Reluctantly she stepped through. Those short daily interviews were unsettling enough. Walking empty corridors with him reminded her too strongly of that first night when he’d found her naked and screaming. He made her feel vulnerable, as if her defences had been scraped away like a layer of skin by the hot desert wind.
Or maybe it’s because you’re so aware of him as a man. A hot, sexy man.
His hand shot out and grabbed her elbow when she stumbled.
‘I’m fine.’ Jacqui made to tug out of his hold but found she couldn’t.
His eyes weren’t blank any more. What she saw there made her breath quicken and sent a charge jolting to the apex of her thighs. Heat seared to the tips of her ears as she identified her body’s reaction.
Arousal.
Jacqui swallowed over a throat lined with sandpaper.
For days she’d assured herself she’d imagined the throb of desire that first night. She’d focused on her work, interviewing Lady Rania and poring over documents. She’d kept her reports to her royal host businesslike. But in the dark of her solitary room each night she’d felt a rush of heat that made a liar of her.
Her breath quickened as he tilted his head, watching.
Then abruptly she was free, his strong fingers sliding away.
‘Forgive me, Ms Fletcher. I realise you didn’t invite that.’ His lips curved in a wry smile that set her heart battering her ribs.
It took a moment to realise he referred to her defiant announcement that if she wanted his touch she’d invite it.
Suddenly Jacqui remembered the warmth of his skin on hers that first night. How his dangerous smile had undone something vital inside her. How, even when annoyed at his superior attitude, she was always aware of him.
‘I should go. I have a busy day tomorrow.’
She turned into another corridor and infuriatingly he fell into step. He was so close she heard the faint swish of silks and linen as he strode beside her.
‘So I understand. My grandmother is excited by the prospect of you meeting her old friends. I gather they’re spending the afternoon with you, discussing harem life.’
‘You know about that?’ Jacqui hadn’t told him in advance, suspecting he’d object to her spending time with women who were intimately acquainted with his family. He’d made it clear his family was off-limits. The discreet presence of a guard who trailed at a distance whenever she left her suite to meet Lady Rania or investigate the deserted harem constantly reminded her that she was here under sufferance.
If she hadn’t been so engrossed by her research, or so desperate to make a success of it, she’d have bridled at the surveillance. It made her smile grimly that, after the dangers of her old job, now she was relegated to pure desk work Sultan Asim felt he had to take precautions against her.
‘My grandmother has spoken of little but this gathering.’ He paused. ‘Whatever comes of this project, I must thank you for bringing pleasure to her at a very difficult time.’
Jacqui’s pace faltered. It was the last thing she’d expected to hear.
‘I’m pleased you think so. But it’s she who’s helping me. Without her involvement this project wouldn’t be possible. When Imran...’ She cleared her throat. ‘When your cousin mentioned the possibility of interviewing her I hardly dared hope she’d agree.’
‘It’s that important to you?’
She nodded. More than he could know. What had begun as an interesting idea for the future had become her lifeline, her only option. And one final homage to her friend.
‘Please.’ He gestured and Jacqui stared, discovering they’d reached the spacious courtyard outside her suite. ‘Take a seat.’ He led the way to a pair of comfortable looking chairs in the garden.
Jacqui hesitated. ‘I really should—’
‘I’d like to talk to you.’ He stood, a commanding figure bathed in moonlight. It gleamed on the fine fabric of his clothes and turned his eyes to a dark glitter.
Instinct warned against a tête à tête in the darkness. But he was her host. She was indebted to him. She couldn’t walk away.
Reluctantly she stepped from the lit passageway and took a seat, struggling to sit upright when the cushions invited her to lounge. He sat turned half towards her, half towards the long pool that shimmered invitingly.
Silence surrounded them.
‘I’m curious,’ he said at last. ‘Why would a woman like you embark on this particular project?’
‘A woman like me?’ She strove to keep the indignation from her voice. What was he accusing her of now?
His reluctance to have her here, his hawk-like scrutiny of her research and her daily guard proved he didn’t trust the press. But she’d hoped she’d allayed his concerns and he’d begun to trust her a little.
‘I’ve read your profile, Ms Fletcher. You’re one of Australia’s youngest foreign news reporters and well regarded. You received an award for media excellence, though you were in hospital and missed the ceremony.’ Jacqui tried and failed not to stiffen at the casual mention of the time when shock and guilt, as much as her injuries, had incapacitated her. ‘You rarely take leave and when you do it’s to follow another story. You have a reputation for doggedness and for grasping the bigger picture.’
‘You’ve checked me out.’ It shouldn’t surprise her yet Jacqui sat straighter, nerves jangling.
‘Of course. Don’t pretend you haven’t done the same.’ Jacqui felt the challenge in his stare though his eyes were shadowed.
Finally she nodded. ‘You inherited the crown at twenty-five. You were educated in France and England, including at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. You’ve got a Master’s degree in business administration.’ She paused, reflecting on those old reports of extreme sports and hard partying.
‘Despite your early reputation for...adventure, since taking the throne you’ve gained a name as a broker in diplomatic and trade negotiations and as a leader of vision. You’ve built on your nation’s loyalty to your family and are well respected.’
‘Touché, Ms Fletcher.’ Laughter threaded his voice, making it far too appealing.
Her fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. Sitting in the darkness with this man whose presence sent her senses into hyper-awareness was a supremely bad idea. Her nostrils twitched. She wished he’d doused himself in some expensive aftershave any man might buy. Instead, she guessed that far too appealing spice and man mix was innate to him.
‘And so?’
‘And so, after checking your credentials, I’m intrigued. Why step away from your career to write about a lifestyle that no longer exists?’
‘I hope plenty of people will be interested in reading about life in a harem.’
‘Because sex sells?’
He leaned towards her and she shifted back. ‘The book won’t be about sex.’ She waved a hand. ‘Or only in part.’
‘But that’s what readers will expect.’
Jacqui shrugged. ‘I want to paint a portrait of a vanished way of life.’
‘The question remains. Why give up a challenging, successful job for which you’re receiving accolades to write this book?’
Her breathing hitched and when she swallowed it felt like she’d gulped a block of ice. It froze her from the inside. She tried to prise her fingers from their claw-like grip on the arms of the chair but couldn’t.
He