He was aware of pale skin, dips and hollows, a toned belly. She played with the huge sword as if it was a baton—twirling it in one hand and then in the other. She was on her knees now, one leg raised at a right angle, and arching her body backwards like a bow, with the sword resting on its tip behind her and her free arm stretched out in front of her. The line of her throat was long and graceful, and curiously vulnerable.
The music seemed to be pounding in time with Arkim’s blood. And then it changed and became a little faster, with a different beat.
Sylvie straightened up and bent forward with impressive flexibility, bringing the sword back in front of her to place it on the ground and push it away. And then, still bending forward, she lifted the veil and head covering off her head. She undid the tie on her black top and removed that too.
Now her hair tumbled down, free and wild, and the ornately decorated gold bra was revealed. He could see the faint sheen of perspiration on her pale skin and his insides tightened with pure, unadulterated lust. Would her skin be sheened like that when he joined their bodies for the first time?
She came onto her knees, facing Arkim again, and started undulating her body in a series of movements—hips, arms, chest—disconnected but connected. He’d seen belly dancers before, but never like this. Bright red hair trailed over her shoulders and down to her breasts. He wanted to reach out and curl a tendril around his hand, pull her towards him.
She was looking at him now, but blankly. A sizzle of irritation ran through his blood. When women looked at him, they looked.
She moved lithely to her feet and brought her whole body into the dance. This should be boring him to tears. But it wasn’t. He hated to realise that he was most likely in the kind of thrall that had mesmerised men for hundreds of years when a woman danced like this for him.
And then he realised it was her. There was something profoundly captivating about Sylvie and the way she moved. It was knowing, and yet there was something Arkim couldn’t put his finger on...something slightly off. As if a piece of the jigsaw was missing.
She’d stopped dancing now, her chest moving rapidly with her breath, her hair tangled in waves and falling down her back as she stood with one hand on her hip and the other stretched out towards him, as if she were offering him something.
She hadn’t even stripped. But arou
sal sat heavy in Arkim’s body and bloodstream. He felt like a fool. Sylvie had told him that she didn’t do lap dances, but somehow that was exactly what he had expected. Something tawdry and fitting for the picture he’d built up of her in his head.
But this whole performance had been sweetly titillating—like a throwback to a more innocent time. A time that Arkim had never had the pleasure of knowing. He’d never really experienced innocence. His own had been corrupted when he had been so young.
Anger rushed through him and he stood up. He did a slow hand-clap and then said, as equably as he could, ‘Who exactly are you trying to fool with a routine suited to the top of a table in a restaurant?’
Sylvie’s arm dropped and she looked at him, cheeks flushed. Arkim’s body throbbed all over. But he held on to what tiny bit of control he had—rigidly.
Her gaze narrowed on him. ‘I take it that you didn’t care for it, then? Too bad you can’t get your money back.’
Her voice was breathy, and there was something defiant in those flashing blue-green eyes. It sent his churning cauldron of emotions into overdrive. She was taunting him. He thought of all the people she’d bared herself to, and yet she wouldn’t for him. The thought that she might have an inkling of just how badly he wanted her scored him deep inside.
He didn’t want to go near Sylvie for fear of what might happen if he did. As if some beast inside him might be unleashed and she’d see just how close to the edge of his control he was. He felt feral. As if he needed desperately to prove to himself that she was who he believed she was.
‘You’ll dance again, Sylvie. And this time you’ll perform exactly as you do for the thousands of people who have seen all of you. I won’t accept anything less. Be back here in half an hour.’
CHAPTER FIVE
SYLVIE WATCHED ARKIM stalk out of the huge space, adrenalin still fizzing in her blood. Vulnerability and frustration vied with her anger at his high-handedness. And a need to wipe the disdainful look off his face.
More anger coursed through her when she thought of what Arkim had been expecting and what he clearly still expected: You’ll perform exactly as you do for the thousands of people who have seen all of you.
She was surprised he hadn’t had a pole installed so she could shimmy up and down it. Clearly she’d done such a good job of doing absolutely nothing to amend Arkim’s bad opinion of her, she’d merely raised his expectations.
It had taken more nerve than she’d thought she possessed to come in here and dance for him. It had taken all her strength to look at him and through him—even though he’d sat there like some kind of lord and master, surveying her as if she was some morsel for his delectation.
But she’d still been acutely aware of that powerful body, its inherent strength barely leashed. He’d dressed in western style, in dark trousers and an open-necked shirt. And somehow, after seeing him in nothing but pristine three-piece suits and then the traditional Arabic tunic, it was a little shocking—as if he was unravelling, somehow.
Suddenly there was a flurry of movement as staff entered the cavernous space and rushed to close the huge open doors.
Sylvie had been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t noticed how the sky had darkened outside—dramatically. There was so much electricity in the air she could swear it was sparking along her skin.
And then Halima appeared, a look of excitement on her pretty face. ‘The Sheikh has told me to help you. We must close all your doors and windows—the storm is coming.’
As Halima ushered her out of the room, eager to do her Sheikh’s bidding, Sylvie’s rage spiked—as if in tandem with the escalating weather outside. If Arkim wanted a damn lap dance so badly, then maybe she should give him exactly what he wanted.
They got back to Sylvie’s rooms, and Halima was about to close the French doors but turned around, eyes wide. ‘You can see the sandstorm coming!’
‘Really?’ Curiosity distracted Sylvie momentarily and she went to the doors to look outside. She sucked in a breath when a powerful gust of wind made the curtains flap. She hadn’t noticed how strong the winds had become.