Because he’d never believe you, inserted a small voice.
She was at the door now, and her circling thoughts faded as Halima gently nudged her over the threshold. The door closed behind her. The interior was darker than it had been, with the encroaching storm turning the world black outside. Too late to back out now. Girding her loins, Sylvie straightened her shoulders and walked in.
Arkim was sitting in his chair again, with a table beside him holding more wine and food. The anger surged back. He was so arrogant. Demanding. Judgemental. Cold.
She did her best to avoid his eyes, but she was burningly aware of him. He looked dark and unreadable when she sneaked a glance at his face. He seemed so in control. As if nothing would ruffle his cool.
Sylviebadlywanted to ruffle his cool.
She put on her music again, aware of the tension spiking in the room when the slow, sultry, sexy beat filled the space. She saw the chair that she’d asked Halima to provide in the centre of the dais, and she slowly unbelted her robe and then slid it off, throwing it to one side.
Did she hear an intake of breath coming from his direction?
She ignored it and walked up to the chair, turning to face Arkim with her hands on the back of it. And now she looked him straight in the eye. Unashamed. Exuding confidence even if she was quivering on the inside.
She started to move, using a mixture of what she’d seen some of the other girls do for their routines and her own modern dance moves. And a hefty dose of inspiration from one of her favourite movies of all time:Cabaret.
She kept eye contact with Arkim, even though her confidence threatened to dissolve when his gaze moved down, over her body, over her splayed legs as she sat in the chair. She dipped her head down between her legs before coming back up, deliberately making sure her cleavage would be visible, and running her hands up her bare thighs.
His gaze was so black it seemed to suck all the light out of the room—or was that the storm? Sylvie didn’t know. She only knew that as his eyes tracked her movements she became more and more emboldened. She felt as if she was becoming one with the music. The throbbing bass beat was deep in her blood...telling her where to move next. Telling her to stand up, to put her hands on the seat of the chair and bend over, while sending a sideways look to Arkim. Telling her to straighten and then arch her back as she pulled her hair tie off so her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.
And telling her to open the buttons on her shirt, down to where it was tied under her breasts, so that they would be revealed.
Something dangerous was pounding through her blood—the same something that had coursed through it that night in the garden, when Arkim had pressed against her, letting her feel how aroused he was by her...even though he disapproved of her.
Sylvie felt powerful—because she could sense his control cracking. Arkim’s cheeks were flushed, eyes glittering darkly. Jaw clenched. This was what she wanted...to make him admit he was a hypocrite.
Without really thinking about what she was doing, Sylvie stepped down from the dais and walked over to Arkim. His chin tipped up and their gazes clashed—just as the music faded away and stopped, bursting the bubble of illusion around them.
She knew instantly that she’d made a tactical error. Desperate to try and regain her sense of power, she started to walk away from his chair—but a big hand shot out and gripped her wrist, stopping her in her tracks.
She looked down at him, heart bumping violently. That obsidian gaze glittered up at her, and she saw the fire in their depths. The knowledge that she’d managed to ruffle him wasn’t as satisfying as she’d expected when she was this close to him.
He stood up and they were almost touching. The air sizzled.
‘What thehell,’ he said in a low voice, ‘do you think you’re doing?’
The disgust Sylvie read in his eyes made her pull her wrist free of his grip with a jerk. She was aware that the huge sand cloud was approaching closer and closer through the massive windows behind Arkim, about to envelop them totally, blotting everything out. It made her feel reckless—as if everything was about to be altered for ever.
‘Isn’t this what you expected of me?’ she asked tauntingly. ‘I’m giving you exactly what you want.’
‘Exactlywhat I want?’ he asked.
And before she could say anything, just before the sandstorm inexorably claimed the castle in its path, Arkim speared both hands into her hair, angling her face up to his.
‘I’ll show you exactly what I want,’ he said gutturally.
Arkim crushed Sylvie’s mouth under his, his need too great to be gentle or finessed. He wanted to devour her.
Her lips were soft, but she kept her mouth closed and there was tension in her body. Damn her. She wouldnotdeny him. Not after that cheap little show. Yet even in spite of the tackiness he’d still been turned on.Again.And she was right—he’d asked for this.
That knowledge wasn’t welcome.
Neither was her resistance.
Arkim was aware of the changing quality of sound around them. How everything was muffled. The sandstorm must have enveloped them by now. But all of that was secondary to the woman in his arms. The woman who would pay for turning his life upside down.
He took his mouth off hers and looked down to see those extraordinary eyes glaring at him. If he wasn’t acutely aware of how her body quivered against his he would have let her go, been done with her. A reluctant lover was not something he was interested in—not that he had much experience of that.
