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Disappointment was acute. So acute that Arkim knew he had a problem. And what on earth could Sophie Lewis possibly want with the man who had—allegedly—been unfaithful to her with her own sister?
‘Send her up,’ he said grimly.
* * *
Sylvie had finished rehearsals with Pierre and the rest of the revue for the day and had stayed behind at the dance studios to practise on her own for her modern dance class.
She focused on the music and the athletic movements of her body, clad in dance leggings and a cropped tank top. Her hair was up in a high ponytail and her skin was sheened with perspiration from the exertion. But the burn of her muscles and the intense focus was good. Anything to block him and the fact that she would never see him again out of her mind. Block out the fact that he wanted nothing to do with her. That what had happened meant nothing to him...
Sylvie made an awkward move and landed heavily on her foot. Damn. Damn him for invading her thoughts.
She bent down over her foot, but thankfully she hadn’t strained it. They were close to the opening night for the relaunch of the club—Pierre would never forgive her if she injured herself now...especially when she wasn’t even practising the revue’s routines.
She stood up straight in front of the long mirror that spanned one whole wall and stretched her neck. She was about to start at the beginning again when she saw something move, and she looked towards where the door was reflected in the mirror to see a big dark shape.
Arkim.
This was really getting to be too much. Now she was seeing things. She blinked. But he didn’t go away.
The door was pushed open and he walked in. Dressed in dark trousers and a light shirt, sleeves rolled up, top button open. As if he’d just strolled in from a nearby office.
Slowly, eyes widening, Sylvie turned around, half expecting him not to be there when she faced him. But he was. He was real.
To her utter horror she felt a welling of emotion: a mixture of anger, relief and the sheer need to run to him and wrap herself so tightly around him he wouldn’t be able to breathe.
She took a deep, steadying breath, and curled her hands into fists. Had she already forgotten the brutality with which he’d let her go that day at the oasis? Coldly. Summarily.
Praying her voice wouldn’t betray her, and lamenting her less than pristine physical state, she said coolly, ‘Hello, Arkim.’
‘Hello, Sylvie.’
That voice. His voice. It reached inside her and squeezed tight. She remembered him saying Sylvie with a guttural groan as his climax had made his whole body go taut over hers.
‘I can’t imagine that you were just passing.’
Arkim put his hands in his pockets and walked into the room, his every step gracefully athletic. Masculine. He was clean-shaven. And he’d had a haircut.
He was still quite simply the most astoundingly handsome man she’d ever seen.
He stopped a couple of feet away. Close enough for his scent to tickle her nostrils and for her body to go into meltdown at his proximity. Her heart seemed to have been in shock, because it started again at about triple its normal rate.
‘No, I wasn’t just passing. I came especially. To see you.’
She dampened down the surge of excitement. Her hurt at the way he’d sent her off was still acute. She lifted her chin. ‘Why? Did I leave something behind?’
Arkim’s face was impassive, but she saw a muscle work in his jaw. His throat moved. Sylvie could have spent hours just studying every minute part of his olive-skinned anatomy. She had.
‘You could say that. Me.’
Her eyes clashed with the darkest brown. Incredulity made her mouth gape before she found the wherewithal to say, ‘I left you behind?’
‘Yes...’ he breathed, and moved even closer.
His eyes were roving hungrily over her now, making a hot flush spread out all over Sylvie’s body from between her legs. This man had changed her utterly, in so many ways. So much so that the minute Pierre had seen her again the older patriarchal man had looked her up and down and said accusingly, ‘Something’s different...what’s happened to you?’
Sylvie had been mortified beyond belief to think that someone might be able to see what had happened to her. But she could feel it even when she danced. A new awareness of her body...her sexuality.
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Arkim, the architect of all of this. His eyes met hers again and she saw the fire in them. But before she could say anything—not even sure what she wanted to say—he asked, ‘What was that dancing you were just doing? It was different to the way you danced for me.’
