Halima arrived then, with a bottle of champagne which she put in an ice bucket by the table. Sylvie scowled at it, just as Arkim came into her line of vision and held out a hand.
‘Please, take a seat.’
Sylvie sat down cross-legged on a low chair, and watched as Arkim lowered himself athletically into a similar pose on the other side of the delicately carved table. It should have made him look less manly, but of course it didn’t.
‘How are your arms?’
She glanced down, noting with relief that the vivid pink had faded and they weren’t so hot. In this day and age of knowledge of sun damage she’d been very stupid.
She said, ‘Much better. Halima’s ointment was very effective.’
She looked at Arkim and words of apology for running off earlier trembled on her tongue. But he wasn’t looking at her—he was piling a plate high with different foods before handing it to her. Like a coward, she swallowed the words back and took the plate, telling herself that he would only spurn an apology.
There was a faint popping sound as he expertly opened the champagne and poured her a glass of the sparkling wine. She accepted it after a moment’s hesitation.
Arkim arched a brow. ‘You don’t like champagne?’
‘I don’t drink much of any alcohol, I never really acquired the taste.’
Arkim made a noise and she looked at him, seeing him fill his own glass as he said, ‘You forget that I’ve seen you inebriated.’
Sylvie frowned, and then that night in the garden flooded back. Hotly she defended herself. ‘My shoe got stuck in the ground. I was still on antibiotics from a chest infection that night—the last thing I’d have done was drink alcohol.’
He just looked at her, eyes narrowed, and she glared at him. After a long moment he shrugged and said, ‘It hardly matters now, in any case.’
Sylvie was disconcerted by how much itdidmatter to her. She looked away from him and put down her glass without taking a sip, choosing to focus on the food instead and trying to block him out.Ha!As ifthatwas possible.
Arkim could see how tense Sylvie’s body was as she resolutely avoided his eye and picked at the food. Her jaw was so tight he thought she might break it if she had to chew. Her vibrant hair was piled high in a haphazard bun, tendrils trailing down to frame her face. His fingers itched to undo the knot and let her hair fall around her shoulders and down her back.
He diverted his attention from the urge he felt to undo that knot and watched with growing incredulity, and something much earthier, as Sylvie seemed to be absorbed by the food—spearing large morsels and evidently taking extreme pleasure out of the discovery of the various tastes. It was incredibly sensual to watch.
She seemed to be completely oblivious to Arkim and he sat back slightly, the better to observe her. He knew shewasn’toblivious to him, though—it was there in the tension of her body, and in the pulse beating under the delicate pale skin of her throat.
He’d noticed for the first time this evening that his impression of her being tall actually wasn’t correct. He might have registered it before if she hadn’t distracted him so easily, but she’d always seemed a lot taller. Maybe it was because she consistently stood up to him in a way no one else did.
That revelation wasn’t welcome. It made him think of the fact that he’d overheard her trying to apologise to a member of his staff earlier. He’d have assumed it was for show, but she had been almost out of his earshot, so patently not doing it for his benefit.
Sylvie was actually only just above average height, and her whole frame was on the petite side. He didn’t like the way this fact made his conscience smart a little. It made him see a vulnerability he’d blocked out before, and reminded him of the way her stepmother had slapped her in the church...
She leaned forward at that moment, to get some bread, and her full breasts swayed with the movement. Arkim’s whole body seemed to sizzle, and he was reminded of exactly who he was dealing with here—a mistress of selfishness and manipulation.
‘You like the food?’ he asked now, in some kind of effort to wrench his mind off Sylvie’s physical temptations, angry with himself.
She glanced at him—a flash of blue and green. She nodded and swallowed what she was eating. Her voice was low, husky, when she said, ‘It’s delicious. I’ve never tasted flavours like this before.’
‘The lamb is particularly good.’
He speared a morsel of succulent meat with his fork and held it across the table. When she reached for it with her hand he pulled it back and looked at her. She scowled.
‘Coward,’ Arkim said softly.
Something in him exulted when he saw the fire flash in her eyes as she took the bait and leant across the table to take the piece of meat off his fork and into her mouth.
Her loose tops swayed, giving Arkim an unrestricted view of her lace-clad breasts. Full and perfectly shaped. She moved back before he could make a complete fool of himself by grabbing her and hauling her across the table.
Her cheeks were flaming. And he didn’t think it was from the spices in the lamb. Their mutual chemistry was obvious. So why would she fight it like this?
He leant back on one arm again. She took a sip of champagne and he watched the long, graceful column of her throat work, jealous of even that small movement. She might have passed for eighteen, with her face free of make-up.
