hit her right in the belly was desire.

She had a feeling that whatever lay tangled between them—all the animosity, misjudgement and distrust—it was slipping away and becoming irrelevant. What was relevant was here and now. Just the two of them—a man and a woman.

It was so primal that Sylvie was almost taking a step towards Arkim before she realised that someone was interrupting them, telling him something.

Arkim's gaze slipped from Sylvie's and she held herself rigid, aghast that she'd come so close to revealing herself like that. Was she really so ready to jump into his arms? Even though she'd already tacitly capitulated by coming here?

Sylvie composed herself as Arkim talked to the man, and then he was turning towards her. ‘Lunch has been prepared for us.'

She welcomed the break in the heightened tension and followed him as he led her to an open area outside the tents, where a table had been set up under a fabric covering held up by four posts. It was rustic, but charming.

The table was low, covered in a deep red silk tablecloth, and there was no cutlery. Arkim indicated a big cushion on one side of the table for Sylvie and she sat down, mesmerised by the mouth-watering array of foods laid out on platters. The smell alone was enough to get her stomach growling.

Arkim settled himself opposite her and handed her a plate with an assortment of food which she surmised she was meant to eat with her hands. Silver finger bowls were set by their plates.

Sylvie experimented with something that looked like a rice ball, closing her eyes in appreciation as warm cheese melted into her mouth. When she opened them again she saw Arkim taking a sip of golden liquid and watching her. There was something very sensual about eating with her hands. And then she looked at Arkim's strong hands and imagined them tracing her body... Heat suffused her face.

‘Try your drink—it's a special brew of the region. Not exactly wine, but a relation.'

Sylvie hurriedly took a sip, hoping it might cool her down. It was like nectar—sweet but with a tart finish. ‘It's delicious.'

Arkim's mouth tipped up. ‘It's also lethal, so just a few sips is enough.'

She frowned. ‘I thought people didn't really drink in this part of the world?'

‘They don't... But there are nomads from this region who have made a name for themselves with this brew. It's a secret recipe, handed down over hundreds of years and made from rare desert berries.'

Sylvie took another sip and relished the smooth glide of the cold liquid down her throat. She realised that she'd always known what sensuality was in an abstract and intellectual way, and that she could exude it when she wanted to, but she'd never really embodied it herself. She felt as if she embodied it now, though, when this man looked at her. Or touched her.

She put the glass down quickly, shocked at how easily this place was entrancing her. And at how easily Arkim was intriguing her by making her believe that things had somehow shifted. They had...but in essence nothing much had changed. She was who she was, and
he
was who he was.

When this man set his mind to seduction it was nigh impossible to resist him, and Sylvie had a sense that she was far more vulnerable to him than she even realised herself. She knew it was irrational, because she'd already agreed to come here, but she felt she had to push him back.

She heard herself saying, ‘Why go to the trouble of bringing me here when we both know this isn't about romance? You say you don't hate me, but what you do feel for me isn't far off that.'

Arkim looked at Sylvie from where he lounged across the table. Her hair glowed so bright it almost hurt to look at. Her skin was like alabaster—like a pearl against the backdrop of this ochre-hued place.

He replied with an honesty he hadn't intended. ‘You've turned my life upside down. You irritate me and frustrate me...and I want you more than I've ever wanted another woman. What I feel for you is...ambiguous.'

Sylvie looked at him, and this time there was no mistaking the hurt flashing in her eyes. Before Arkim could react she stood up and paced away for a moment, and then she swung round, hair slipping over one shoulder, tunic billowing around her feet.

She crossed her arms. ‘This was a mistake. I should never have come here with you.'

Arkim cursed his mouth and surged to his feet. Yet again Sylvie was exposing all his most base qualities. He couldn't believe how uncouth he was around this woman. He moved towards her and she took a step back. He controlled his impulse to grab her.

‘You're here because you want to be, Sylvie—plain and simple. This isn't about what's happened. This is about us—here and now. Nothing else. I won't dress it up in fancy language. There is a physical honesty between us which I believe has more integrity than any fluctuating and fickle emotions.'

He saw how she paled, but how her pulse stayed hectic. Arkim felt as if he held the most delicate of brightly coloured humming-birds in his palm and it was about to fly away, never to be seen again.

He wanted her full acquiescence—for her to admit she wanted him. It unnerved him how much he wanted that when he hadn't given much consideration to her feelings before now.

Another truth forced its way out. ‘You were right last night. I don't know you, but I want to. Sit down...finish eating. Please.'

Arkim was tense, waiting. But eventually Sylvie moved jerkily and sat down again. None of her usual grace was evident. She avoided his eyes as he took his seat again and they ate some more, awareness and tension crackling between them like a live wire.

After a minute she wiped her mouth with a napkin and took another sip of her drink. Then she looked at Arkim, her blue-green gaze disturbingly intense.

‘So...what was it like growing up in LA?'

Relief that she was engaging stripped away Arkim's guardedness. His inner reaction to her question was a list of words.
Brash. Artificial. Excessive.
But he said, ‘I hated it. So much so that I've never been back.'

Sylvie assimilated that, and then said, ‘I've been to Las Vegas and I hated it there. It's so fake—like a film set.'

A spurt of kinship surprised Arkim. ‘LA is massive—sprawling. Lots of different areas separated by miles of freeway...no real connection. Everyone is looking for a place in the spotlight—striving to be skinnier, more tanned, more perfect than the next person. There's no soul.'

‘They say no one walks in LA.'

Arkim smiled and it felt odd—because he wasn't used to smiling so spontaneously in the presence of anyone, much less a woman.

‘That's true. Unless you go somewhere like Santa Monica, and then it's like a catwalk.'

‘You really haven't seen your father since you left?'

He shook his head. ‘Not since I was seventeen.' Then he grimaced. ‘That's not entirely accurate. I would have left voluntarily, but I was still too young. He threw me out.'

‘Why?'

Arkim steeled himself. ‘Because he caught me having sex with his mistress—a famous porn actress.'

He saw myriad expressions cross Sylvie's face: shock, hurt, and then anger.

She put her napkin down, eyes flaming, jaw tight. ‘You absolute hypocrite! You have the gall to subject me to your judge and jury act and all the time—'

‘Wait.' Arkim's voice rang out harshly.

He hadn't even been aware of the impulse to lean across the table and capture Sylvie's wrist in his hand before he realised that was what he was doing. Panic made his gut clench. For the first time in his life he found that his words were tripping out before he could stop them—along with an urge to make her understand.

Because if Sylvie damned him then there truly was no hope for his redemption at all...

‘I didn't seduce her. She seduced me.'

* * *

Sylvie looked at Arkim, her wrist still caught in his firm grip. There was something almost desperate in his eyes. Her anger, which had flared so quickly, started to fizzle out. ‘What do you mean?'

He let her wrist go and stood up, moving away from the table to pace, running a hand through his hair. Sylvie had never seen him like this. On the edge of his control.

He turned to face her, his face etched in stark lines. ‘I was back from England for the summer holidays. My father had refused to let me stay in Europe for the summer, even though I'd offered to pay my own way by working. I'd done my A levels. I was just biding my time until I had to go to college. My father knew I hated LA, so he taunted me with it.'

His mouth twisted. ‘Cindy was everywhere I was. Especially when my father wasn't around. And invariably she was half-naked.'

Self-disgust was evident in his voice.

‘I thought I could resist her... I tried for the whole summer. I was only a few days from returning to the UK and she found me by the pool. I was too weak. The worst thing was that she stayed in control the whole time while I lost it. My father found us in the pool house.'

He didn't have to elaborate on what had happened next for Sylvie to join the dots. She shouldn't be feeling anything other than what he'd dished out to her—judgement and condemnation... But she couldn't help it. Sympathy surged in her breast. She could well imagine that whatever judgement she might hurl at Arkim, he'd already judged himself a thousand times over—and far more harshly than anyone else could have.

‘You were seventeen, Arkim. There's probably not a straight teenage hormonal boy on the planet who could have resisted the seduction of an older and more experienced woman—much less a porn star whose job is controlling sex.'

Arkim's harsh lines didn't relax. ‘She only did it because she wanted to make my father jealous...to push him into some kind of commitment. She gambled the wrong way, though. He threw her out too.'

He turned away from her then, to look out at the view. His back was broad, formidable. As if he didn't want her to look at him.

‘Do you know I saw my first orgy when I was eight?'

Sylvie put a hand to her mouth, glad he wasn't looking at her reaction. She took her hand down after a moment. ‘Arkim...that's—'

He turned around again. He was harsh. ‘That was my life. Someone saw me watching, and of course I couldn't really understand what was happening. It was after that that my father sent me to school in England. He got off on the idea of sending me to school with English royalty. But it saved me, I think. I only had to survive the holidays, and I learned to avert my eyes from the debauched parties he liked to throw.'

The thought of such a small child witnessing such things and then being sent away... Sylvie stood up. ‘That was abuse, Arkim. And what that woman did to you— seducing you like that—it was a form of abuse too.'

Arkim smiled, but it was infinitely cynical and Sylvie suddenly loathed it.

‘
Was
it abuse? When it was the most exciting moment of my life at that point? She showed me how much pleasure a man can feel. I submitted to her. Even though I hated myself for it.'

For a second Sylvie felt a blinding flash of jealousy so acute she nearly gasped. The thought of this man being helpless, submitting to a woman who had given him pleasure...and who was not
her
...was painful.

Thankfully he didn't seem to notice her seismic reaction and he said, ‘Do you know what it's like to grow up under the influence of someone with no moral compass?'

Sylvie shook her head, clawing back control.

He was grim. ‘It's like you're tainted by his deeds—no matter what you do to try and distance yourself. It's a tattoo on your skin—for ever. And I failed the test. I proved I was no better than my father—a man who debased a sweet, innocent woman from a foreign country and all but dumped her by the road when she needed him most.'

His words sank heavily into the silence, and just like that Sylvie saw Arkim's intense personal struggle. Saw why he'd always reacted so strongly to her. She understood now how very attractive a respectable marriage would be—it would offer him everything he'd never had. It all made sense. And her heart ached.

The approach of another staff member broke the bubble surrounding them. The man said something to Arkim that Sylvie couldn't understand. She was reeling with all this new information, feeling such a mix of things that she hardly knew how to assimilate it all.

The man left and Arkim turned to her, his face expressionless again, as if he
hadn't
just punched a hole in her chest with his revelations.

‘There are some nomads who want to meet with me. You should rest for a while—it's the hottest part of the day.'