Page 127 of The Tycoon's Affair: Tempted By Desire
Sylvie wondered if Arkim would appreciate the fact that the act she’d decided to do was based on the story ofScheherazade. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d be amused.
She took a deep breath and turned to Halima. ‘Now all I need is a sword...do you think you can find one here?’
The young girl thought for a moment, then brightened. ‘Yes!’
Anticipation lay heavy and thick in Arkim’s bloodstream as he waited for Sylvie to appear. He’d given instructions for her to be brought to one of the ceremonial rooms, where traditionally the Sheikh would greet and entertain his important guests. The room was open to the elements behind Arkim. Lanterns lit the space with golden flickering shadows.
Just then he noticed that a strong gust of wind whipping through the open space had almost put out one of the candles. The storm. It was coming. It made Arkim feel reckless. Wild. He’d gone out on Aziz earlier that day, tracking it, seeing the wind pick up. The stallion had moved skittishly, wanting to get back to cover.
There was a raised marble dais in the centre of the room, where the Sheikh would usually sit to greet his guests, and it was also sometimes used for ceremonial performances and dances. Arkim didn’t doubt that he was about to bring this space into serious disrepute by having Sylvie dance here, but he couldn’t seem to care too much.
He took a sip of his wine.Where was she?He tensed at the thought that she was defying him again.
Just as he was about to put down his glass and stand up and go to her, his blood fizzing, she appeared. She was slight and lissom...in bare feet. Arkim blinked as blood roared up into his head and south to another part of his anatomy.
She didn’t look in his direction or acknowledge him as she stepped up onto the dais. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. She was wearing gold figure-hugging trousers that were flared at the ends and partially slit up the sides, embellished with jewels and lace. They sat low on her hips, along with a belt from which tassels dropped and moved and swayed with her body.
Her middle was toned and bare, and encircled with a delicate gold chain that sat just above the curve of her hips. A cropped black top with long trailing sleeves was tied in the front, between her breasts, worn over a gold-coloured and very ornate-looking bra.
Her breasts were...perfection. Full and luscious, beautifully shaped. Her provocative cleavage was framed by the top.
She still hadn’t even so much as flicked a glance in his direction, and he noticed properly for the first time that the lower half of her face was obscured by a black veil, and that a black covering also hid her hair. Arkim wanted to rip it off and see those red tresses tumbling around her shoulders.
All that was visible of her face were her heavily kohled eyes. She was bending down now, doing something with speakers, and then a slow, sultry and distinctly Arabic beat filled the space.
Arkim’s eyes widened when he saw her pick up a large curved sabre—he’d been too distracted to notice it before. He frowned. It looked disturbingly like the one that hung in the exhibition room that housed all his precious antiques and old weapons.
Sylvie faced away from him now, and all he could see was the tempting curve of her buttocks, the tantalising line of her waist and hips, and that gold chain glinting in the flickering glow of the lamps. And then she lifted the sword high in her hands over her head and slowly turned to face him. Those distinctive eyes met his, and she started to move sinuously to the beat of the music.
And Arkim’s brain stuttered to a halt.
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, theylooked.
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 washer. 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 slightlyoff. 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 arousal 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.’
