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Sylvie glanced at Arkim’s frown and slightly incredulous expression and wondered why she was surprised at his assumption that she would have. ‘No, I haven’t taken a penny from my father since I left home. I’m very proud of the money I make—it’s not much, but it’s mine and it’s hard-earned.’
He schooled his expression. This information put everything he knew about Sylvie on its head and pricked his conscience. It was so completely opposite to everything he’d always assumed about her: that she was a trust fund kid, petulant and bored, seeking to disgrace her family just because she could. It sounded as if she’d sought refuge in Paris out of rebellion, yes, but also because she’d more or less been pushed away.
Very aware of that direct gaze on him, he said a little gruffly, ‘You should rest for a bit—it’ll take another hour or so to get there.’
Sylvie’s eyes flashed at his clear dismissal of the subject, but gradually the tense lines of her body relaxed and she curled her legs up on the seat. Her head drifted to one side, long red hair trailing down over her shoulder.
Her lashes were long and dark against her cheeks. She wore no make-up, and Arkim noticed a smattering of small, almost undetectable freckles across the bridge of her nose. Had that been the sun? Because he didn’t remember seeing them before. They gave her an air of innocence that compounded the naivety he’d seen in her dancing.
His chest felt tight. He looked back to the desert road, feeling slightly panicked. He shouldn’t have indulged his base desire like this. He’d already behaved completely out of character by bringing her to Al-Omar in the first place—like some medieval overlord. He should have called the helicopter and got them both back to civilisation. He’d made his point—he’d demonstrated his anger.
But his hands gripped the steering wheel tight and he kept on driving. Because he wasn’t ready to call it quits, to let her go. And she’d made a very clear choice to stay, and the triumph he’d felt in that moment still beat in his blood. Why would he turn back now, when they could exorcise this lust between them and get on with their lives?
* * *
‘We’re here.’
Sylvie opened her eyes and looked out of her window, straightening up in her seat as wonder and awe filled her. Maybe she was still dreaming? Because this was paradise. They were surrounded by lush greenery—greener than anything she’d ever seen before.
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 c
ould 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?’
