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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
SYLVIE 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.
