Awakened by Her Desert Captor by Abby Green Page B

much.
    He took a sip of his wine. Where was she? He tensed at the thought that she was defying him again.
    Just as he was about to put down his glass and stand up and go to her, his blood fizzing, she appeared. She was slight and lissom...in bare feet. Arkim blinked as blood roared up into his head and south to another part of his anatomy.
    She didn’t look in his direction or acknowledge him as she stepped up onto the dais. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this. She was wearing gold figure-hugging trousers that were flared at the ends and partially slit up the sides, embellished with jewels and lace. They sat low on her hips, along with a belt from which tassels dropped and moved and swayed with her body.
    Her middle was toned and bare, and encircled with a delicate gold chain that sat just above the curve of her hips. A cropped black top with long trailing sleeves was tied in the front, between her breasts, worn over a gold-coloured and very ornate-looking bra.
    Her breasts were...perfection. Full and luscious, beautifully shaped. Her provocative cleavage was framed by the top.
    She still hadn’t even so much as flicked a glance in his direction, and he noticed properly for the first time that the lower half of her face was obscured by a black veil, and that a black covering also hid her hair. Arkim wanted to rip it off and see those red tresses tumbling around her shoulders.
    All that was visible of her face were her heavily kohled eyes. She was bending down now, doing something with speakers, and then a slow, sultry and distinctly Arabic beat filled the space.
    Arkim’s eyes widened when he saw her pick up a large curved sabre—he’d been too distracted to notice it before. He frowned. It looked disturbingly like the one that hung in the exhibition room that housed all his precious antiques and old weapons.
    Sylvie faced away from him now, and all he could see was the tempting curve of her buttocks, the tantalising line of her waist and hips, and that gold chain glinting in the flickering glow of the lamps. And then she lifted the sword high in her hands over her head and slowly turned to face him. Those distinctive eyes met his, and she started to move sinuously to the beat of the music.
    And Arkim’s brain stuttered to a halt.
    He was aware of pale skin, dips and hollows, a toned belly. She played with the huge sword as if it was a baton—twirling it in one hand and then in the other. She was on her knees now, one leg raised at a right angle, and arching her body backwards like a bow, with the sword resting on its tip behind her and her free arm stretched out in front of her. The line of her throat was long and graceful, and curiously vulnerable.
    The music seemed to be pounding in time with Arkim’s blood. And then it changed and became a little faster, with a different beat.
    Sylvie straightened up and bent forward with impressive flexibility, bringing the sword back in front of her to place it on the ground and push it away. And then, still bending forward, she lifted the veil and head covering off her head. She undid the tie on her black top and removed that too.
    Now her hair tumbled down, free and wild, and the ornately decorated gold bra was revealed. He could see the faint sheen of perspiration on her pale skin and his insides tightened with pure, unadulterated lust. Would her skin be sheened like that when he joined their bodies for the first time?
    She came onto her knees, facing Arkim again, and started undulating her body in a series of movements—hips, arms, chest—disconnected but connected. He’d seen belly dancers before, but never like this. Bright red hair trailed over her shoulders and down to her breasts. He wanted to reach out and curl a tendril around his hand, pull her towards him.
    She was looking at him now, but blankly. A sizzle of irritation ran through his blood. When women looked at him, they looked .
    She moved