Page 160 of The Tycoon's Affair: Tempted By Desire

And then a very loud and obvious cough from nearby made Sylvie jerk in Arkim’s arms. The theatre and their surroundings filtered back into her consciousness as if she were coming out of a particularly delicious dream.

She looked around to see a sea of faces and a lot of suspiciously shiny eyes. Pierre, however, looked familiarly stern. But she could see the glint of affection in his expression.

He eyeballed Arkim. ‘If you’ve quite finished with my dancer, Mr Al-Sahid, I have a theatre to run and a show to put on in less than an hour...’

Arkim had a tight grip on Sylvie’s hips and he was still unashamedly half naked. Something Sylvie was becoming more and more burningly aware of. The ring he’d put on her finger felt heavy and solid. A happy weight.

Arkim, totally unfazed by Pierre, looked at Sylvie. ‘There’s nothing I want more than to take you home right now...but do you want to do the show?’

The Arkim she’d first met might have carried her out of here over his shoulder. Or paid Pierre to release her.

Sylvie looked between the men and then back to Arkim. Her voice was husky when she said, ‘Yes, I’d like to do it. It’s to be my last performance, and it’s thanks to Pierre I got a place with the modern dance company.’ Sylvie grinned. ‘He only offered me the bigger role because he knew I’d say no and that it was the push I needed to move on...’

Arkim looked at the older man, his eyes suspiciously bright. He stood up and, bringing Sylvie with him, reached out to shake the man’s hand. ‘Thank you for taking care of her—and for seeing her potential.’

Now Pierre looked suspiciously emotional. Sylvie fought back her own tears and pulled away from Arkim. She had to finish getting ready. He let her go with a look that told her he’d be in the front row, waiting for her. For ever.

Just before Sylvie went out of earshot, though, she thought she heard Pierre say hopefully, ‘Mr Al-Sahid, are yousureyou don’t have any dance experience...?’

EPILOGUE

THEPRIEST’SEYESwidened as he took in the spectacle approaching down the aisle. There was the slim figure of the bride, dressed from head to toe in white satin and lace, her face obscured by a gauzy veil. Her arm was tucked into the arm of the young woman who was giving her away. She was blonde and very pretty, dressed in dusky pink, and—the priest frowned—very familiar. Because, he realised, he’d watchedhercome down the aisle dressed as a bride only a few short months before. To stand with the same groom.

The groom now turned to look and the priest could sense his nervous tension. He hadn’t been half as jumpy the last time.

The woman in pink handed the bride over to the groom with a smile and a look that said,Take care of her or I’ll kill you. But the priest could tell that the groom needed no such warning. He looked as if he’d kill anyone who dared to come between him and this woman, who was now stepping up to the altar, her hand firmly in his.

But then, before the priest could open his mouth to start the proceedings, the groom lifted the veil from his bride’s radiant face and pushed it over her head, before pulling her close to lower his head and press a kiss to her mouth.

Eventually, after realising that this was the same woman who had so sensationally interrupted the last wedding, the priest coughed loudly. They separated, the bride’s face flushed, her eyes shining.

The priest was feeling rather hot under the collar by now himself, and said testily, ‘If you’re quite ready, shall we proceed?’

They both looked at him and the groom smiled.

‘We’re ready.’

And thankfully, when the moment came for anyone to object, there was nothing but happy silence...

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