Page 134 of The Tycoon's Affair: Tempted By Desire

Endless rolling desert and blue skies surrounded them. It should have been a boring landscape but it wasn’t. And the silence that enveloped them was surprisingly easy as Arkim navigated over a road that was little more than a dirt track.

Eventually, though, Sylvie had to say the words beating a tattoo in her brain. She looked at him, taking in his aristocratic profile. ‘Halima told me you’ve never brought anyone else to the castle.’

His hands tightened on the steering wheel momentarily and his jaw twitched. ‘No, I haven’t taken anyone else there.’

She hated it that she cared, because it meant nothing, and the feeling of exposure after having mentioned it made her say frigidly, ‘I should have guessed that you’d prefer to keep this...situationwell out of the prying gaze of the media. The last thing you want is to be publicly associated with someone likeme.’

Arkim glanced at Sylvie, and she was surprised to see his mouth tip up ever so slightly at one side. ‘I think our association became pretty public when you broke apart the wedding and claimed that I’d spent the night in your bed.’

She flushed. She’d conveniently forgotten that. She never had been a good liar. Afraid he’d ask her again about her motive for doing such a thing, she said hurriedly, ‘This oasis—it’s yours?’

Arkim finally looked away again to the road—but not before Sylvie’s skin had prickled hotly under his assessing gaze. ‘Yes, it’s part of the land I own. However, nomads and travellers use it, and I would never disallow them access as some others do. It’s really their land.’

There was unmistakable pride in Arkim’s tone, and it made Sylvie realise that, whatever their tangled relationship was, this man was not without integrity.

Genuinely curious, she asked, ‘What’s your connection to Al-Omar?’

Arkim’s jaw tightened. ‘This is where my mother is from—hence my name. The land belonged to a distant ancestor. She grew up in B’harani; her father was an advisor to the old Sultan, before Sadiq took over.’

‘And do you see any of your family here?’

Before he’d even answered Sylvie might have guessed the truth from the way his face became stern again.

‘They disowned my mother when she brought shame on the family name—in their eyes. They’ve never expressed any interest in meeting me.’

Sylvie felt a surge of emotion and said quietly, ‘I’m sorry that she had to go through that. She must have felt lonely.’

How bigoted and cruel of them, to just leave her. But she didn’t think Arkim would appreciate any further discussion on the subject, or hearing her saying she felt sorry for him.

She looked out of the window and took the opportunity to move things on to a less contentious footing. ‘It is beautiful here...so different to anything I’ve ever seen before.’

There was a mocking tone to his voice. ‘You don’t miss the shops? Clubs? Busy city life?’

She immediately felt defensive. ‘I love living in Paris, yes. But I actually hate shopping. And I work late almost every night, so on the nights Idohave off the last thing I want to do is go out to a club.’

Arkim seemed to consider this for a moment. Then he settled back into his seat and angled his body towards her, one hand relaxed on the wheel and the other on his thigh.

‘So tell me something else about yourself, then... How did you end up in Paris at seventeen?’

Sylvie cursed herself. She’d asked for it, hadn’t she? By changing the subject. She looked at him and there was something different about him—something almost conciliatory. As if he was making an effort.

Because he wants you in his bed.

She ignored the mocking voice. ‘I left home at seventeen because I was never the most academic student and I wanted to dance.’

She deliberately avoided going into any more detail.

‘So why not dance in the UK? Why did you have to go to Paris? Surely your aspirations were a little higher?’

Arkim sounded genuinely mystified instead of condemning, and Sylvie felt a rush of emotion when she remembered those tumultuous days. Her hands clenched into fists in her lap without her realising what they were doing.

Suddenly one of his hands covered hers. He was frowning at her. ‘What is it?’

Shocked at the gesture, she looked at him. The warmth of his hand made her speak without really thinking. ‘I was just remembering... It was not...an easy time.’

Arkim took his hand away to put it on the wheel again, in order to navigate an uneven part of the road. When they were through it, he said, ‘Go on.’

Sylvie faced forward, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She’d never spoken of this with anyone—not really. And to find that she was about to speak of it now, to this man, was a little mind-boggling.