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A muscle in his jaw pulsed. ‘No, dammit. I don’t want anyone else to see what’s mine.’
Emotion made Sylvie’s chest ache. This man had started out rejecting her before he’d even known her, and even after getting to know her—intimately—he’d still ultimately rejected her. He was just here beating his chest because he couldn’t bear the thought of sharing her.
‘But I’m not yours. You let me go.’
They were so close now they were almost touching. Sylvie was unaware of anything but the man in front of her and those deep, dark eyes. Eyes that could look so cold and dead, but which she knew could turn her heart upside down and inside out.
‘I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay.’
Hating the little tremor of emotion that made her heart jump with irrational hope, Sylvie threw out a hand. ‘We’ve had this conversation. For how long? Another two weeks? A month? And then you’ll move on with your perfect respectable life and you’ll meet some perfect respectable woman and you’ll marry her—like you wanted to marry Sophie because she was so perfect for you.’
‘You are perfect for me.’
Sylvie’s mouth was still open. She shut it abruptly, aghast at everything that had tumbled out. And had he just said...?
‘What did you say?’
‘I said that you are perfect for me. I don’t want anyone else.’
His words impacted like a sledgehammer, knocking her to pieces. And even though she’d registered them she shook her head, took a step back. It wasn’t hard to envisage being rejected again, when Arkim woke up one morning and realised she wasn’t perfect for him, wasn’t really suitable for the life he wanted, and this time his rejection would be comprehensive and fatal. She wouldn’t recover. And the worst of it was she knew why it was so important to him...she wanted him to be happy.
‘This is just lust talking,’ she said.
Before Sylvie could react Arkim had closed the distance between them and cupped her face in his hands. He blotted out the world when he lowered his mouth to hers. Sylvie might have expected devastation, bruising passion...but his kiss was like a kind of benediction. A kiss that was gentle and restrained, but with the unmistakable promise of more.
And, damn him, she couldn’t help but respond. A sob of reaction was working its way up her throat, making her grab his T-shirt in order to stay standing. She just wasn’t able to defend herself. The last week had been torture.
Eventually Arkim pulled back, his eyes glittering down into hers. Sylvie felt exposed...vulnerable.
‘I know what I want and I want you.’
I want. Not I love. And Sylvie needed love. After feeling so bruised all her life from her father’s rejection, she couldn’t go through that with someone else. Better to be the rejecter. Arkim didn’t want her. Not really. No matter what he said or how he kissed her.
She pulled free. ‘It wasn’t enough of a wake-up call that you got punched in the face? Are you so blinded that you’ve forgotten what I do? What I am? Wherever we go there’s always going to be a risk that someone will recognise me...’ She crossed her fingers behind her back at the white lie she was about to tell. ‘And especially when I become famous for taking my clothes off completely. I won’t be one of the less risqué acts any more, Arkim. Everyone will know what I look like naked.’
Sylvie could see him pale slightly under the olive tones of his skin. His face was starker, leaner than she’d ever seen it. As if he’d lost weight in the space of a week.
‘If that’s what you really want to do I won’t pretend that I’ll like it, but I’ll support you.’
Sylvie reeled. Her jaw dropped. Eventually she got out, ‘You’re saying you’d accept me, no matter what?’ She couldn’t believe it for a second. Because if she did... Her heart contracted painfully.
She shook her head. ‘This is not you talking... This is lust...desire. And once it’s g
one, Arkim—’ Her voice broke traitorously. ‘I won’t let you send me away again when you realise that I’m not perfect after all...because I’m a constant reminder of some weakness you feel, of your life with your father.’
She’d moved to turn away, her vision blurring, when Arkim’s hand shot out and caught her shoulder. She saw Pierre standing and watching, his gnarled old face incredulous. They had an avid audience. Everyone had gathered to watch the show.
Sylvie let Arkim turn her back towards him, saying in a choked voice, ‘Arkim, you have to—’
‘Stop talking, Sylvie.’
Her mouth closed. He had to know they were being observed. Why wasn’t he leaving? Why wasn’t he preserving what was left intact of his reputation?
Maybe because he means what he says? said a small seductive voice.
But before she could do or say anything more Arkim was reaching for the bottom of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his head and off, revealing his very taut and perfect musculature.
There was a collective intake of appreciative breath and a low whistle, which sounded as if it was quickly stifled by an elbow in the ribs.
