by Abby Green
‘Think you’re some hotshot, eh? Well, it happens that I recognise you too—you’re the guy that got stood up at the altar.’
‘Oh, God!’ Sylvie hadn’t even realised she’d spoken out loud. She felt nauseous.
Arkim let her hand go and pushed her away from him, saying in a voice edged with steel, ‘Get into the car and wait for me—now.’
Sylvie started to back away, horror filling her at the murderous look on Arkim’s face, but as she turned around one of the men who so far hadn’t said anything blocked her.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’
Sylvie clenched her jaw. ‘Get out of my way.’
He came closer and she could smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. ‘Now, now...that’s not nice, is it? I’ve seen you, you know...’
He stroked a finger up her arm and Sylvie fought not to flinch in disgust.
‘You’re my favourite of them all...but I’d like to see a lot more of you...’
Sylvie had just positioned her knee for maximum damage, in case he touched her again, and heard an almighty crack behind her. She whirled round to see Arkim staggering back, holding a hand up to his eye.
She flew to his side just as the hotel security officers rushed forward. Arkim, still holding a hand to his face, spoke to someone who looked like a manager. The eight or so English guys were rounded up within seconds, and it was only then that Sylvie realised just how drunk they all were, as they were led away with belligerent faces.
Her hand was in Arkim’s again, and he was taking her out to the car so fast she had to trot to keep up, holding her dress up. Her stomach was churning painfully, and she breathed out as the car pulled away from the front of the hotel.
She looked at Arkim and winced when she saw his eye, shut tight. She knelt on the seat beside him, swatting aside his hand when he tried to stop her. ‘What happened? How did you get hit?’
He looked at her with his one good eye. ‘I recognised one of the men.’
Sylvie felt shaky. She reached for a bottle of water and unscrewed it, lifting some of the material at the bottom of her dress and wetting it to dab at his eye ineffectually.
‘And?’ she prompted, feeling sick all over again.
‘He said something about you that I know isn’t true.’
Her insides cramped.
‘I told him that if he didn’t take it back I’d spread the word about his out-of-control recreational drug use. So he hit me.’
Sylvie sat back on her heels, anguished. ‘I’m so sorry, Arkim.’
His one good eye glared at her. ‘What are you apologising for? They were at fault.’
‘Yes, but if they hadn’t recognised me...’
Arkim didn’t say anything, and his silence spoke volumes.
With relief Sylvie saw that they were drawing close to the apartment. The traffic at this time of evening was light, and Arkim didn’t live far away. The car pulled to a stop and Arkim got out, his movements jerky. Sylvie didn’t wait. She clambered out, still holding her dress up in one hand. The feeling of contentment she’d had earlier had been well and truly shattered by a rude awakening.
In the apartment she could hear Arkim moving restlessly around the drawing room, the clatter of the drinks tray. He was angry. She wrapped some ice in a towel and brought it in, saying as authoritatively as she could, ‘Sit down—let me look at you.’
He scowled at her. His jacket was off, his bow tie undone. His eye was closed and swelling. He looked thoroughly disreputable, and it only added to his appeal.
He sat down, legs spread, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. Approaching him, Sylvie felt as if she was approaching a bad-tempered lion. But she did it, and then observed, ‘Your eye isn’t bleeding—that’s good.’
‘You’re a nurse now?’
Sylvie pushed down a flare of irritation at Arkim’s snappy mood. ‘No, but I do tend to be the one people come to with minor injuries at work.’
Arkim made a harumph sound. Of course everyone went to her for treatment at work. He could just imagine her: compassionate, kind, soothing. Yet another unwelcome reminder of how badly he’d misjudged her all along.
He knew he was being a boor, but his gut was still too churned up after the confrontation for him to be sanguine. Sylvie pressed the ice near his eye, and he was aware of her wincing when he sucked in a pained breath.
The words that man had said came back to him: ‘She tastes as sweet as she looks, doesn’t she?’
Arkim had had to call on a level of control he’d never used before. And what scared him even now was the instant volcanic jealousy that had swamped him. The tiniest implication that the man had been intimate with Sylvie had been enough to send him into orbit.
He still felt edgy, volatile. Sylvie was kneeling on the couch beside him, the silk of her dress straining across her breasts, outlining their luscious shape. Adrenalin still lingered in Arkim’s blood. He needed to channel it...dilute it somehow. Sylvie shifted and her body swayed closer. His arousal spiked, mixing with the adrenalin, making him crave an antidote to this churning in his gut.
He put down his glass of alcohol and reached out and put his hands around Sylvie’s waist. She took the ice away and looked at him. Her hair was tumbling over her shoulders, a glossy wave of bright red. She looked concerned. Eyes huge with worry. Remorse.
‘Arkim—’
He took the ice pack out of her hands and threw it aside, then pulled her into him, his intent unmistakable.
Sylvie protested, even though he could feel her breath coming faster, moving her chest against his. ‘You’re hurt. We can’t—’
He put a finger on her mouth, then cupped the back of her head. In spite of his need to devour, consume, he found that something happened as he touched her mouth with his. The tension in his body was fading away...and he was touching her as reverently as if she was made of china.
She braced herself with her hands on his chest. Desire rose up, fast and urgent, replacing the need to be reverent, and Arkim fumbled clumsily with his clothes and body, sheathing himself with protection. Sylvie rose above him, pulling her dress up, eyes glazed with lust, cheeks flushed.
Arkim tore Sylvie’s delicate lace panties off and drew the head of his erection up and down her slick folds, tantalising her, torturing himself, until she was slick and hot. Too impatient to wait, she rose up and took him in her hand, then slowly slid down, taking all of him inside her body. It was so exquisite Arkim had to grit his jaw tightly.
They moved with a kind of slow but languorous intent...rocking, sliding...and when the need became too great Arkim held Sylvie’s hips in place and lost himself inside her, burying his head in her breast, feeling her hands on his head, as his soul flew apart and finally he found the oblivion he was looking for.
* * *
A couple of hours later Sylvie was lying on her side, naked, her hands under her face, watching Arkim’s chest rise and fall. He’d taken her to bed and made love to her again, and the after-shocks of pleasure still pulsed through her body at intermittent intervals. The intensity of the way he’d taken her on the couch still took her breath away. It was as if he’d been consumed with a kind of fury.
His face was in profile to her, showing the proud line of his nose. From here she couldn’t see his injured eye. Sylvie couldn’t help but feel that in spite of the passion with which Arkim had taken her just now something had altered since that confrontation at the hotel.
A cold weight settled in her belly as an ugly reminder reared its head. She’d been meaning to discuss something with Arkim for the past couple of days and had been avoiding it like a coward. Because she was afraid that it would prove to be some kind of a test. A test of where she really fitted into his life.
As his chest rose and fell evenly she envied him his peace, when
her body and brain felt as if they were tying themselves into a million knots. Knowing she wouldn’t rest, Sylvie slipped out of bed and got dressed, going into the living room.
She sat cross-legged on the couch and Omar jumped up into her lap. As she petted him absently and looked into the muted darkness she knew that she had no choice but to talk to Arkim. And after what had happened this evening she knew that he would have no hesitation in letting her go. For good, this time.
* * *
Dawn was breaking outside when Arkim woke. His head was throbbing and he wondered why—until he lifted a hand and winced when it came into contact with his black eye.
Sylvie. Anger jerked him fully awake in an instant. The memory of those men...eating her up with their eyes. And one of them had touched her. He’d seen it. His hands curled into fists just from thinking about it, remembering, his blood pressure increasing.
No woman had ever roused Arkim to the point of wanting to do violence on her behalf. But he’d been ready to take on all those men. His anger had been volcanic. It was something he hadn’t felt in a long time...since the day that woman had controlled him for her own amusement and his father had thrown him out like unwanted baggage.
Sylvie. Arkim looked around. He was alone in the room...no sounds were coming from the bathroom. He wanted her even now, even after making love to her like some kind of feral youth on the couch earlier. Damn her. Would he ever not want her?
Not wanting to investigate the way his gut clenched at that prospect, Arkim got out of bed and pulled on a pair of sweats, feeling as if he’d done about ten rounds in a boxing ring. He frowned as he padded through the apartment, hearing nothing but silence. Not even Omar.
He checked all the rooms and came to the living room last—and finally he saw her. She was standing with her back to the door, looking out of the window. He noticed that she was dressed in jeans and a shirt. There was something tense about the lines of her body that made him stay where he was.
‘You’re dressed.’
The lines of Sylvie’s body got tenser. She turned around slowly. Her hair was pulled into a low bun at the back of her head. She confounded him—she could go from looking like the sexiest movie star goddess to something like this, much more simple and plain, and yet his body reacted the same way every time.
He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, grateful for the fact that his sweats were loose. His susceptibility to this woman was something that still made him feel uncomfortable. Exposed.
Sylvie’s arms were crossed too. ‘There was something I wanted to tell you earlier, but I never got a chance.’
Feeling a flutter of panic, and not liking it, Arkim said, ‘Is it so important it can’t wait till later?’ He stood up straight and held out a hand. ‘Come back to bed...it’s too early for talk.’
Sylvie smiled, but it was touched with something Arkim hadn’t seen in some time. Cynicism.
‘No, it can’t wait...’
Arkim went over to the drinks cabinet and helped himself to a shot of brandy. He saluted Sylvie. ‘Medicinal purposes.’
She paled at that, and Arkim paused with the glass halfway to his mouth. ‘What is it?’
She looked at him, that blue-green gaze unnervingly direct. ‘Pierre has offered me a bigger role in the show.’
The tight ball in Arkim’s gut seemed to ease. That was it? ‘That sounds good.’ So why did she look so serious?
‘It is good... But if I accept it I’ll have to take off my clothes for the first time...like the other girls. Pierre has never pressured me about this before... I told you, he’s been like a father to me. But he says now that if I want to stay I have to start delivering a fuller performance.’
For a second Arkim just heard a roaring in his ears. Images rushed through his head: Sylvie’s pale breasts bared for thousands of people to see... Her perfect body... No wonder her boss wanted to exploit her.
And those men last night...they would look at her—every night if they wished. And taunt Arkim with the knowledge that they’d seen as much of his lover as he had.
He realised his hand had tightened so much around the glass that he risked breaking it. He forced himself to relax, to focus.
Sylvie continued. ‘The truth is that I don’t know if I should do it or not. I’ve been thinking...about doing something else.’
Relief vied with something much darker inside Arkim. Sylvie was looking at him far too carefully. As if his response mattered. As if she wanted him to tell her what to do.
The sheer volatility of his emotions was like acid in his stomach, inhibiting his response. If he told Sylvie he cared what she did she would have control over him...she would know his vulnerability. It would make a statement about what was happening here, would demonstrate a possessiveness of her that had already earned him a black eye. In public. In front of his peers.
He went cold—because he hadn’t even contemplated that side of it yet.
He’d just weathered one public scandal...was he now in danger of being dragged into another one?
It was too much. Too reminiscent of that day when he’d lost his innocence and his self-respect. When he’d been found, literally, with his pants down and that woman’s mouth around his— He blanked the poisonous memory. He wasn’t going back there for anyone.
Carefully, he took a sip of his drink. He didn’t even feel the burn. His voice when he spoke was cool. Calm. Belying the tumult underneath. ‘I don’t really know what you want me to say. It’s your life, Sylvie. You should do whatever you think is best for you.’
She looked at him for a long moment, but it was a kind of dead-eyed stare. She was so pale that Arkim almost made a move towards her, but then she seemed to break out of her trance-like state and uncrossed her arms, her gaze narrowed.
‘Yes, it is my life, and I do know what’s best for me. Which is why I’m going to leave now.’
Arkim frowned. ‘Leave...?’
Sylvie glanced down to where Omar was sitting at her feet, looking up at her adoringly, his tongue hanging out. But she didn’t bend down to pick him up. Arkim saw her hands form fists, as if to stop herself.
She looked back at him, her jaw tight. ‘Yes, leave. The new show opens in a week and there’s a huge PR campaign starting tomorrow. In light of what happened last night I think it’s best if we call it quits now.’ Her chin lifted. ‘I would prefer not to be responsible for any further public incidents, and when the new show takes off... Well, it’s only more likely to happen.’
Something hard and dark and cold settled into Arkim’s belly. ‘So you’re going to do it, then? Take Pierre up on his offer?’
Her face was like a pale smooth mask. She shrugged lightly. ‘It’s all I’ve ever known. They’re my family... I’d be a fool not to want to progress in one of the most famous shows in the world.’
‘By taking off your clothes?’ Arkim almost spat the words.
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.