Awakened by Her Desert Captor (18 page)

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.

She looked up, expecting it to be someone he knew. But the men were looking at
her
. At her body. At her breasts. Before Sylvie had even assessed the situation properly, icy-cold humiliation was crawling up her spine.

‘Well, well, well...it's your favourite L'Amour revue artist, James.'

CHAPTER TEN

S
YLVIE
RECOGNISED
THEM
—sickeningly. They were regulars at the show—English ex-pats, working in Paris—and one of them had had a brief fling with Giselle, her flatmate. She remembered the guy blearily hopping around their tiny apartment the morning after, looking for his clothes.

Arkim snarled from beside her, ‘She doesn't know who you are—now, get out of our way.'

Now all the men's attention was on Arkim. Sylvie wanted to curl up and die. He looked livid. A muscle throbbed in his jaw.

‘And who are
you
, mate? Are you paying her well for the night? Cos if you've lost interest we'd be more than happy to stump up some cash for a good time.'

One of the others interjected then. ‘She doesn't put out, remember?'

Sylvie felt as if she was in some kind of nightmare. She tried to speak. ‘I'm sorry... I really don't think we've met...' But her voice came out all thready and weak, and now the tallest of the men—still a good few inches shorter than Arkim—was standing toe to toe with him.

‘Think you're some hotshot, eh? Well, it happens that I recognise you too—
you're
the guy that got stood up at the altar.'

‘Oh, God!'
Sylvie hadn't even realised she'd spoken out loud. She felt nauseous.

Arkim let her hand go and pushed her away from him, saying in a voice edged with steel, ‘Get into the car and wait for me—
now
.'

Sylvie started to back away, horror filling her at the murderous look on Arkim's face, but as she turned around one of the men who so far hadn't said anything blocked her.

‘And where do you think
you're
going?'

Sylvie clenched her jaw. ‘Get out of my way.'

He came closer and she could smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. ‘Now, now...that's not nice, is it? I've
seen
you, you know...'

He stroked a finger up her arm and Sylvie fought not to flinch in disgust.

‘You're my favourite of them all...but I'd like to see a lot more of you...'

Sylvie had just positioned her knee for maximum damage, in case he touched her again, and heard an almighty
crack
behind her. She whirled round to see Arkim staggering back, holding a hand up to his eye.

She flew to his side just as the hotel security officers rushed forward. Arkim, still holding a hand to his face, spoke to someone who looked like a manager. The eight or so English guys were rounded up within seconds, and it was only then that Sylvie realised just how drunk they all were, as they were led away with belligerent faces.

Her hand was in Arkim's again, and he was taking her out to the car so fast she had to trot to keep up, holding her dress up. Her stomach was churning painfully, and she breathed out as the car pulled away from the front of the hotel.

She looked at Arkim and winced when she saw his eye, shut tight. She knelt on the seat beside him, swatting aside his hand when he tried to stop her. ‘What happened? How did you get hit?'

He looked at her with his one good eye. ‘I recognised one of the men.'

Sylvie felt shaky. She reached for a bottle of water and unscrewed it, lifting some of the material at the bottom of her dress and wetting it to dab at his eye ineffectually.

‘And?' she prompted, feeling sick all over again.

‘He said something about you that I know isn't true.'

Her insides cramped.

‘I told him that if he didn't take it back I'd spread the word about his out-of-control recreational drug use. So he hit me.'

Sylvie sat back on her heels, anguished. ‘I'm so sorry, Arkim.'

His one good eye glared at her. ‘What are you apologising for?
They
were at fault.'

‘Yes, but if they hadn't recognised me...'

Arkim didn't say anything, and his silence spoke volumes.

With relief Sylvie saw that they were drawing close to the apartment. The traffic at this time of evening was light, and Arkim didn't live far away. The car pulled to a stop and Arkim got out, his movements jerky. Sylvie didn't wait. She clambered out, still holding her dress up in one hand. The feeling of contentment she'd had earlier had been well and truly shattered by a rude awakening.

In the apartment she could hear Arkim moving restlessly around the drawing room, the clatter of the drinks tray. He was angry. She wrapped some ice in a towel and brought it in, saying as authoritatively as she could, ‘Sit down—let me look at you.'

He scowled at her. His jacket was off, his bow tie undone. His eye was closed and swelling. He looked thoroughly disreputable, and it only added to his appeal.

He sat down, legs spread, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. Approaching him, Sylvie felt as if she was approaching a bad-tempered lion. But she did it, and then observed, ‘Your eye isn't bleeding—that's good.'

‘You're a nurse now?'

Sylvie pushed down a flare of irritation at Arkim's snappy mood. ‘No, but I do tend to be the one people come to with minor injuries at work.'

Arkim made a
harumph
sound. Of
course
everyone went to her for treatment at work. He could just imagine her: compassionate, kind, soothing. Yet another unwelcome reminder of how badly he'd misjudged her all along.

He knew he was being a boor, but his gut was still too churned up after the confrontation for him to be sanguine. Sylvie pressed the ice near his eye, and he was aware of her wincing when he sucked in a pained breath.

The words that man had said came back to him:
‘She tastes as sweet as she looks, doesn't she?'

Arkim had had to call on a level of control he'd never used before. And what scared him even now was the instant volcanic jealousy that had swamped him. The tiniest implication that the man had been intimate with Sylvie had been enough to send him into orbit.

He still felt edgy, volatile. Sylvie was kneeling on the couch beside him, the silk of her dress straining across her breasts, outlining their luscious shape. Adrenalin still lingered in Arkim's blood. He needed to channel it...dilute it somehow. Sylvie shifted and her body swayed closer. His arousal spiked, mixing with the adrenalin, making him crave an antidote to this churning in his gut.

He put down his glass of alcohol and reached out and put his hands around Sylvie's waist. She took the ice away and looked at him. Her hair was tumbling over her shoulders, a glossy wave of bright red. She looked concerned. Eyes huge with worry. Remorse.

‘Arkim—'

He took the ice pack out of her hands and threw it aside, then pulled her into him, his intent unmistakable.

Sylvie protested, even though he could feel her breath coming faster, moving her chest against his. ‘You're hurt. We can't—'

He put a finger on her mouth, then cupped the back of her head. In spite of his need to devour, consume, he found that something happened as he touched her mouth with his. The tension in his body was fading away...and he was touching her as reverently as if she was made of china.

She braced herself with her hands on his chest. Desire rose up, fast and urgent, replacing the need to be reverent, and Arkim fumbled clumsily with his clothes and body, sheathing himself with protection. Sylvie rose above him, pulling her dress up, eyes glazed with lust, cheeks flushed.

Arkim tore Sylvie's delicate lace panties off and drew the head of his erection up and down her slick folds, tantalising her, torturing himself, until she was slick and hot. Too impatient to wait, she rose up and took him in her hand, then slowly slid down, taking all of him inside her body. It was so exquisite Arkim had to grit his jaw tightly.

They moved with a kind of slow but languorous intent...rocking, sliding...and when the need became too great Arkim held Sylvie's hips in place and lost himself inside her, burying his head in her breast, feeling her hands on his head, as his soul flew apart and finally he found the oblivion he was looking for.

* * *

A couple of hours later Sylvie was lying on her side, naked, her hands under her face, watching Arkim's chest rise and fall. He'd taken her to bed and made love to her again, and the after-shocks of pleasure still pulsed through her body at intermittent intervals. The intensity of the way he'd taken her on the couch still took her breath away. It was as if he'd been consumed with a kind of fury.

His face was in profile to her, showing the proud line of his nose. From here she couldn't see his injured eye. Sylvie couldn't help but feel that in spite of the passion with which Arkim had taken her just now something had altered since that confrontation at the hotel.

A cold weight settled in her belly as an ugly reminder reared its head. She'd been meaning to discuss something with Arkim for the past couple of days and had been avoiding it like a coward. Because she was afraid that it would prove to be some kind of a test. A test of where she really fitted into his life.

As his chest rose and fell evenly she envied him his peace, when
her
body and brain felt as if they were tying themselves into a million knots. Knowing she wouldn't rest, Sylvie slipped out of bed and got dressed, going into the living room.

She sat cross-legged on the couch and Omar jumped up into her lap. As she petted him absently and looked into the muted darkness she knew that she had no choice but to talk to Arkim. And after what had happened this evening she knew that he would have no hesitation in letting her go. For good, this time.

* * *

Dawn was breaking outside when Arkim woke. His head was throbbing and he wondered why—until he lifted a hand and winced when it came into contact with his black eye.

Sylvie.
Anger jerked him fully awake in an instant. The memory of those men...eating her up with their eyes. And one of them had touched her. He'd seen it. His hands curled into fists just from thinking about it, remembering, his blood pressure increasing.

No woman had ever roused Arkim to the point of wanting to do violence on her behalf. But he'd been ready to take on all those men. His anger had been volcanic. It was something he hadn't felt in a long time...since the day that woman had controlled him for her own amusement and his father had thrown him out like unwanted baggage.

Sylvie.
Arkim looked around. He was alone in the room...no sounds were coming from the bathroom. He wanted her even now, even after making love to her like some kind of feral youth on the couch earlier. Damn her. Would he
ever
not want her?

Not wanting to investigate the way his gut clenched at that prospect, Arkim got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats, feeling as if he'd done about ten rounds in a boxing ring. He frowned as he padded through the apartment, hearing nothing but silence. Not even Omar.

He checked all the rooms and came to the living room last—and finally he saw her. She was standing with her back to the door, looking out of the window. He noticed that she was dressed in jeans and a shirt. There was something tense about the lines of her body that made him stay where he was.

‘You're dressed.'

The lines of Sylvie's body got tenser. She turned around slowly. Her hair was pulled into a low bun at the back of her head. She confounded him—she could go from looking like the sexiest movie star goddess to something like this, much more simple and plain, and yet his body reacted the same way every time.

He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, grateful for the fact that his sweats were loose. His susceptibility to this woman was something that still made him feel uncomfortable. Exposed.

Sylvie's arms were crossed too. ‘There was something I wanted to tell you earlier, but I never got a chance.'

Feeling a flutter of panic, and not liking it, Arkim said, ‘Is it so important it can't wait till later?' He stood up straight and held out a hand. ‘Come back to bed...it's too early for talk.'

Sylvie smiled, but it was touched with something Arkim hadn't seen in some time. Cynicism.

‘No, it can't wait...'

Arkim went over to the drinks cabinet and helped himself to a shot of brandy. He saluted Sylvie. ‘Medicinal purposes.'

She paled at that, and Arkim paused with the glass halfway to his mouth. ‘What is it?'

She looked at him, that blue-green gaze unnervingly direct. ‘Pierre has offered me a bigger role in the show.'

The tight ball in Arkim's gut seemed to ease.
That was it?
‘That sounds good.' So why did she look so serious?

‘It is good... But if I accept it I'll have to take off my clothes for the first time...like the other girls. Pierre has never pressured me about this before... I told you, he's been like a father to me. But he says now that if I want to stay I have to start delivering a fuller performance.'

For a second Arkim just heard a roaring in his ears. Images rushed through his head: Sylvie's pale breasts bared for thousands of people to see... Her perfect body... No wonder her boss wanted to exploit her.

And those men last night...they would look at her—every night if they wished. And taunt Arkim with the knowledge that they'd seen as much of his lover as he had.

He realised his hand had tightened so much around the glass that he risked breaking it. He forced himself to relax, to focus.

Sylvie continued. ‘The truth is that I don't know if I should do it or not. I've been thinking...about doing something else.'

Relief vied with something much darker inside Arkim. Sylvie was looking at him far too carefully. As if his response mattered. As if she wanted him to tell her what to do.

The sheer volatility of his emotions was like acid in his stomach, inhibiting his response. If he told Sylvie he cared what she did she would have control over him...she would know his vulnerability. It would make a statement about what was happening here, would demonstrate a possessiveness of her that had already earned him a black eye. In public. In front of his peers.