moment his hands loosened from her arms and slid down the length of her torso to her hips, gripping her there as his mouth started to move on hers—slowly at first and then, like a storm gathering strength, with an almost rough intensity.
For a long moment everything faded into the distance as the kiss became hotter and more intense. Arkim Al-Sahid’s hands pulled Sylvie even closer—so close that she could feel his heart beating. And then something shifted. He went very still, before abruptly breaking the kiss.
Sylvie was left grasping air when he thrust her away from him. She stumbled backwards and found herself landing heavily in the chair behind her, her breathing laboured, her heart out of control. Dizzy.
Arkim’s mouth twisted and his voice was rough. ‘No. I will not do this. You dare to try and seduce me on the evening of the announcement of my engagement to your sister? Is there no depth to which you won’t descend?’
Sylvie was going cold all over. The lust which had risen up like wildfire dissipated under his murderous gaze. Her brain felt woolly...it was hard to think. Why had it been so important to kiss him like that? What had she been trying to prove? How did this man have the ability to make her act so out of character?
She looked up at him. ‘It wasn’t like that. I’d never do anything to hurt Sophie.’
Arkim made a rude sound just as a knock sounded at the door and it was opened.
Sylvie heard a voice say, ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Al-Sahid, but they’re ready to make the announcement.’
Sylvie realised that whoever was at the door wouldn’t be able to see her in the chair just as Arkim Al-Sahid answered with a curt, ‘I’ll be right there.’ The door closed again and he looked down at her, black eyes glittering with disgust and condemnation. ‘I think it would be best for all of us if you left now, don’t you?’
Present day—a week after the ruined wedding...
ARKIM AL-SAHID LOOKED out over the view from his palatial office and apartment complex, high in the London skyline. And even though the past week had brought to life a lot of his worst nightmares all he could think about right at that moment was of how he’d only met Sylvie Devereux twice in the past six months—three times if you counted her memorable appearance in the church—and yet each time he’d let his legendary control slip.
And now he was paying for it. More than he’d ever thought possible.
Anger was a constant unquenchable fire within him. He was paying for the fact that she was a privileged spoilt brat, who didn’t take rejection well. Who had acted out of her poisonous jealousy of her younger sister to ruin their wedding.
Yet his conscience pricked him. It had been him who had fallen for her all too obvious charms. He’d had to fight it from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, when she’d stood in the reception hall of her father’s house with her hand on her hip, her beautiful body flaunted to every best advantage.
He could still see her eyes landing on him, widening, the familiar glitter of feminine awareness, the scenting of his power. Sensing a conquest. And then she’d sashayed over as if she owned the world. As if she could own him with a mere flutter of her eyelids. And, dammit, he had almost fallen right then—as soon he’d seen those amazing eyes up close.
One blue and the other green and blue.
An intriguing genetic anomaly in a perfect face—high cheekbones, patrician nose and a mouth so lush it could incite a man to sin.
His body had come to hot, pulsing life under that knowing feline gaze, showing him that any illusion that he mastered his own impulses was just that: a flimsy illusion.
His mouth compressed now as he stared unseeingly out of the window, as if he could try to compress the memories.
The full repercussions of his weakness sat like lead in his belly. The marriage to Sophie Lewis was off. And Arkim’s very substantial investment in Grant Lewis’s extensive industrial portfolio was teetering on the brink of collapse. Losing the deal wouldn’t put much of a dent into Arkim’s finances, but the subsequent loss of professional standing would.
He was back to square one. Having to prove himself all over again. His team had been fielding calls from clients all week, expressing doubts and fears that Arkim’s solid business reputation was as shaky as his personal life. Stocks and shares were in freefall.
The tabloids had salivated over the story, featuring a caricaturised cast of characters: the stoical and long-suffering father; the scandalous daughter bent on revenge borne out of jealousy; the sweet innocent bride—the victim—and the ruthless social-climbing mother.
And Arkim—son of one of the world’s richest men, who was also one of its most infamous, dominating the world’s porn industry.
Saul Marks lived a life of excess in Los Angeles, and Arkim hadn’t seen him since he was seventeen. He’d made a vow a long time ago to crawl out from under his father’s shameful reputation, even going so far as to change his name legally as soon as he’d been able to—choosing a name that had belonged to a distant ancestor of his mother’s as he hadn’t thought her present-day immediate family would appreciate their bastard relative making a claim on their name.
Arkim’s mother had come from a wealthy and high-born family in the Arabian country of Al-Omar. She’d been studying in the States at university when she’d met and been seduced by Saul Marks. Naive and innocent, she’d been bowled over by the handsome charismatic American.
When she’d become pregnant, however, Marks had already moved on to his next girlfriend. He’d supported Arkim’s mother, but wanted nothing to do with her or the baby...until she’d died in childbirth and he’d been forced to take his baby son into his care after Zara’s family in Al-Omar had expressed no interest in their deceased daughter’s son.
Arkim’s early life had been a constant round of English boarding schools and impersonal nannies, interspersed with time spent with a reluctant father and his dizzying conveyer belt of lovers, who invariably came from the porn industry. One of whom had taken an unhealthy interest in Arkim and given him an important life lesson in how vital it was to master self-control.
But a week ago, when the society wedding of the decade had imploded in scandalous fashion, all those ambitions and his efforts to distance himself from shame and scandal had turned to dust.
And all because of a red-haired witch.
A witch who had somehow managed to sneak under his impenetrable guard. It was galling to recall how hard it had been to let her go that night in the study. How hard he’d been. From the moment he’d first seen her appear. Looking like a schoolteacher. With her hair pulled back, her face pale. Covered up.
He’d only come to his senses because there had been something in the way she’d kissed him—something he hadn’t believed... Something innocent. Gauche. But it was a lie—as if she’d been trying to figure out what he liked. Acting sweet and innocent after she’d just been completely brazen. Attempting to seduce him away from her sister.
The only thing that had got Arkim through the past week of ignominy and public embarrassment had been the prospect of making Sylvie Devereux pay. And the kind of payment he had in mind would finally
