by Annie West
Concern etched Asim’s features. She respected him all the more for not sharing his sister’s private affairs without permission.
Her mind whirled. What could have made such an appalling situation worse? But it was none of her business.
‘You need to know, to take that into consideration as you get to know her.’
Startled, Jacqui stared up at him. ‘You seem very sure that’s going to happen.’
Amusement lightened his stern features. ‘I know you, my little firebrand, and I know my sister. Now you’ve met, there’s no chance of keeping you apart.’ He pulled her hand onto his thigh and clamped his palm over it so she felt the flex and bunch of hot muscle through his trousers. ‘It would be counterproductive trying to keep you apart.’
Jacqui tilted her head. ‘Because it’s not worth the argument?’
He shook his head. ‘Because you’re good for her. She’s been in hiding too long. I heard you telling her she was talented and should pursue her work. You talked about her gift of creating beauty and she listened. I saw it in her face.’ His voice roughened.
‘You have no idea how hard it’s been to break through to her. Or perhaps it’s that you’re an unbiased outsider, so your words count more. Whatever the reason, I want to thank you for what you did today.’
Warmth filled Jacqui. When he looked at her that way the world brightened.
‘You brought a breath of fresh air with you. I saw it as soon as I walked in on you two. It’s the first time in ages I’ve seen roses in her cheeks.’
‘When she smiles your sister is breathtakingly lovely.’
Asim didn’t smile in agreement. To Jacqui’s surprise, his mouth tightened. ‘It’s a burden she’s carried all her life. Just like our mother.’
‘A burden?’ To Jacqui it seemed a benefit.
‘Beauty like that doesn’t guarantee happiness. It attracts trouble. Stunning women become invested in their looks and how people view them. As they age it undermines their sense of themselves. They panic and become demanding, needing more attention, more proof of their beauty.’ He shook his head. ‘It would need to be a very secure and confident man to marry a gorgeous woman. Otherwise he’d spend his life fretting over whether she’s unfaithful.’
Jacqui opened her mouth to ask how he knew so much about it. But of course he did. His mother had been one of the beauties of her age. Jacqui had seen the press photos. Plus she’d skimmed reports linking his mother to one eligible bachelor after another, stories hinting all wasn’t well in the Jazeeri royal marriage.
‘Hopefully one day your sister will fall in love with a man who values her for herself, not just the way she looks.’
Asim snorted. ‘Love?’
‘You disagree?’
‘I don’t believe in it.’ Jacqui felt him tense beneath her touch. ‘At best it’s a fool’s dream, something the weak hang onto.’
Jacqui frowned, disturbed more than she could say by his dismissive attitude. ‘Your grandmother doesn’t strike me as weak or foolish yet she believes in love.’
‘My grandparents lived in a different time.’ He lifted his shoulders. ‘Maybe love was possible then.’ He shot her a dark stare. ‘Why? Do you believe romantic love can solve all your woes?’ His look was sharp, almost accusing. She felt it cut, despite the comfort of his hand on hers.
‘I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.’ She’d never dreamed of Mr Right sweeping her off her feet. She’d never allowed herself to dream, except about achieving her next professional goal.
Suddenly it struck Jacqui how wonderful it would be to have more than her career to look back on when she was old. How wonderful to share your life with one special person.
‘What is it?’ He leaned close, as if he could read the lightning-bolt flash that momentarily blinded her.
What would it be like to share her life with Asim? The trembling shock of the idea couldn’t douse effervescent delight. A lifetime spent getting to know Asim, discovering his secrets as he uncovered hers. A lifetime feeling more special, more alive, than she’d ever been before. The idea was so heady she felt dizzy.
‘Jacqueline?’
She met his probing gaze and found herself wondering if his children would have the same dark eyes, like black velvet.
She tried to tug her hand free. Asim simply tightened his grip, leaning towards her. Panic filled her and she went on the attack.
‘Just because your parents weren’t in love doesn’t mean it’s not possible.’
‘Oh, but they were. In love.’ His lips twisted in a parody of a smile. ‘At least that’s what they called it. I thought it was a battle for supremacy, one playing off the other. They covered it all—sickly sweet romantic gestures and times when no one existed but the pair of them, not even their children. But more often it was jealousy, sulks, rages and ultimatums, then break-ups and reconciliations. They tried to use Samira and me in their one-upmanship but they lost interest in us as soon as they reconciled.’
‘It sounds awful.’ Surely that sort of volatile, chaotic childhood would leave its scars? He’d hinted it had affected Samira. How had it affected him? Jacqui wondered if this explained why Asim liked being in control and having his commands obeyed. He thrived on order and logic.
‘And as a result you don’t believe in love?’ She needed, desperately, to understand him.
‘Perhaps there are some lucky couples who’ve found it, but I suspect most of them put a good face on it. The best you can hope for is an amicable marriage with someone you respect.’
‘That sounds very businesslike.’ Perhaps at last she’d discovered a cultural chasm between them. Until now there’d been little, apart from Asim’s tendency to expect instant obedience to his wishes, to reinforce the different worlds they came from. As she refused to be obsequious, and they usually negotiated an agreed position when she wanted something for her research, she’d pushed that to the back of her mind.
‘Why not? Marriage is the most important venture in a person’s life. It deserves careful consideration rather than some impetuous decision influenced by a hormonal rush.’
Jacqui smiled wistfully. ‘I can’t imagine you doing that.’
‘I should hope not!’
She looked into his severely sculpted features and tried to imagine him doing anything as impulsive as falling in love. He was so contained.
Yet Asim could act on impulse. Like when he audaciously made love to her at unexpected times and places. Sometimes he shocked her, novice that she was to this game of passion. He also made occasional impulsive decisions, though he’d label them instinctive, when he pursued an unexpected tack in his diplomatic work. Those flashes of intuition added to his reputation for brilliance.
‘How about you, Jacqueline?’ His fingers stroked the back of her hand. ‘Have you ever fancied yourself in love?’
‘Never.’
‘Really?’
He looked so intent she had to ask. ‘Why so surprised?’
His gaze shuttered and he looked away. ‘I thought females were susceptible to romantic fantasy.’
‘Not this one. I suppose I spent too much time with boys to see them as anything to fantasise about.’
‘Lots of brothers?’
‘In a way.’ She paused, hesitating. Asim knew her weaknesses, her dreams and fears. What would happen if she shared her past too? She was used to protecting her privacy. Would opening up make her even more vulnerable to him?
He sat, waiting as if he had all the time in the world. The comfort of his presence, his touch, in this beautiful, peaceful garden worked its magic and she felt her shoulders relax and drop.
‘Half-brothers and step-brothers.’
‘Your parents were busy.’
‘You could say that.’ She huffed out a breath of laughter. ‘They
split when I was ten. But there were no fights or shouting. Just...coolness. One day we were together and the next they were moving on to their new families.’
His fingers tightened. ‘They already had new families?’
Jacqui nodded. ‘My father was seeing a woman who already had three boys. The eldest was just a year younger than me. My mother moved away and by the time she remarried she was pregnant with the first of two sons.’
‘So you stayed with your father?’
Even after all this time Jacqui felt that familiar stab of hurt at being unwanted. Not once in her life had she felt truly loved.
Was that why Asim’s attention made her so happy?
Her mouth flattened. ‘No. They decided it was best to share responsibility so I went back and forth between the households.’
Asim shifted, closing the distance between them. ‘It doesn’t sound like you were happy.’
She lifted her shoulders. ‘The boys weren’t bad, though sometimes they really enjoyed getting their babysitter into trouble.’
‘You had a babysitter as well as your parents?’
‘No. I was the babysitter. My mother...’ Stupid to let it get to her after all this time. ‘My mother was more interested in her new family. I was a bit of an embarrassment to her and my stepmother made it clear I was only accepted in her house if I made myself useful.’
‘And your father?’ Asim’s voice was terse.
She shook her head at the sight of the militant spark in his eyes. ‘My parents aren’t bad people. They never maltreated me. They were just more focused on their new families.’
‘Leaving you adrift.’ There it was again, that trace of angry protectiveness. Like when he’d accused her of having a distorted body image. Secretly she adored arousing his protective instincts. Even for a capable, modern woman there was something thrilling about a take-charge man wanting to make things right for you.
‘I wasn’t adrift. I made my own way. I dreamed of becoming a journalist and learning independence early helped.’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘Besides, given the number of men in current affairs reporting, knowing how the male mind works is a distinct advantage. All those years coping with testosterone-filled teens was great grounding.’
Asim gave a bark of laughter. ‘That would explain why you’ve never been intimidated by me.’
Jacqui kept her mouth shut rather than correct him. There’d been times, especially in the beginning, when she’d felt completely out of her depth and more than a little daunted. That was before she’d realised that behind his tough exterior and ruthless decision-making lurked a man of compassion and surprising tenderness.
‘We’re well matched, Jacqueline. Both of us are pragmatists. Neither of us is foolish enough to fall for the fantasy of romantic love.’
She looked into those gleaming eyes, saw his satisfied smile and felt some of her bright, glowing pleasure grow dull and brittle.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ASIM WALKED WITH his entourage through the throng, exchanging greetings. They’d assembled in the plain where festivities were traditionally held. Once, tribes had travelled days by horse or camel to get here. Tonight, on the tenth anniversary of his accession to the throne, most had driven and some had flown around the globe.
There was laughter and feasting after a day of entertainment: displays of horsemanship, archery and shooting as well as athletics, dancing and horse racing.
Satisfaction buzzed. Jazeer had prospered and developed in ways that made him proud. He wasn’t solely responsible, but his government had achieved much, far more than under his father’s unstable rule.
He neared the gateway to the royal enclosure, on high ground abutting the citadel. The crimson and gold Jazeeri royal banner flared and snapped in the breeze.
Movement beneath it caught his eye and he paused, his breath locking.
How did she do it?
He should be immune to Jacqueline Fletcher or at least accustomed to her presence. She spent every night in his bed and they shared more hours awake than he had shared with any previous lover. Yet still she made his heart hammer.
His gaze roved over the slim figure in amber. She was stunning, a beacon glowing in the early evening light. Her dress shimmered, the long skirt moulding her neat hips and giving a tantalising hint of gorgeous long legs.
Immediately desire throbbed, as if his body had been trained to respond to the mere sight of her. He registered vague disquiet. This fascination should be ebbing. Instead it had escalated.
He wanted to be with her, stripping off that dress that flowed over her slender curves like apricot syrup. This on the night when he should be rejoicing in his achievements and the accolades of his people!
She made him want to forget his duty. He wanted to lose himself in her. Or at least be with her, seeing her delight in the spectacle and listening to her refreshingly honest assessment of everything, from the pageantry to the behind-the-scenes lobbying by guests. He sensed danger in the way she distracted him, making him lose focus. It was his duty, his responsibility, to keep control and protect those, like Samira, who relied on him.
Asim made himself turn. It was a test of willpower that he stay away.
His grandmother and her cronies would take Jacqueline under their wing. He’d remain here, doing his duty till it was time for the fireworks.
As the light faded and he finally made his way back to the enclosure a ruffled press secretary raced over to report a breach of security. Amongst the invited media, a cameraman and reporter from a major magazine were on the premises. A magazine that had pursued Samira relentlessly. Its staff had been banned from all royal premises. Yet they were in the royal enclosure, large as life.
Asim marched up the hill, barking questions to his stumbling retainers.
How had they entered? He couldn’t believe his efficient security team had slipped up so badly.
But there was a conundrum. For it appeared the pair had press passes that had been checked and double checked and proven genuine.
Only years of self-discipline prevented Asim taking the steps three at a time. The Sultan of Jazeer never publicly showed haste or fury. He topped the rise and his heart pumped an aggressive rhythm.
It was worse than he’d thought.
A sweeping look took in the cluster of photographers held back by security staff. Their lenses were trained on the platform overlooking the plain below. On it posed women dressed in flamboyant rainbow colours. Among them he saw Jacqueline in full-length amber looking luscious as toffee and, in a gown of deepest violet, Samira.
Asim halted, pulse hammering, barely able to believe his eyes. Samira hadn’t planned to attend. When he’d tried to persuade her weeks ago she’d claimed she needed time before facing crowds again. What was she doing here?
A barrage of sound hit and the sky exploded in fireworks.
Asim was stalking forward, his jaw clamped, when a hand touched his arm. About to shake it off, he looked down into his grandmother’s concerned face.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of them.’ He started forward but her hand tightened.
‘No. That’s exactly what you won’t do.’
‘Sorry?’ He couldn’t believe his ears. The old lady had supported his strategy to protect Samira.
‘They’re here now. If you cause a scene it will fuel the flames. Look—they’re not talking to Samira, just taking photographs.’
Asim followed her gesture, confirming that, while Samira was in full view of the press, his staff kept them from questioning her. The women came together in a neatly choreographed move and posed for the cameras, a burst of multi-coloured light adding to the spectacle.
‘It’s deliberate,’ he murmured, taking in the scene properly for the first time. The beautiful women, the glamorous dresses, the backdrop of ancient for
tifications and stunning pyrotechnics. The scene would enthral millions of avid viewers.
‘Of course,’ his grandmother responded. ‘Don’t inflame the situation.’
Grimly Asim nodded, forcing himself to stand and watch those vultures snap photo after photo.
Yet he felt betrayed. Someone in his palace had arranged this press intrusion and put Samira at risk. A few weeks ago she’d barely had the energy to stir herself and here she was, posing like some catwalk model for the paparazzi.
When he got his hands on the person who planned this, they’d wish they’d never been born.
* * *
Jacqui wondered if the smile she’d pasted on looked convincing or was a grimace of stress. These days she didn’t like crowds and being on show, a reluctant model for Samira’s gorgeous creation, shredded her nerves. But Samira had insisted, latching onto this opportunity with a feverish determination that convinced Jacqui she had to do her bit to make it a success.
Even though it meant keeping it secret from Asim.
No doubt he’d get on his high horse when he discovered what they’d done, but when he saw how well it worked he’d accept it was a masterstroke.
Of course he would.
But no one had mentioned fireworks.
Each crack of sound plunged her back into that day of chaos, blood and death.
The acrid scent of gunpowder turned her stomach. The whole display was torture, testing her resolve to the limit, cracking it till she feared any minute she’d fling herself to the ground, curling in a foetal position as the world shattered around her.
Another explosion splintered the air and she flinched. The hairs on her nape and arms prickled and she fought to keep the contents of her stomach down as terror iced her blood.
‘That one was close.’
Mouth dry, she nodded at the reporter, trying to feel grateful for the mundane observation.
‘And it seems to have been the finale of the show. Now we can talk.’
‘Of course.’ She’d been unable to think or speak during the barrage. Now she frantically drew on her reserves of strength, hoping years of experience in front of the camera would come to her aid.