Awakened By Her Desert Captor. Эбби Грин

space with you is unfortunate, but I’m sure we can stay out of each other’s way.’

      Arkim just smiled slowly, and with an air of sensual menace, as if he knew just how flimsy her bravado was.

      ‘We’ll see.’

      * * *

      Sylvie had never been in a helicopter before, and she’d been more mesmerised than she cared to admit by the way the desert dunes had unfolded beneath them, undulating into the distance like the sinuous curves of a body. It all seemed utterly foreign and yet captivating to her.

      Her stomach was only just beginning to climb back down from her throat when she heard a deep voice in her ear through the headphones.

      ‘That’s my house, Al-Hibiz, directly down and to your left.’

      Sylvie looked down and her breath was taken away. House? This was no house. It looked like a small but formidable castle, complete with ramparts and flat roofs. It was distinctly Arabic in style, with ochre-coloured walls. Within those walls she could see lush gardens, and in the distance the Arabian sea sparkled. What looked like an oasis lay far off in the distance, a spot of deep green. It was like something out of a fairytale.

      It distracted her from the shock she still felt after realising that Arkim was co-piloting the helicopter, and the way his hands had lingered as he’d strapped her in, those fingers resting far too close to her breasts under her thin T-shirt.

      He should have looked ridiculous, getting into the cockpit still dressed in his suit, against the backdrop of the stark desert, but he hadn’t. He’d looked completely at home, powerful and utterly in control.

      And now the helicopter was descending onto a flat area just outside the walls of the castle, which looked much bigger from this vantage point.

      Sylvie could see robed men waiting, holding on to their long garments and the turbans on their heads as the helicopter kicked up sand and wind. When the craft bounced gently onto the earth she breathed out a deep sigh of relief, unaware of how tense she’d been.

      The helicopter blades stopped turning and a delicious silence settled over them for a moment, before Arkim got out and the men approached. She watched as he greeted the men heartily in a guttural language that still managed to sound melodic, a wide smile on his face.

      It took her breath away. It was the first genuine smile she’d ever seen on his face. Admittedly their previous encounters hadn’t exactly been conducive to such a reaction. Not unless she counted that sexy smile when his hand had explored between her legs—

      ‘Time to get out, Sylvie. I’m afraid the chopper has to go back and you’re not going to be in it.’

      She scowled, hating to be caught out in such a memory. She fumbled with the seat belt and swatted his hand away when he would have helped. Eventually it came undone and she extricated her arms, unaware of how the movement pulled her T-shirt taut over her breasts, or of how Arkim’s dark gaze settled there for a moment with a flash of hunger. If she’d seen that she might well have barricaded herself into the helicopter, come hell or high water.

      But then she was out, and swaying a little unsteadily on the firm sun-baked ground.

      Staff dressed in white rushed to and fro, loading luggage into the back of a small people carrier, and then Arkim was leading Sylvie over to what looked like a luxurious golf buggy. He indicated for her to get in, and after a moment’s futile rebellion she did so.

      She really was stuck here now—with him.

      He got in beside her and drove the small open-sided vehicle to the entrance of the castle, where huge wooden doors were standing open. They entered a beautiful airy courtyard, with a fountain in the centre. A deliciously cool gentle mist of moisture settled on her skin from the spray.

      But the vehicle had stopped now, and Arkim was at her side, holding out a hand. Sylvie ignored it and stepped out, not wanting to see what would undoubtedly be a mocking look on his face.

      When he didn’t move, though, she had to look at him. He gestured with a hand and—damn him—a mocking smile.

      ‘Welcome to my home, Sylvie. I expect our time here to be...cathartic.’