Awakened by Her Desert Captor (13 page)

Sylvie felt his dismissal like a glancing blow, but before she could say a word Arkim was striding away. A middle-aged woman dressed all in black appeared by her side. She had a smiling face and kind eyes. She said something Sylvie couldn't understand and gestured for Sylvie to follow her. With no other choice, she did, and was led to the smaller of the two big tents.

The woman slipped off her shoes before she went in so Sylvie copied her, not wanting to cause any offence.

It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darker interior, and when they had her jaw dropped. It was refreshingly cooler inside, and the entire floor area was covered in oriental rugs, each in a more lavish design than the last. Her toes curled at the sensation of the expensive material under her feet...it was like silk.

The tent was simply the most decadent thing Sylvie had ever seen. Dark and full of lustrous materials. Huge soft cushions around a low coffee table; a dressing screen with intricate Chinese drawings. Beautiful lamps threw out soft lights...drawing the eye to the most focal point of the tent: the bed.

It was on a raised platform in the centre of the room. It was a four-poster, with heavy drapes pulled back at each corner. More cushions in lush jewel colours were strewn artfully across the pillows, and the sheets—Sylvie reached out to touch them—they were made of satin and silk. The bed was a byword in shameless opulence.

Sylvie caught the older woman's eye. She was looking at her with a very knowing glint. There was obviously only one reason for Sylvie to be here with the Sheikh.

She blushed furiously, squirming on the spot, and suffered through being shown the bathroom—another eye-poppingly sensual space, complete with a huge copper claw-footed bath—and tried not to die of embarrassment.

When the woman had left, Sylvie paced back and forth, expecting to see Arkim darken the tent's doorway at any moment. She felt panic at the thought of seeing him again. When he didn't appear she sank down into a chair near the bottom of the bed and glared balefully at the entrance of the tent for a few minutes. She realised that Arkim had really meant her to have a nap. He wasn't coming.

A sense of disappointment cut through all the other emotions, mocking her. The last thing she felt like doing was napping—she was so keyed up, her mind racing. But when she got up and sat down on the edge of the sumptuous bed it seemed to draw her into the centre, cushioning her like a cloud.

The last thing she remembered before sleep claimed her was vowing to herself that she would absolutely
not
think again about what he'd just told her—because that way lay all sorts of danger, and feelings that made her far too susceptible to the man.

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
YLVIE
WOKE
SOME
time later with a jolt. She'd been having a horrible dream about hundreds of naked faceless people with bare limbs entwined—so much so that she couldn't tell where one person ended and another began. She was tiny in the dream, and trying to find a way out, but gradually getting more and more suffocated...

She scowled and stretched out her stiff limbs. So much for not thinking about what Arkim had told her. She shook off the disturbing tendrils of the dream and looked around, taking in the fact that someone must have come into the tent and lit some more lights.
Arkim?
The thought made her heart beat faster.

She went into the bathing area and, feeling sticky, took off her clothes and dropped them to the floor. She stepped under the shower, which was in a large private cubicle near the bath and open to the elements. Twilight was just starting to turn the sky dusky, and Sylvie couldn't help but be affected by the magic of the place as the deliciously warm water sluiced down over her head and body.

Eventually she switched off the shower, dragged a towel around herself and twisted up her damp hair. She found a robe hanging on the back of the dressing screen. It was a beautiful emerald-green colour, silk—light as a feather. Slipping it on, she relished its coolness against her skin.

And then she went to the door of the tent and looked out. Twilight was descending around the camp in earnest now, bathing it in a gorgeous lilac light. She didn't see anyone moving, but could hear low voices in the distance and smell something cooking. No sign of Arkim. She didn't like the hollow feeling that brought with it. Only a couple of hours ago she'd been ready to leave, and then he'd told her...so much.

She thought of the pool she'd seen when they'd arrived and slipped her shoes on to explore. The air was sultry and warm, even though the intensity of the day had diminished. When she came close to the beautifully peaceful pool she pushed aside foliage and then she stopped dead in her tracks, her heart in her mouth, because it was occupied.

By a butt-naked Arkim.

He stood in the shallows, and all she could see were the firm globes of a very muscular bottom as he bent and threw water over his head. Water ran in rivulets down his back. And then he stood straight and tensed. He'd sensed her. Sylvie stopped breathing. She knew she should turn and run. Do something. But she couldn't move.

And then he turned around.

His hair was slicked back, and he was...
magnificent
. Sylvie had seen plenty of naked male bodies—working at the revue and helping people change between numbers meant personal modesty quickly became a thing of the past. But she'd never seen a man like this. He looked as if he'd been carved out of rock. His chest was broad and leanly muscled. His chest hair was dark and dusted over his pectorals before dissecting his chest and abs to lead down to slim hips and...

Sylvie's heart was beating so fast she wasn't sure how she was still standing. Arkim's penis twitched under her gaze, the shaft getting harder as she watched, rising from the thicket of dark hair between his powerfully muscled thighs.

Somehow she dragged her gaze up and his dark eyes were on her, molten... The very air seemed to contract around them.

When she'd first seen him he'd been dressed in that three-piece suit, all buttoned up. Here, now, he was stripped bare. Without the armour that told the world he was different, respectable. To Sylvie there was something very poignant about finding Arkim like this, naked.

He stepped out of the pool and gracefully bent down to pick up a piece of material and wrap it around his waist. Sylvie was barely aware. Her entire body and mind was focused solely on this man, on this moment. It throbbed with potential.

She realised with a stunning flash of clarity that she wanted to give herself to him—this man who had never had a moment of purity in his life. Who'd seen things at a young age that had darkened his view of the world for ever.

It was the one thing she had—her innocence. And with every fibre of her being she wanted to gift it to
him
. As if she could assuage the raw edges she'd seen earlier.

Arkim walked up to her and Sylvie's eyes stayed on his, unblinking. She was drawing confidence from his obvious arousal and his intentness on her.

He looked almost ferocious, every line of his body and face unyielding. ‘What do you want, Sylvie?'

It wasn't just a question. It was almost a demand.

Sylvie spoke what was in her heart and soul. And in her body. ‘I want
you
, Arkim.'

He came closer and lifted a hand, undoing the pin holding up her damp hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. He put his hands on her arms and pulled her closer. Closer to that bare wet chest. Until they were touching. Until the points of her breasts hurt with the need to press against him more fully. His erection pushed against her lower belly and excitement flooded her, making her ready.

‘Arkim...' she said, not even sure what she was asking for. Why wasn't he taking her right now? Making the most of his conquering?

‘You're sure you want this?'

Sylvie hadn't been expecting this consideration. Another dangerously tender emotion ran through her. She didn't hesitate. She moved closer, feeling the delicious press of her breasts against him.

‘Yes.'

Just one word. Simple, but devastating.

In a rush of emotion she said, ‘I want to give you—' But she stopped, not sure how to articulate exactly what she
did
want to give him. So she just said a little lamely, ‘I want to give you myself.'

Arkim's hands were so tight on her arms it almost hurt, but then they relaxed marginally and he bent down for a moment. She felt herself being lifted into his arms, against his chest, and he walked back the way she'd come.

One of her arms was tight around his neck and she ducked her head into his chest, eyes shut tight. Her other hand was on her robe, holding it together. She didn't want to catch the knowing eyes of that woman, or anyone else. She felt too raw and needy.

And also dangerously cossetted, held in his arms like this.

She pushed down all the tangled emotional implications of how she was feeling and focused on the urgent hunger racing through her blood.

When everything felt cooler and darker Sylvie knew that they'd entered an interior space and opened her eyes again. It had to be Arkim's tent—similar to hers, but bigger, more masculine, with bolder colours. And the bed in the centre of the tent was...huge.

Arkim carried her over and put her down on her feet by the side of it. She avoided looking at it by looking at him.

He cupped her face with his hand. ‘I've wanted you from the moment I saw you. I saw it as a weakness, as something to be denied...but not any more.'

Sylvie felt vulnerable. She believed him, and his words had all sorts of implications she couldn't think about right now.

Acting on impulse, she raised herself on tiptoe and put her arms around his neck. ‘Stop talking...you're ruining the moment.'

Arkim smiled, and it was devilish. It made something soar inside her.

He tugged the belt on Sylvie's robe and it fell open. She unwrapped her arms from his neck and stood before him, heart palpitating wildly as Arkim pushed the robe apart, revealing her naked body to his dark gaze.

He looked at her for a long moment, until Sylvie could start to feel herself trembling lightly. She was someone who knew her own body intimately, as any dancer would, but right now it felt foreign, and she was insecure.

‘You're shaking.'

She looked at him and tried a smile. ‘You're quite intimidating.'

Arkim's answer to that was to take off the material around his waist before he pushed her robe off her shoulders so that it fell down her arms and to the floor.

‘Now we're equal.'

Those words impacted deep inside her. All along she'd fought a battle with this man not to let him make her feel inferior, less than him. The moment was heady.

Arkim turned then, taking her with him as he moved closer to the bed. Sylvie was unbalanced and fell against him, but he caught her easily and drew her down with him, so they landed on the soft surface in a sprawl of limbs.

She was lying on top of his hard body, every inch of her flesh coming into contact with his. She felt dizzy. And then Arkim's hands were smoothing down her bare back and cupping her buttocks, pulling her thighs apart so that they lay either side of his hips.

His mouth reached up to hers and Sylvie felt her hair fall over her shoulders, screening them as she fell into the kiss...wet and rough and intoxicating.

After more long, languorous kisses Arkim moved, so that Sylvie was now the one on her back, and he loomed over her, huge and awe-inspiring in the gloom of the tent. One of his thighs was between her legs and he moved it against her, making her body twitch and ache. The friction caused a delicious tension to coil inside her and she bit her lip.

Arkim's gaze roved over her body hungrily. ‘You are more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.'

Sylvie shook her head, feeling breathless because of what was happening between her legs. ‘No...
you're
beautiful.'

But he didn't seem to be listening. He was transfixed by her breasts, cupping one now, so that the hard point pouted upwards wantonly. He lowered his head and blew gently on it, making her tingle and ache for more, and then his mouth was on her, and that wicked tongue, flicking and sucking on the turgid flesh.

Her hands were in his hair, fingers funnelling deep, holding him to her. Her back was arched and she was fast losing any sense of reason. Or maybe she'd lost it when she'd laid eyes on this man for the first time. Anyway, it was gone.

He lavished attention on both breasts until they ached and felt swollen, and then his mouth was moving down...over her belly and lower. Sylvie only realised her hands were still on his head when he reached up to take them away. Taking both her hands in one of his, he held them captive over her belly.

Now she really was at his mercy. He moved lower, the bulk of his body forcing her legs apart.

Sylvie lifted her head and looked down. ‘Arkim...' Her voice sounded rough, broken. Taut with need.

He looked up at her and said, ‘Shh...'

Sylvie's head was too heavy. She let it fall back just as he released her hands, and then both of his hands were on her buttocks, lifting her to his mouth, where his tongue explored the damp folds of her sex, laying her so open she couldn't bear it.

She had to bite down on a fist when she felt his tongue surge deep inside her, and then his teeth were nipping... The tension was coiling so tightly now she thought she might have to scream to release the pressure, and he was relentless.

Sylvie was vaguely aware of bucking towards him mindlessly—and then he reached up and squeezed her breast, and she exploded into a million tiny pieces of pleasure so intense that she couldn't breathe or see.

She'd orgasmed before—you couldn't work in her industry and remain completely unaware of taking pleasure—but it had always been by her own hand, and never this...
mind-blowing
. She'd actually thought it was overrated. Evidently she'd been doing it all wrong, she thought dreamily as her body floated back to earth slowly, lusciously.

She was aware of him moving aside momentarily, with an intense focus in his movements, and then he was back, coming over her and leaning on both arms, the muscles bunched and taut.

Sylvie felt him lodge himself between her legs, and then the potent thrust of his erection against the sensitised folds of her sex. For a moment she thought it might be too soon, that she couldn't possibly— But then he hitched himself against her, the head of his erection sliding tantalisingly between those folds, and her whole body quivered with anticipation.

Instinctively she put her hands on Arkim's arms, as if to hold on for the ride, and her legs opened wider in tacit acceptance.

* * *

Sylvie's eyes were huge, staring up at him as if he knew all the secrets of the universe. Arkim didn't know how he hadn't already spilled onto the sheets, like the virginal teenager he'd been all those years ago, when he'd felt her body convulse in spasms of pleasure. But somehow he hadn't...and now he was on the very edge of his control as he felt her body accept his.

He started to sink into her tight, silken hot sheath.

Her
very
hot and
very
tight sheath.

In fact as Arkim's body sought to go deeper he realised that Sylvie's body was tight against him in a way he'd never encountered before...

His brain was overheating, his body screaming for a release of the tension, and those huge limpid eyes were still staring up at him. The hard tips of her breasts scraping against his chest.

Arkim was about to lose it...the heady scent of musk and sex urged him on. He gritted his jaw and thrust hard—and went nowhere.

He heard Sylvie's swift, sharp intake of breath and looked down. His brain was feeling too hot, too fuzzy to try and figure out what was wrong. But something
was
wrong. Very wrong.

Moments ago Sylvie had been flushed with pleasure. Now she looked pale and clammy. Shocked. She was biting her lip and her eyes shone with...
tears
?

Arkim's insides seemed to drop from a height. But even as suspicion crept in he fought the knowledge... She was just small—that was it. A lot smaller than he'd realised she was.

He clenched his buttocks, trying to forge a passage, and Sylvie's hands gripped his like steel clamps, her nails digging into his muscles.

‘Stop—please! It
hurts
.'

And the truth resounded in Arkim's head like a klaxon going off.
Virgin. Innocent.