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He moved close enough to reach out and trail a finger down over her cheek and jaw, and said softly, ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what you do do.’
She slapped his hand down, terrified of the way his touch made her melt so easily. Terrified he’d kiss her again. ‘And why on earth should I do anything you ask me to?’
Arkim’s jaw clenched, and then he said baldly, ‘Because you owe
me, and I’m collecting.’
* * *
The following evening Halima held up one of Sylvie’s rhinestone-encrusted outfits and stroked it reverently. ‘This is so beautiful.’
The thought of the robed young woman wearing it, baring her skin so comprehensively, made Sylvie feel a little uncomfortable, and she gently took the garment out of Halima’s hands to hang it up, along with the other costumes the girl had insisted on taking out of her suitcase.
She hadn’t been able to eat since breakfast that morning, and her belly had been doing somersaults all day at the thought of dancing for Arkim. She’d realised that of course he’d be expecting her to rebel, refuse. And then maybe he’d initiate another cosy dinner and tell her more things about himself that would put her on uneven ground where her feelings towards him were concerned.
As she’d lain in bed last night and gone over everything he’d told her she had found her antipathy hard to cling on to. So she’d decided to keep him at arm’s length and do the opposite of what he was expecting and dance for him. She realised with some level of dark irony that if he was reverse psychoanalysing her, then it was working.
And if Sylvie was being completely honest with herself, a part of her still wanted to provoke Arkim—make him admit that he was just like everyone else.
It was that damned icy façade of his that had sneaked under her skin and made her want to break it apart as soon as he’d looked at her for the first time with such disdain. And where had breaking that control apart got her? To one of the hottest places on earth. About to strip herself bare in front of a man who wanted her, yet despised her.
Words trembled on Sylvie’s tongue. Words to instruct Halima to go and tell the Sheikh that she wasn’t available this evening after all. But she couldn’t back down now.
She surveyed herself in the mirror as Halima clipped a veil behind her head, obscuring her mouth, so only her heavily kohled eyes were visible. Her hair was tucked and hidden under another veil.
Sylvie wondered if Arkim would appreciate the fact that the act she’d decided to do was based on the story of Scheherazade. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d be amused.
She took a deep breath and turned to Halima. ‘Now all I need is a sword...do you think you can find one here?’
The young girl thought for a moment, then brightened. ‘Yes!’
* * *
Anticipation lay heavy and thick in Arkim’s bloodstream as he waited for Sylvie to appear. He’d given instructions for her to be brought to one of the ceremonial rooms, where traditionally the Sheikh would greet and entertain his important guests. The room was open to the elements behind Arkim. Lanterns lit the space with golden flickering shadows.
Just then he noticed that a strong gust of wind whipping through the open space had almost put out one of the candles. The storm. It was coming. It made Arkim feel reckless. Wild. He’d gone out on Aziz earlier that day, tracking it, seeing the wind pick up. The stallion had moved skittishly, wanting to get back to cover.
There was a raised marble dais in the centre of the room, where the Sheikh would usually sit to greet his guests, and it was also sometimes used for ceremonial performances and dances. Arkim didn’t doubt that he was about to bring this space into serious disrepute by having Sylvie dance here, but he couldn’t seem to care too much.
He took a sip of his wine. Where was she? He tensed at the thought that she was defying him again.
Just as he was about to put down his glass and stand up and go to her, his blood fizzing, she appeared. She was slight and lissom...in bare feet. Arkim blinked as blood roared up into his head and south to another part of his anatomy.
She didn’t look in his direction or acknowledge him as she stepped up onto the dais. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. She was wearing gold figure-hugging trousers that were flared at the ends and partially slit up the sides, embellished with jewels and lace. They sat low on her hips, along with a belt from which tassels dropped and moved and swayed with her body.
Her middle was toned and bare, and encircled with a delicate gold chain that sat just above the curve of her hips. A cropped black top with long trailing sleeves was tied in the front, between her breasts, worn over a gold-coloured and very ornate-looking bra.
Her breasts were...perfection. Full and luscious, beautifully shaped. Her provocative cleavage was framed by the top.
She still hadn’t even so much as flicked a glance in his direction, and he noticed properly for the first time that the lower half of her face was obscured by a black veil, and that a black covering also hid her hair. Arkim wanted to rip it off and see those red tresses tumbling around her shoulders.
All that was visible of her face were her heavily kohled eyes. She was bending down now, doing something with speakers, and then a slow, sultry and distinctly Arabic beat filled the space.
Arkim’s eyes widened when he saw her pick up a large curved sabre—he’d been too distracted to notice it before. He frowned. It looked disturbingly like the one that hung in the exhibition room that housed all his precious antiques and old weapons.
Sylvie faced away from him now, and all he could see was the tempting curve of her buttocks, the tantalising line of her waist and hips, and that gold chain glinting in the flickering glow of the lamps. And then she lifted the sword high in her hands over her head and slowly turned to face him. Those distinctive eyes met his, and she started to move sinuously to the beat of the music.
And Arkim’s brain stuttered to a halt.
