of your parents loved you enough to want you full time. That you came a poor second to their new families. That you didn’t belong except as an unpaid babysitter. But it had made her strong. She gave thanks now for that strength.
‘I realise it was difficult for you.’
She nodded, her throat still closed.
‘I’ll continue to monitor your progress’ He paused and she felt his scrutiny like a touch. ‘But you’ve put my mind at rest for now.’
For now? What hoops did she have to jump through to win this man’s approval?
Jacqui felt wrung out. She wasn’t sure she had the stamina to go another round with the Sultan, no matter how desperate she was.
Abruptly he stood. ‘Come, it’s late. I’ve kept you from your bed.’
In the gloom he extended his arm and for an insane moment Jacqui thought he meant to accompany her to bed. A jagged slash of heat scorched her, resolving into an eddying pool of liquid warmth deep in her abdomen.
‘In my country a handshake is a sign of trust.’
Reluctant despite the unlooked-for compliment, Jacqui reached out and took his hand. It was just as she remembered, firm, warm and strong.
Instead of the expected handshake he pulled her to her feet till they stood toe-to-toe, close enough for her to feel his breath on her forehead. The heat in her belly flared and sparked and a new kind of tension stirred.
There it was again, that searing stare that spoke of things far more intimate than news stories or remembered anguish. Breathlessly Jacqui told herself it was a trick of the moonlight that made his eyes glitter.
Yet instinct made her pull free of his hold. Not because of what she thought she saw there but because of the answering hunger growing inside, banishing the last glacial chill of memory.
She’d never known such an overwhelming response to a man. It made her want to run and hide.
‘Good night.’ She kept her head up, resisting the impulse to rub away the imprint of his touch. It was too unsettling but she knew better than to reveal that.
‘Come, I’ll see you to your door.’
‘There’s no need to go out of your way.’ Her voice sounded scratchy and breathless and she cursed this sudden rush of hormones.
‘It’s not out of my way at all. Haven’t you realised yet that you’re staying in my private wing?’
Even in the darkness his slow smile packed a punch that made her reel.
‘So if you need me in the night I’m not far away.’
ASIM STARED ACROSS his desk at the woman before him, her head bent over her laptop.
Afternoon sun caught amber and russet tints in the hair she’d scraped back from her face. Idly he imagined it loose like it had been that first night, catching the light in a nimbus of gold and autumn hues.
He frowned. Blonde or brunette, or even tawny chestnut, no woman distracted him from his purpose.
His purpose was to protect Samira, no matter how tempted he was to believe Jacqueline Fletcher’s tale of desperation. Yet hearing her voice catch as she’d told him why she’d begun this work, watching the moonlight silver a face pinched with pain, he’d wanted to comfort her.
Instinct told him her pain was real. But years of experience warned him never to trust a reporter. For too long they’d fed like jackals on his family. If he made a mistake trusting her when he shouldn’t it would be Samira who’d suffer. The thought tightened every sinew.
Besides, Jacqueline Fletcher wasn’t what she seemed. Her clothes were so drab and unfeminine it was suspicious, as if she aimed to deflect his attention but took the camouflage too far.
He’d seen her pearly skin, the flash of vivid amber eyes, the russet of pubic hair and the rose pink of her full-body blush. And he wasn’t forgetting any time soon.
Heat doused him as she looked up. He felt wrong-footed, as if caught ogling an innocent. An innocent whom his cousin had trusted.
‘Here’s the reference I wanted.’ Her head tilted to one side as if she tried to read his expression and Asim stiffened as guilt eddied.
Instantly the shimmer of brightness in her eyes dulled and doubt jabbed him. Could she be such a good actress?
‘Go on.’
She paused but didn’t look away. Asim felt admiration stir. So often he merely had to hint at disapproval to find others giving way. Clearly his frown had no such impact on Ms Fletcher.
‘It’s a reference to diaries kept by...’ she looked down to check her facts ‘...your great-great-aunt Zeinab.’
‘And you found this where?’ It was the first Asim had heard of royal diaries.
‘There was a paper in the royal collection your grandmother thought would interest me. She arranged for your chief archivist to show me and it mentioned the diaries.’
‘Tell me more.’ This research project expanded before his eyes. First interviews with his grandmother, then visits to abandoned parts of the palace accompanied by various building experts, then meetings with an ever-expanding group of his grandmother’s old friends. Now the royal archives. When would it stop?
So much for his hope he’d soon see the back of Jacqueline Fletcher.
‘It mentioned arrangements to teach the ladies in the harem geometry, astronomy and poetry.’
Asim nodded. ‘All are traditionally important to my people. Astronomy and geometry aid navigation in the desert and poetry is prized among all the arts.’
Again that tilt of her head. ‘Yet the women of the palace weren’t likely to navigate alone across the dunes.’
Asim shrugged. ‘You think one should learn only the immediately practical? What about broadening the mind?’
‘I agree.’ Her gaze dipped. ‘It just surprised me that your ancestors felt the same way, especially when it came to educating women.’
He repressed anger. Wasn’t this the sort of too easy assumption many outsiders made? ‘Despite the stories you’ve heard, many of my predecessors were enlightened. They sought beautiful, clever women as their consorts, women whose company they could enjoy. Educated women who could share their lives as well as their beds.’
‘Which is why I’d like to access Zeinab’s diaries. They will be invaluable—’
‘No.’ A journalist prying into intimate family details? Even after generations the diaries could reveal material better kept private.
‘But if I could—’
‘It seems to me you have plenty of sources already.’
He supressed a smile as her eyes flashed. No longer drab despite her dowdy clothes, Jacqueline Fletcher looked vibrantly alive with her flushed cheeks and pouting lips.
‘The diaries will give a new perspective to the project, adding depth and texture.’
‘I take your point, Ms Fletcher, but I prefer to keep such private material private.’
She met his gaze, her brow pleated.
Enough. Asim glanced at his watch. It was time for his next meeting. He pushed back his chair.
She stood, planting her palm on the desk and leaning forward. As if he were an equal, not an absolute ruler who’d already granted her great favour.
‘Your Highness.’ The way she said his title was anything but obsequious. ‘Don’t you see? This could be a chance