Sylvie’s gaze sparked. ‘What’s it to you? I have to worry about my career, Arkim. If I don’t take this opportunity now there’s a million girls coming up behind me who’ll do the job.’
Arkim had to grit his jaw. He wanted to say,What about the way you were dancing that day when I found you again?
She had been so passionate and beautiful. But that wasn’t really her, was it? If she was prepared to do this? Take the last step over the line...? Something within Arkim snapped and the words spilled out before he could stop them. ‘What if I asked you to stay?’
A flare of colour came into Sylvie’s cheeks. ‘How long for? Another week? A month? Two months? We both know what this is...impermanent. Unless...’
Unless it’s more.
The implication of her unfinished sentence made Arkim say harshly, ‘Unless it’s nothing.’
‘It’s nothing, then,’ said Sylvie faintly.
She walked over and picked up her bag and a jacket, shrugging into it in jerky movements. She was avoiding Arkim’s eye as she walked to the other side of the room, where he saw that a larger bag was waiting. So she’d packed already. Because she’d known how he would react? The knowledge sent a sharp pain through his chest.
She turned around to face him, looking very petite and young. Delicate. He thought of her just a couple of hours ago, astride him, rocking her body against his. She’d been like a fearsome warrior, claiming her pleasure with a ferocity matched only by Arkim’s desire to give it to her.
The image was so vivid that it took him a second to realise she’d gone.
No.
He put down the glass, uncaring that it fell to the floor, spilling dark golden liquid. When he got to the hall, he saw her holding Omar close, burying her face in his body before putting him down carefully. Something was constricting Arkim, like a band around his chest.
She didn’t face him. She put her hand on the knob of the door and said tautly, ‘I can’t take him with me—it’s not practical... But you will take care of him, won’t you?’
Arkim was cold. All over. He hated his father. He’d never known his mother. He’d never known love. What he felt for Sylvie was just too...overwhelming.
‘Of course.’
He wasn’t even aware that he’d spoken. Cold was good. This was what he wanted. He didn’t want volatility. Messy passion.Emotions.
‘Thank you. Goodbye, Arkim.’ She opened the door, and just before she stepped through she said huskily, ‘Take care of yourself.’
After she’d gone Arkim was dimly aware of something warm on his toes, and he looked down stupidly to see Omar, tail wagging, making a small pitiful sound. He bent down and scooped him up against his chest, then went into the living room and sat on the couch, where the puppy settled trustingly into his lap.
He could smell Sylvie’s delicate scent on the air. And something else.Sex.He realised that this was where he’d had her...only hours before. Every time he’d lost himself inside her it had felt as if another part of his soul was being altered.
He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. Pain was good. The pain reminded him that he craved order and respectability above all. He didn’tneedhis soul to be altered.
Sylvie Devereux had been a brief and torrid interlude in his life and now he was moving on. For good.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A week later—L’Amour revue, final dress rehearsal...
‘SYLVIE!HURRYUP!You’re next.’
Sylvie took a deep breath, grabbed her prop sword, and made her way to the spotlit stage. The mood was controlled chaos. The new show was opening in a few hours and they still had lots to prepare. She was in a more elaborate version of the belly dance outfit that she’d worn for Arkim in Al-Hibiz, and the reminder was jarring.
When she got on stage the music started almost at once, so she had to jump straight into the routine. She wasn’t overly worried about how precise her movements were because this rehearsal was really for the technical team, to make sure that all the timings for cues and lights and so on were lined up properly.
She had taken off her veil and head-covering and pushed her sword away, ready to move into the second part of the dance, when a loud‘Stop!’sounded in the dark theatre.
Sylvie’s heart stuttered, but she told herself she was imagining that she knew the voice. She was on her feet now and she kept going. It was probably just one of the stage hands.
Suddenly the music stopped.
She whirled around to hear some kind of a scuffle going on in the darkness backstage, and then a man walked out onto the stage from behind the curtains. Even though he was in the shadow of the lights she knew it was Arkim, taller and broader than everyone else.
