Asim liked children. He wanted his own. But he’d felt uncomfortable with a woman who seemed to have no interests beyond that.
‘Her mother tells me she’s an excellent cook. I suspect she’ll be a wonderful home-maker.’
Asim arched an eyebrow and stared down at his grandmother. ‘Why the hard sell? It’s not as if I’m likely to starve for want of a good cook.’ A wide gesture took in the remnants of the superb buffet supper prepared by the royal chefs.
‘I’m just pointing out her good qualities. Why are you so touchy?’
He shrugged, frowning. Why did he feel dissatisfied? Tonight had been arranged so he could vet a potential bride in a setting which wouldn’t make his interest obvious. Yet the result was strangely disappointing. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I knew what I wanted and now I’m having second thoughts.’
She nodded. ‘A man like you needs more than a sweet mouse, Asim, even if she is a domestic goddess. You need a real woman.’
He discovered his eyes were fixed again on Jacqueline Fletcher. He blinked as his grandmother’s words sank in. A real woman.
But not one like his unwanted guest. So she could hold her own in conversation and had an enquiring mind. That was all. She didn’t even dress to make the most of her assets. That dark suit would have been acceptable at a business meeting, but not tonight, where the women wore full-length gowns of impeccable quality.
Did she aim to draw attention to herself in some perverse way? Or did she think to hide herself behind the boxy cut of that jacket? Perhaps she’d worn it because of him. Did she really believe the unflattering style would make him forget her svelte, alluring body now he’d seen it laid out before him?
‘Asim, dear. You’re scowling.’
His jaw firmed and he stiffened as he realised his grandmother was right. He’d been Sultan for ten years, had been attending formal events since childhood. Concealing his thoughts in public was second nature. Until now.
* * *
‘Allow me to escort you to your suite.’ The deep voice was as rich and tempting as the thick Arabic coffee sweetened with wild honey that was a local specialty. It slid right through her insides, scorching as it went.
Jacqui swung round to find the Sultan beside her. Her pulse throbbed faster and an unsettling frisson pulled her skin taut. She’d been so busy saying goodnight to her new acquaintances she hadn’t heard him approach.
All evening she’d kept her distance, though he drew her gaze constantly. A head taller than most of the glamorous crowd, he looked magnificent in pale trousers and a high-necked tunic of coppery gold that complemented the saturnine darkness and chiselled authority of his features. This time his turban was black.
Beside him she felt like a drab sparrow. For a fleeting moment she wished her travel wardrobe included something sexy and feminine, until reality punctured the illusion. She didn’t own anything like that. Besides, she’d look ridiculous, a scarecrow pretending to be a fairy princess.
‘Your Highness, thank you for the invitation to tonight’s reception. You have such interesting guests.’
His dark gaze was impenetrable. She should be used to it. She saw it every day in his office when he subjected her to twenty minutes of questions and answers more gruelling than any editorial inquisition. Twenty minutes in which he assessed her with the intensity of a scientist viewing a lower life form.
And never once had she discovered the man behind the formal interrogation. She sensed a sharp intellect and decisive mind but there’d been few glimpses of the man she’d met that first night, the one whose quick distrust, kindness and latent sexuality had fascinated her.
Just as well. She didn’t need that distraction.
‘Had, Ms Fletcher. The evening is over.’
She looked around and realised he was right. The last scattered guests had left.
‘Then I’ll say goodnight too, Your Highness. Thank you again.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’ He fell into step beside her and she was inordinately conscious of his height and the swing of his arm close to hers as they exited the opulent room. He turned with her into the wide corridor away from the marble and gilt public rooms.
‘Really, there’s no need to see me to my door.’
‘It’s not out of my way.’ He gestured for her to precede him under a stone archway decorated with carved calligraphy and semi-precious stones.
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.