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After a few more minutes of discussion Arkim ended the call. He was on a horse, on a sand dune, looking down over the oasis.
He could see Sylvie’s bright red hair as she played with a group of the nomad children, chasing them. He could hear their squeals of delight from here. Her skin had taken on a golden glow and more delicate freckles, in spite of the high-factor sun cream he insisted she wear every day.
He felt himself smiling, and a sense of deep contentment was flowing over him and through him. Along with that piquant edge of desire never far from the surface whether Sylvie was in sight or not.
His smile faded when he thought of that first night again. He’d been convinced he’d have to take them both back to civilisation after she’d walked out on him— justifiably—with all the hauteur of a queen. What she’d told him about the legacy of her father had eaten away at his guts like acid: ‘When you’ve protected yourself against rejection your whole life it’s almost a relief not to have to fear it any more.’ But ultimately he hadn’t been strong enough to walk away. Or to send her away. So he’d been selfish. And taken her for himself.
And even though she’d told him so fiercely, ‘You’re not your father...’ he was afraid that he was. That he still had some deep flaw inside him. Yet somehow, right now, looking down at that bright head, the assertion didn’t sting as much as it usually did.
He’d always ensured his lovers never strayed beyond the firm boundaries he laid down. He always went to their places, or met them in hotels. He never brought them to his personal space. Never encouraged them to talk of personal matters.
And he never spirited them away to a desert oasis to lose himself in their bodies before he went crazy...
‘Are you planning on dropping off the radar for good?’
It suddenly struck him: what the hell was he doing? His smile faded completely and he went cold inside. His reputation still hung in the balance, and it was thanks to that woman’s actions. He’d meted out his vengeance. He’d had her under him, begging for release. But not for forgiveness. At what point had Arkim forgotten that?
Around the first time Sylvie opened her legs to you...
It started hitting him like a series of blows about the head and face. Just how much he’d let her in. Just how much he’d told her. And all because since the moment she’d arrived she’d been nothing like he’d expected. The biggest revelation of all having been her innocence. Her physical innocence.
He had to force himself to acknowledge now that that was as far as her innocence went. She still hadn’t told him her reasons for disrupting the wedding that day.
Something trickled down his neck and spine. A sense of having been monumentally naive. Moments ago— before Arkim had had that phone conversation—he’d been contemplating what might happen after Al-Omar. He’d contemplated keeping Sylvie on as his lover. Because he didn’t see an end in sight to this ravenous desire. The more he had of her, the more he wanted.
From his vantage point now he could see the children scattering as someone called them, the cry lifted on the wind.
Sylvie stood and looked up to where he was, shaded her eyes. Arkim felt her pull even from here as the breeze moulded the long tunic she wore to her body, showing off the curves of her high, full breasts.
He imagined a scenario of returning to civilisation and allowing Sylvie to slip under his skin even more indelibly. She was the last woman he needed in his life right now—right when everything hung in the balance because of her.
With a sharp kick of his heel on his horse’s flank he made his way back to the oasis. He knew what he had to do.
* * *
‘Look! It’s a puppy with eyes like mine!’
Sylvie was sitting cross-legged outside Arkim’s tent, more happy than she cared to admit to see him returning from
his satellite phone call, even if he did look very grim. She held up a squirming bundle of white fur with a tail, yapping intermittently.
Arkim crouched down and Sylvie held it so he could see the puppy’s brown and blue eyes. There was something about Arkim’s grimness that made her say nervously, ‘Sadim, one of the younger boys, showed him to me. They were excited because of the similarity...the eye discolouration.’
He straightened up again. ‘You shouldn’t be handling it—dogs around here are feral.’
Sylvie’s sense of something being wrong increased. Arkim’s tone was harsh in a way she hadn’t heard in days.
She stood up too, cradling the dog against her chest, feeling at a disadvantage. ‘He’s not feral...he’s gorgeous.’
The small boy Sylvie had spoken of hovered nearby. With a brusque movement Arkim gestured him over. He took the puppy out of Sylvie’s arms, his hands brushing against her breasts perfunctorily, and handed it back to the boy, saying something that made the boy look at him as if he’d just kicked the puppy before he ran off.
Sylvie stared at him. ‘What did you do that for?’
Arkim was definitely harsh now. ‘Because we don’t have time for this. It’s time to leave... I have to return to London.’
‘Oh, is everything okay?’ Sylvie struggled to assimilate Arkim’s change in mood and this news.
‘I’ve arranged for the helicopter to come for you in a couple of hours. Halima will ensure your bags from the castle are on board.’
