Awakened By Her Desert Captor. ABBY GREEN
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Sylvie’s skin prickle uncomfortably.
She tried to reassure herself that she was being silly. The other girls would be waiting for her, they’d rehearse and perform, and then they’d be home before they knew it.
They were landing now, and she noticed that they were quite far outside the city limits, with nothing but desert as far as the eye could see. The airport didn’t look like a busy capital city’s airport. Just a few small buildings and a runway carved into the arid landscape. She pushed the nervous flutters down.
Once the small jet had taxied to a gentle stop Sylvie was escorted to the door of the plane—and the heat of the desert hit her so squarely that she had to suck in a breath of hot, dry air. Sweat instantly dampened the skin all over her body. But along with the trepidation she felt at what lay ahead was a quickening of something like exhilaration as she took in the clear blue vastness of the sky and the rolling dunes in the distance.
She was so far away from everything that was familiar in this completely alien landscape, but it soothed her a little after the last tumultuous couple of weeks. It was as if nothing here could hurt her.
‘Miss, your car is waiting.’
Sylvie looked down to see a sleek black car. She put on her sunglasses and went down the steps and across the scorching runway to where a driver was holding the back door open. He was dressed in a long cream tunic, with close-fitting trousers underneath and a turban on his head. He looked smart and cool, and she felt ridiculously underdressed in her jeans, ballet flats and loose T-shirt. Like a gauche westerner.
Someone was putting her cases into the boot, and Sylvie smiled as the driver bowed deferentially, indicating for her to get in.
She did so—with relief. Already craving the cool balm of air-conditioning. Already wanting to twist her long, heavy hair up and off her neck.
The door was closed quickly behind her and then a lot of things seemed to happen simultaneously: she heard the snick of the door locking, the driver slid into the front seat and the privacy partition slid up, and Sylvie realised that she wasn’t alone in the back of the car.
‘I trust you had a pleasant flight?’
The voice was deep, cool—and instantly, painfully, recognisable. Sylvie turned her head and everything seemed to go into slow motion.
Arkim Al-Sahid was sitting at the far side of the luxurious car, which was now moving. A fact she was only vaguely aware of. She went hot and cold all at once. Her belly dropped near her feet. Her breath was caught in her chest. Shock was seizing at her ability to respond.
He was dressed in his signature three-piece suit. As if they were in Paris or London. En route to some civilised place. Not here, in the middle of a harsh sun-beaten land. Here in the middle of nowhere. Here where she’d just thought nothing could touch her.
Arkim Al-Sahid looked so dark, and his face was etched in lines of cruelty.
A small voice jeered at Sylvie, Did you really think he would do nothing? And underneath the shock was the pounding of her heart that told her that perhaps, in some very deep and hidden secret space, she hadn’t thought he would do nothing. But she’d never expected this...
He reached forward and her sunglasses were plucked off her face and tucked away into his pocket before she could react. She blinked, and he came into sharp, clear focus. Dark hair brushed back from a high forehead. Deep-set eyes over sharp cheekbones. His patrician nose giving him a slightly hawk-like aspect.
And that mouth... That cruel and taunting mouth. The mouth that even now she could recall being on hers. Hard and demanding, sending her senses into overdrive. It was curved up into the semblance of a smile, but it was a smile unlike anything Sylvie had ever seen. It was a smile that promised retribution.
When she remained mute with shock, one dark brow arched up lazily. ‘Well, Sylvie? I’ll be exceedingly disappointed over the next two weeks if you’ve lost the ability to do anything with your tongue.’
* * *
Arkim tried to ignore the frantic rate of his pulse, which had burst to life as soon as he’d seen her distinctive shape appear in the doorway of the plane. Slim, yet womanly. Even in casual clothes.
Her glorious red hair glowed like the setting sun over the Arabian sea. Her face was as pale as alabaster, her skin perfect and flawless. Her eyes were huge and almond-shaped, giving her that feline quality, her left eye with that distinctive discolouration. It did nothing to diminish her appeal—it only enhanced it.
Irritation rose at her effortless ability to control his libido.
Arkim was about to say something else when she got out a little threadily, ‘Where are the other girls?’
He felt a twinge of guilt, but pushed it down deep. He glanced briefly at his watch. ‘They’re most likely performing, as arranged, for the birthday celebrations of one of the Sultan’s chief advisors—Sheikh Abdel Al-Hani. They’ll be on a plane first thing tomorrow morning.’
If possible, Sylvie paled even more. It sent a jolt of something horribly like concern through him, reminding him of when her stepmother had slapped her in the church and how his first instinctive reaction had been to put himself between them. Not something he relished remembering now.
But now the shocked glaze was leaving her face, colour was surging back into her cheeks and her eyes were sparking. ‘So why am I not there too? What the hell is this, Arkim?’
Nurturing the sense of satisfaction at having Sylvie where he wanted her, rather than his other more tangled emotions, Arkim settled back into his seat. ‘Believe it or not, people here call me Sheikh too—a title conferred upon me by the Sultan himself...an old schoolfriend. But I digress. This is about payback. It’s about the fact that your jealous little tantrum had far-reaching consequences and you aren’t going to get away with it.’
Sylvie put out a hand and Arkim noticed it was trembling slightly. He ruthlessly pushed down his concern. Again. This woman didn’t deserve anything but his scorn.
‘So...what? You’re kidnapping me?’
Arkim picked a piece of lint off his jacket and then looked at her. ‘I’d call it a...a holiday. You came here of your own free will and you’re free to go at any time... It’s just not going to be that easy for you to leave when there’s no public transport and no mobile phone coverage, so I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until I’m leaving too. In two weeks.’
Sylvie clenched her hands into fists on her lap, her jaw tight. ‘I’ll damn well walk across the desert if I have to.’
Arkim was calm. ‘Try it and you’ll be lucky to last twenty-four hours. It’s certain death for anyone who doesn’t know the lie of this land—not to mention the fact that someone as fair as you would fry to a crisp.’
Sylvie was reeling, and trying hard not to show it. She felt as if she’d fallen through a wormhole and everything was upside down and inside out. Panic tightened her gut.
‘What about my job? I’m expected back—it was only supposed to be a one-night event.’
Arkim’s face was scarily expressionless. It made her want to reach across and slap him, to see some kind of reaction.
‘Your job is unaffected. Your boss has been recompensed very generously for the use of your time. So much so, in fact, that I believe he can finally start the renovations he’s been wanting to do for years. As a result of my generous donation the revue is actually closing for a month from next week, while they do the work.’
She had to choke back a lurch of even greater panic; it was common knowledge how much Pierre wanted to renovate—he’d been begging for loans from banks for months. And this would be perfect timing...before the high tourist season.
She spluttered. ‘Pierre would never let one of his girls go off on an assignment alone. He’ll raise hell when I don’t return, no matter how much you’ve offered him!’
Arkim