of assumption I just made.’
Asim paused. She had a point, damn it. If this book was to be written, better it be done properly.
‘I’ll consider the matter and discuss it with the head archivist.’
She shook her head, leaning in till the faint sweetness of her skin reached his nostrils. ‘I talked to him and he...’ she paused ‘...didn’t see it as a priority.’
‘Didn’t he?’ Asim could imagine it. The head of that department was a dry old stick who wouldn’t have taken kindly to Jacqueline Fletcher’s enthusiasm.
‘No. But if you were to take a personal interest...’
Asim huffed out a laugh at her persistence, her sheer front. She didn’t take no for an answer, no matter how demure she pretended to be. Sooner or later something would catch her interest and she’d light up in enthusiasm or outrage.
She was never dull.
‘Very well.’ He made a quick decision. ‘I’ll look at these diaries and, if appropriate, you will be allowed access under supervision.’ His raised hand silenced her thanks. ‘I understand that while you speak our language you can’t read it fluently, so a staff member will translate any relevant sections.’ A carefully picked curator who would protect the royal interests.
The radiance of her smile sent a trickle of heat through him and his mouth firmed.
Jacqueline Fletcher was convincing as an honest, dedicated writer rather than a conniving, duplicitous opportunist. But Asim wasn’t completely sure yet.
The only thing he could be sure of was that his attraction to her was a complication he could do without.
* * *
If you need me in the night I’m not far away.
It had been days since the Sultan had said that but the words taunted Jacqui as she slid through the water.
Surely he hadn’t intended it to sound so...intimate. As if he expected her to invite him into her bed. Yet the sizzle of electricity between them was real. Even she could recognise desire.
Unless the sizzle was only her body’s response to a potently masculine and charismatic man, not his response to her. Her mind and her body had let her down these past months. Had she imagined the sultry interest in his hooded eyes, projecting her own breathless awareness onto him?
Had he really brought her to his apartments in case she suffered night terrors? She spluttered, swallowing water.
She’d been so busy branding Sultan Asim high-handed, she’d disregarded the soft spot he’d shown for his grandmother and his protectiveness to his sister. He wasn’t just an arrogant potentate. He knew how to care.
Could that caring extend to her? It seemed unlikely. Yet the alternative, that he desired her, was impossible.
Jacqui had no illusions about her sex appeal. She’d been a gawky tomboy, always playing sport with the boys. Puberty came late and no one noticed since her body had steadfastly refused to grow curves like other girls’. She’d simply stayed one of the boys. Not the sort of woman to attract a man like Sultan Asim with his renowned eye for beauty.
She remembered her few attempts in her teens to discover the secret of looking feminine. Her mum had pretended she was still a little girl and her stepmother, when forced to, had bought the same T-shirts and jeans for Jacqui as for her sons. She’d viewed Jacqui’s occasional efforts to dress up as selfish attention seeking.
So Jacqui had taught herself with the help of hand-me-down magazines. The results had been spectacularly awful. There’d been no one to warn her that the pink frilly dress she’d spent all her savings on and the vibrant hot-pink lipstick made her look like a clown. Or a transvestite, as one of the little cats in her class had exclaimed.
By the time she was working Jacqui had learned the best she could achieve was neat professionalism and to avoid bright colours and clingy fabrics. Better to blend in than draw attention to her shortcomings.
A slamming door made her turn, treading water.
Late afternoon light slanted across the courtyard as a tall figure strode to the pool. Jacqui’s eyes bulged and she almost forgot how to stay afloat until instinct shook her lax limbs into movement.
She’d thought him imposing fully dressed. But the Sultan of Jazeer had a body that looked even better without clothes. Almost without clothes. White swim shorts rode low on his hips, revealing acres of burnished skin.
Hot needles of excitement pricked Jacqui’s flesh as she watched his easy, athletic lope. Those shoulders were even wider than she’d imagined, his body lean but well built. The dusting of dark hair across his chest emphasised the bunch of muscles as he moved.
She exhaled, trying to slow her racing pulse as she tracked the line of dark hair that arrowed down, plunging beneath his shorts.
Belatedly her brain engaged as she realised where she was staring. And that he watched her.
Jacqui struck out for the far edge of the pool, splashing in her haste.
She had sex on the brain, and it was the fault of Lady Rania and her friends. What had begun a few days ago as a small reference group of old ladies had grown with daughters, granddaughters and friends who saw their afternoon gatherings as an excuse for socialising. When Jacqui had asked about preparation for marriage in the harem, soon they’d been swapping stories that made her blush.
The art of pleasing a man sexually had been an essential part of a harem education. The trouble was now Jacqui’s head was full of images of her trying those techniques on the Sultan’s taut, powerful body!
Obviously she’d been cooped up here too long. She was having some weird harem fantasy.
At last she neared the edge and reached out, only to find him standing there, hands on hips, watching. Shock made her suck in a breath that turned out to be water and sent her under.
Spluttering, she grabbed for the rim of the pool. Instead of hard tiles she felt warm flesh. An instant later the water rushed by as he hauled her straight up and out of the pool. Jacqui found herself planted on her feet, his hands spanning her waist as she bent, coughing.
Was his touch hot or was that searing sensation her nerve endings going into overload?
Finally Jacqui blinked and straightened, hyper-aware of his hands encircling her middle. His long fingers made her waist seem tiny.
Her vision was filled with a broad chest that just asked to be touched and a squared-off jaw that proclaimed male power. She curled her hands into fists, fearing she might do something unforgiveable like reach out.
Yet when she made to shift away his hold firmed.
Shakily Jacqui pushed her sodden hair back and raised her face. Dark eyes surveyed her from under half-lowered lids.
That flagrantly carnal look seared her into silence. Her breath caught as his gaze dropped to her mouth. To Jacqui’s horror she felt her nipples pebble as erotic energy zapped through her.
Why was he looking at her like that?
‘Thank you, Your Highness. But I can stand without help.’
‘Asim.’
‘Sorry?’ She stared at his mouth, not trusting her ears.
‘I reserve the right to use first names with women I save from drowning, Jacqueline.’
The sound of her name in that deep, rich voice sent a quiver of excitement through her.
She was in deep trouble.
‘I don’t think that’s necessary, Your Highness. Besides, I wasn’t drowning.’
‘Asim.’ His fingers curled in, securing her, and she fought not to wriggle with pleasure. ‘Say it.’
He