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Sylvie cursed herself. She was here for Sophie—not to take a trip down memory lane. She stood up straight and checked her appearance. A far cry from the gold dress she’d worn that night. Now she was positively respectable, in a knee-length black sleeveless shift and matching high heels, her hair pulled back into a low bun. Discreet make-up.
She didn’t like to think of the reaction in her body when her sister had informed her of the upcoming nuptials. It had been a mix of shock, incomprehension, anger—and something far more disturbing and dark.
Sylvie made her way into the huge dining room, which had been set up for a buffet-style dinner party. She was acutely aware of Arkim Al-Sahid, looking as grimly gorgeous as ever, and made sure to stay far away from him. It meant, though, that she couldn’t get Sophie to herself. And she needed to talk to her.
The evening was interminable. Several times, as Sylvie made mind-numbingly boring small talk, she felt the back of her neck prickle—as if someone was staring at her...or more likely glaring at her. But each time she looked around she couldn’t see him.
Not seeing her sister anywhere now, Sylvie determined to find her and went looking. The first place she thought to look was in her father’s study/library, and she opened the door carefully, seeing nothing inside the oak-panelled room filled with heaving shelves of books but the fire, which was dying down low.
The warmth and peace called to her for a minute, and she slipped in and closed the door behind her.
Then she saw a movement coming from one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. ‘Soph? Is that you?’ The room had always been her little sister’s favourite hiding place when she was younger, and Sylvie felt a lurch near her heart to think of her sister retreating here.
But it wasn’t Sophie—which became apparent all too quickly when a tall, dark shape uncoiled from the chair to stand up.
Arkim Al-Sahid.
Instinctively Sylvie backed away, and said frigidly, ‘At the risk of being accused of following you I can assure you I wasn’t.’ She turned to go, then stopped and turned back. ‘Actually, I have something to say to you.’
He folded his arms. ‘Do you, now?’
He was as implacable as a stone pillar. It infuriated Sylvie that he could so effortlessly arouse seething emotions within her. She stalked over to the chairs and gripped the back of the one he’d been sitting in. She hated it that he looked even more enigmatic and handsome. As if the intervening months had added more hard muscle to his form. Made his features even more saturnine.
He was dressed in similar pristine fashion to last time—in a three-piece suit. He sent a dismissive look up and down her body, and then said with a faint sneer, ‘Who are you trying to fool? Or are we all going to be treated to an exclusive performance, in which you reveal the truth of what lies beneath your pseudo-respectable façade?’
Sylvie’s anger spiked in a hot rush. ‘At first I couldn’t understand why you hated me on sight, but now I know. Your father is one of America’s biggest porn barons, and you’ve made no secret of the fact that you disowned him and his legacy to forge your own. You don’t even share his name any more.’
Arkim Al-Sahid’s body vibrated with tension, his dark eyes narrowing on her dangerously. ‘As you said, it’s no secret.’
‘No...’ Sylvie conceded, slightly thrown off balance by his response.
‘And your point?’
She swallowed. Lord, but he was intimidating. Not a hint of humanity anywhere in his whipcord form or on that beautiful face.
‘You’re marrying my sister purely to gain social acceptance, and she deserves more than that. She deserves love.’
Arkim emitted a short, curt laugh. It was so shocking to see his face transformed by a smile—albeit a mocking one—that she almost lost her train of thought.
‘You’re for real? Since when does anyone marry for love? Your sister has a lot to gain from this union—not least a lifetime of security and status. At no point has she indicated that she’s not happy for this engagement to proceed. Your father is keen to secure her future—which is no surprise, considering how his eldest daughter turned out.’
Sylvie kept her expression rigid. Amazing how this man’s opinion sneaked under her guard with such devastating effect and struck far too close to the heart of her—which was the last place he should be impacting.
He continued. ‘I’m not stupid, Miss Devereux. This is as much a business transaction for him as it is a chance to secure his daughter’s future. It’s not a secret that his empire took a big hit during the downturn and that he’s doing all he can to bolster his coffers again.’
Business transaction. She felt nauseous. Sylvie knew vaguely that her father’s fortune had taken a dip...but she also knew perfectly well that her stepmother was the real architect behind this plan. She was a firm believer that a woman’s place was by her rich husband’s side, and no doubt had convinced Grant Lewis that this was their ticket to security for the future.
She ungritted her teeth and desisted from belabouring the point of whether or not love existed. Clearly in his world it didn’t.
‘Sophie’s not right for you—and you are certainly not right for her.’
An assessing look came over that starkly handsome face. ‘She’s perfect for me. Young, beautiful, intelligent. Accomplished.’ He looked her up and down. ‘And above all she’s refined.’
Sylvie held up a hand, hating it that that stung. ‘Please—save your insults. I’m perfectly aware where I come on your scale of condemnation. Clearly you have issues with certain industries, and you’ve deemed me worth judging on the basis of what I do.’
‘What you are,’ he said harshly.
Her hands clenched into fists. ‘You didn’t seem to have much of an issue with what I am the last time we met.’
