Awakened by Her Desert Captor Page 4

  Arkim’s face was scarily expressionless. It made her want to reach across and slap him, to see some kind of reaction.

  ‘Your job is unaffected. Your boss has been recompensed very generously for the use of your time. So much so, in fact, that I believe he can finally start the renovations he’s been wanting to do for years. As a result of my generous donation the revue is actually closing for a month from next week, while they do the work.’

  She had to choke back a lurch of even greater panic; it was common knowledge how much Pierre wanted to renovate—he’d been begging for loans from banks for months. And this would be perfect timing...before the high tourist season.

  She spluttered. ‘Pierre would never let one of his girls go off on an assignment alone. He’ll raise hell when I don’t return, no matter how much you’ve offered him!’

  Arkim smiled, and it was cold. ‘Pierre is like anyone else in this world—mesmerised when large sums of money are mentioned. He’s been assured that your services are required as dance teacher to one of the Sheikh’s daughters and her friends, who want to learn the western way of dancing. The fact that you’re here with me instead is something he doesn’t need to be aware of.’

  Sylvie folded her arms, trying to not let on how scared she was. She injected mockery into her voice. ‘I’m surprised. I would have thought your morals wouldn’t allow you to come within ten feet of me—much less arrange a private performance.’

  Arkim was no longer smiling. ‘I’m prepared to risk a little moral corruption for what I want—and I want you.’

  She sucked in a breath at hearing him declare it so baldly. ‘I should have known you’d have no scruples. So you’ve effectively bought me? Like some kind of call girl?’

  Arkim’s mouth curled up into that cruel smile again. ‘Come now...we both know that that’s not so far from the truth of what you are.’

  This time Sylvie couldn’t hold back. She was across the seat and launching herself at Arkim, hand outstretched, ready to strike, when he caught her wrists in his hands. They were like steel manacles, and she fell heavily against his body.

  Instantly awareness sparked to life, infusing her veins with heat and electricity. Even now, when she was in the grip of panic and anger.

  ‘Let me go.’

  Arkim’s jaw was like granite, and this close she could see the depths of anger banked deep in his eyes. He was livid. She felt a quiver of real fear—even though, perversely, she knew he wouldn’t hurt her physically.

  ‘No way. We have unfinished business and we’re not leaving this place until it’s done.’

  Sylvie was excruciatingly aware of her body, pressed to Arkim’s much harder and more powerful one. Of the way her breasts were crushed against him, as they’d been crushed against him once before...when he’d thrust her back from him and looked at her as if she’d given him a contagious disease.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ she asked, hating the tremor in her voice.

  The expression in his eyes changed for the first time, flashing with a heat that Sylvie felt deep in her belly.

  ‘What I’m talking about is the fact that I’m going to have you—over and over again—for however long it takes until I can think straight again.’ A note of unmistakable bitterness entered his voice. ‘You’ve done it, Sylvie—you’ve got me.’

  She finally broke free from Arkim’s grip and sat back, as far away as she could. ‘I don’t want you.’ Liar, whispered an inner voice. She ignored it. She hated Arkim Al-Sahid. ‘As soon as this car stops I’m out of here, and you can’t stop me.’

  Arkim merely looked amused. ‘Each time we’ve met you’ve demonstrated how much you want me, so protesting otherwise won’t work now. Where we’re going has no public transport, and it would take you about a week to walk to B’harani—days in any other direction before you hit civilisation.’

  Sylvie crossed her arms over her chest, a feeling of claustrophobia threatening to strangle her. ‘This is ridiculous.’ The thought of being alone with this man in some remote desert for the next two weeks was overwhelming. ‘You can’t force me to do anything I don’t want to do, you know.’

  He looked at her, and there was something so explicit in his gaze that she felt herself blushing.

  ‘I won’t need to use force, Sylvie.’

  And just like that the humiliation she’d felt that night in the study of her father’s house came back and rolled over her like a wave.

  She fought it. ‘This just proves how little you really felt for my sister. Hurting me will only hurt her.’

  The expression on Arkim’s face became incredulous at the mention of Sophie ‘You dare speak to me of hurting your sister? When you were the one who callously humiliated her in public?’

  Words of defence trembled on Sylvie’s tongue, but she bit them back. She would never betray her sister’s confidence. Sophie had just been a pawn to him. It never would have worked. She had to remember that. She’d done the right thing.

  But then she saw something in the distance and became distracted.

  Arkim followed her gaze and said, ‘Ah, we’re here.’

  Here was another, even smaller airfield, with a sleek black helicopter standing ready.

  Slightly hysterically Sylvie remembered something she’d learnt when she’d taken self-defence classes after a—luckily—minor mugging in Paris. The tutor had told the class the importance of not letting an attacker take you to another location at all costs. Because if he did get you to another place, then your chances of survival were dramatically cut down.

  It would appear to be common sense, but the tutor had told them numerous stories of people who had been so frightened they’d just let themselves be taken to another place, when they should always have tried to get away during the initial attack.

  And okay, so technically Arkim wasn’t attacking Sylvie, but she knew that if she got into that helicopter her chances of emerging from this encounter unscathed were nil.

  The car came to a stop and he looked at her. ‘Time to go.’

  Sylvie shook her head. ‘I’m not getting out. I’m staying in this car and it’s going to take me back to wherever we landed. Or to B’harani. I hear it’s a nice city—I’d like to visit.’

  She hoped the desperation she was feeling wasn’t evident.

  He turned to face her more fully. ‘This car is driven by a man who speaks only one language, and it’s not yours. He answers to me—no one else.’

  The sheer hardness of Arkim’s expression told her she was on a hiding to nothing. A sense of futility washed over her. She wouldn’t win this round.

  ‘Where is it that you’re proposing to take me?’

  ‘It’s a house I own on the Arabian coast. North of B’harani and one hundred miles from the border of Burquat. Merkazad is in a westerly direction, about six hundred miles.’

  The geographical details somehow made Sylvie feel calmer, even though she still had no real clue where they were. She’d heard of these places, but never been.

  Something occurred to her. ‘This...’ her mouth twisted ‘...this fee you’ve paid Pierre. I assume it’s conditional on my agreeing to this farcical non-existent dance tuition?’

  Arkim nodded. ‘That’s good business sense, I think you’ll agree.’

  Sylvie wanted to tell him where he could stick his business sense, but she refrained. She didn’t doubt that there really was no option but to go with Arkim. For now.

  ‘Once we’re at this...this place, you won’t force me to do anything I don’t want to?’

  Arkim shook his head, eyes gleaming with a disturbing light. ‘No, Sylvie. There will be no force involved. I’m not into sadism.’

  His smug arrogance made her want to try and slap him again. Instead, she sent him a wide, sunny, smile. ‘You know, work has been so crazy busy lately
I’m actually looking forward to an all-expenses-paid break. The fact that I have to share space with you is unfortunate, but I’m sure we can stay out of each other’s way.’

  Arkim just smiled slowly, and with an air of sensual menace, as if he knew just how flimsy her bravado was.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  * * *

  Sylvie had never been in a helicopter before, and she’d been more mesmerised than she cared to admit by the way the desert dunes had unfolded beneath them, undulating into the distance like the sinuous curves of a body. It all seemed utterly foreign and yet captivating to her.

  Her stomach was only just beginning to climb back down from her throat when she heard a deep voice in her ear through the headphones.

  ‘That’s my house, Al-Hibiz, directly down and to your left.’

  Sylvie looked down and her breath was taken away. House? This was no house. It looked like a small but formidable castle, complete with ramparts and flat roofs. It was distinctly Arabic in style, with ochre-coloured walls. Within those walls she could see lush gardens, and in the distance the Arabian sea sparkled. What looked like an oasis lay far off in the distance, a spot of deep green. It was like something out of a fairytale.

  It distracted her from the shock she still felt after realising that Arkim was co-piloting the helicopter, and the way his hands had lingered as he’d strapped her in, those fingers resting far too close to her breasts under her thin T-shirt.

  He should have looked ridiculous, getting into the cockpit still dressed in his suit, against the backdrop of the stark desert, but he hadn’t. He’d looked completely at home, powerful and utterly in control.

  And now the helicopter was descending onto a flat area just outside the walls of the castle, which looked much bigger from this vantage point.

  Sylvie could see robed men waiting, holding on to their long garments and the turbans on their heads as the helicopter kicked up sand and wind. When the craft bounced gently onto the earth she breathed out a deep sigh of relief, unaware of how tense she’d been.

  The helicopter blades stopped turning and a delicious silence settled over them for a moment, before Arkim got out and the men approached. She watched as he greeted the men heartily in a guttural language that still managed to sound melodic, a wide smile on his face.

  It took her breath away. It was the first genuine smile she’d ever seen on his face. Admittedly their previous encounters hadn’t exactly been conducive to such a reaction. Not unless she counted that sexy smile when his hand had explored between her legs—

  ‘Time to get out, Sylvie. I’m afraid the chopper has to go back and you’re not going to be in it.’

  She scowled, hating to be caught out in such a memory. She fumbled with the seat belt and swatted his hand away when he would have helped. Eventually it came undone and she extricated her arms, unaware of how the movement pulled her T-shirt taut over her breasts, or of how Arkim’s dark gaze settled there for a moment with a flash of hunger. If she’d seen that she might well have barricaded herself into the helicopter, come hell or high water.

  But then she was out, and swaying a little unsteadily on the firm sun-baked ground.

  Staff dressed in white rushed to and fro, loading luggage into the back of a small people carrier, and then Arkim was leading Sylvie over to what looked like a luxurious golf buggy. He indicated for her to get in, and after a moment’s futile rebellion she did so.

  She really was stuck here now—with him.

  He got in beside her and drove the small open-sided vehicle to the entrance of the castle, where huge wooden doors were standing open. They entered a beautiful airy courtyard, with a fountain in the centre. A deliciously cool gentle mist of moisture settled on her skin from the spray.

  But the vehicle had stopped now, and Arkim was at her side, holding out a hand. Sylvie ignored it and stepped out, not wanting to see what would undoubtedly be a mocking look on his face.

  When he didn’t move, though, she had to look at him. He gestured with a hand and—damn him—a mocking smile.

  ‘Welcome to my home, Sylvie. I expect our time here to be...cathartic.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  SYLVIE PACED BACK and forth in the rooms she’d been shown to by Arkim. Cathartic! The arrogant, patronising son-of-a—

  A knock sounded on the door and she halted, her breathing erratic. Her hands balled into fists at her sides—she wasn’t ready to see Arkim again.

  Cautiously she approached the ornately decorated door and opened it, ready to do battle, only to find two pretty, smiling women on the other side. They had her two wheelie suitcases. One filled with now redundant dance costumes, the other with her own clothes.

  She forced a smile and stood back. They entered meekly and she observed their pristine white dresses. Like long tunics. They wore white head coverings too, but not veils obscuring their faces. They looked cool and fresh, and Sylvie felt sticky and gritty after the tumultuous day.

  As they were leaving again one of the girls stopped and said shyly, ‘I’m Halima. If you need anything just pick up the phone and I will come to you.’

  She ducked her head and then was gone, leaving Sylvie feeling a little slack-jawed. She had her own maid?

  Arkim had left her here with a curt instruction to rest and said that he’d let her know when dinner would be ready. Sylvie could see the sky outside turning blood-red from the setting sun, and for the first time took in the sheer opulence of the rooms.

  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 pare
nts 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.’