Beyond irritated, and frustrated at the way he made her feel, Sylvie put down her napkin and stood up, walking over to the wall. She heard him move and turned around to face him, feeling jittery.
He stood a few feet away. Too close for comfort. Before she could say anything, Arkim folded his arms and said, ‘I won’t deny I had my doubts...’
Sylvie went still.
‘That night in the study, when you found me... I wasn’t altogether certain that I was going to go through with it. But then you appeared...’ Something like anger flashed in his eyes. ‘Let’s just say that you helped me make up my mind.’
Sylvie reeled. He might have called it off? And then his words registered. Anger flared. ‘So it wasmyfault?’
He ignored that. ‘Why did you break up the wedding? Was it purely for spite?’
The realisation that Arkim might have called the whole thing off was mixing with her anger, diluting it. Making her heart beat faster. Words trembled on her lips. Words that would exonerate her. But she couldn’t do it; she’d promised her sister.
She lifted her chin. ‘All you need to know is that if I had to do it over again I wouldn’t hesitate.’
Arkim’s face hardened even more. He didn’t like that. But his drawling voice belied his expression. ‘The motorbike was a cute touch. Did you learn how to ride one especially for dramatic effect?’
Sylvie flushed. ‘I used to have one in Paris—to get around. Until it got stolen. I hired one that day...more for expediency than anything else.’
He sneered now. ‘You mean a quick, cowardly getaway so you didn’t have to deal with the fallout...?’
Before Sylvie could formulate a response, Halima and some other discreet staff appeared at that moment, defusing the tension a little, and removed the remains of their dinner from the table.
When they were gone Sylvie was still facing Arkim, like an adversary in a boxing ring. The revelation that she’d inadvertently influenced his decision to marry Sophie was crowding everything else out of her head. Presumably it had been because she’d reminded him of exactly the kind of woman hedidn’twant. And that stung.
She pushed down her roiling emotions and tried to appeal to his civilised side. ‘Arkim...you’ve made your point. You need to let me go now.’
His expression remained as hard as granite. Unforgiving. Sylvie shivered. This man wasn’t civilised here.
And then he said, ‘I’ve paid a substantial sum of money for your presence and I believe that I’d like to see you dance for me.’ The shape of his mouth turned bitter. ‘After all, thousands have seen you dance, so why shouldn’t I?’
The thought of performing in front of this man made Sylvie go cold, and then hot. ‘Now?’ Her voice squeaked slightly.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. ‘No, tomorrow evening. You’ll perform a veryprivatedance. Just for me.’
She straightened her spine. ‘If you’re expecting a lap dance, I hate to disappoint you but I really don’t do that kind of thing.’
He moved close enough to reach out and trail a finger down over her cheek and jaw, and said softly, ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what youdodo.’
She slapped his hand down, terrified of the way his touch made her melt so easily. Terrified he’d kiss her again. ‘And why on earth should I do anything you ask me to?’
Arkim’s jaw clenched, and then he said baldly, ‘Because you owe me, and I’m collecting.’
The following evening Halima held up one of Sylvie’s rhinestone-encrusted outfits and stroked it reverently. ‘This is so beautiful.’
The thought of the robed young woman wearing it, baring her skin so comprehensively, made Sylvie feel a little uncomfortable, and she gently took the garment out of Halima’s hands to hang it up, along with the other costumes the girl had insisted on taking out of her suitcase.
She hadn’t been able to eat since breakfast that morning, and her belly had been doing somersaults all day at the thought of dancing for Arkim. She’d realised that of course he’d be expecting her to rebel, refuse. And then maybe he’d initiate another cosy dinner and tell her more things about himself that would put her on uneven ground where her feelings towards him were concerned.
As she’d lain in bed last night and gone over everything he’d told her she had found her antipathy hard to cling on to. So she’d decided to keep him at arm’s length and do the opposite of what he was expecting and dance for him. She realised with some level of dark irony that if he was reverse psychoanalysing her, then it was working.
And if Sylvie was being completely honest with herself, a part of her still wanted to provoke Arkim—make him admit that he was just like everyone else.
It was that damned icy façade of his that had sneaked under her skin and made her want to break it apart as soon as he’d looked at her for the first time with such disdain. And where had breaking that control apart got her? To one of the hottest places on earth. About to strip herself bare in front of a man who wanted her, yet despised her.
Words trembled on Sylvie’s tongue. Words to instruct Halima to go and tell the Sheikh that she wasn’t available this evening after all. But she couldn’t back down now.
She surveyed herself in the mirror as Halima clipped a veil behind her head, obscuring her mouth, so only her heavily kohled eyes were visible. Her hair was tucked and hidden under another veil.
