her pull her wrist free of his grip with a jerk. She was aware that the huge sand cloud was approaching closer and closer through the massive windows behind Arkim, about to envelop them totally, blotting everything out. It made her feel recklessâas if everything was about to be altered for ever.
âIsnât this what you expected of me?â she asked tauntingly. âIâm giving you exactly what you want.â
â Exactly what I want?â he asked.
And before she could say anything, just before the sandstorm inexorably claimed the castle in its path, Arkim speared both hands into her hair, angling her face up to his.
âIâll show you exactly what I want,â he said gutturally.
* * *
Arkim crushed Sylvieâs mouth under his, his need too great to be gentle or finessed. He wanted to devour her.
Her lips were soft, but she kept her mouth closed and there was tension in her body. Damn her. She would not deny him. Not after that cheap little show. Yet even in spite of the tackiness heâd still been turned on. Again. And she was rightâheâd asked for this.
That knowledge wasnât welcome.
Neither was her resistance.
Arkim was aware of the changing quality of sound around them. How everything was muffled. The sandstorm must have enveloped them by now. But all of that was secondary to the woman in his arms. The woman who would pay for turning his life upside down.
He took his mouth off hers and looked down to see those extraordinary eyes glaring at him. If he wasnât acutely aware of how her body quivered against his he would have let her go, been done with her. A reluctant lover was not something he was interested inânot that he had much experience of that.
But Sylvie wanted him. It had sparked between them from the moment their eyes had metâfrom the moment heâd rejected her outright. And in spite of that rejection they were here now, as if this course had always been inevitable.
There was no turning back until this was done and sheâd paid. And he was sated.
He relaxed his hands in her hair, started to subtly massage her skull. It felt fragile under his hands.
âWhat are you doing?â she said huskily.
Her hands were against his chest, but she wasnât pushing him away. His arousal was so hard he ached with the need to sheathe himself inside her body, feel her contract around him. But her innate fragility did something to him...it tempered his anger, turned it into a need to seduce. To make her acquiescent.
âIâm making love to you.â
Her hands pushed against his chest now. âWell, I donât want to be made love to.â
Arkim shook his head, his fingers all the while massaging her skull in slow, methodical movements. âYouâve admitted you want me. And I think you do want to be made love toâvery much. After all, youâre a highly sexed woman...arenât you, Sylvie?â
Sylvie looked up into his eyes. Even in heels she felt tiny next to him. Puny. Weak. His fingers were in her hair, massaging her... She felt like purring. Not like pushing him away. But she had to. Highly sexed? If he found out what she really wasâ
She went cold at the thought and pushed him again, but his chest was like a steel wall. Immovable. At the same time she was aware that she wasnât scared; the fight to get away from him was as much a fight with herself as it was with him. More so. And he knew itâthe bastard.
His hands were moving now...down to her jaw, cradling her face. Something dangerous lurched inside Sylvieâsome emotion that had no place there. It seemed to be the hardest thing in the world to free herself completely and move away.
Arkimâs scent was heady, masculine. It enticed her on a very basic female level. He didnât even say anything this time. He just bent his head and kissed her again, those sensual lips moving over hers with masterful precision and an expertise she
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