The Sultan's Harem Bride Read online

  She fumbled the button open then peeled the jacket off, covering the wash of heat across her bare arms and shoulders by taking her time putting it on a chair.

  When she turned back she heard a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Lovely,’ he murmured in a voice that turned her blood to sweet, heavy syrup. ‘As lovely as I recalled. And you remembered not to wear a bra for me.’ His words scraped to the core of her where her insides seemed to be melting. ‘I approve of the colour too. You should wear it more often.’

  Jacqui licked her lips, about to tell him the camisole was a gift from his grandmother, when her brain slipped into gear. He thought she’d gone braless for him? That she’d wanted to please him in the hope that they’d...?

  She gulped, shocked. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d done? She’d told herself she was running so late and it wouldn’t matter if she was braless as no one else would know. But she’d known and with every step, as her tight nipples grazed cobweb-soft silk, she’d thought of Asim.

  ‘Now your hair. Take it down.’

  ‘No! Anyone could come in.’

  ‘No one disturbs the Sultan unless invited.’ He spoke with such certainty it hit her anew that he was a man used to having every order obeyed. ‘Now, take it down.’ Dimly she registered surprise as excitement rather than anger rippled through her.

  Part of her wanted to comply. The part that had come alive under his touch and the velvet caress of those dark eyes, not to mention that potently deep voice. But this was broad daylight. They were in his office. They couldn’t...

  The molten heat between her legs told her they could. That she wanted to.

  ‘Last night I stripped when you asked me, Jacqui.’

  Is that what he wanted? A striptease? Her heart hammered so heavily against her chest she wondered if she’d feel bruised later. A shot of adrenalin, heady as neat alcohol, pulsed into her blood.

  Her? Strip for him? Horror merged with excitement to skate down her backbone then burrow through her belly, transforming into butterflies the size of buzzards.

  She hated baring her body.

  Yet last night he’d made her believe he looked at her skinny frame and saw a different woman to the one she knew.

  Fear sliced through her and embarrassment. That pulled her up short.

  Did she really want to go back to being the woman she’d been before last night? The woman who hid herself in non-descript work clothes? Even if all she’d experienced with Asim was an illusion, it was an illusion she craved.

  Did she dare? Anxiety cramped her stomach.

  Her hands went to her ponytail. A few practised flicks and her hair fell in waves around her cheeks and shoulders.

  ‘Now the trousers.’ His voice was gruff. She couldn’t read his face. Yet even after a single night she recognised the edge in his voice. No matter how he tried to hide it, Asim was as desperate as she. At least she hoped he was.

  Praying he was right and no one would dare enter, she snapped open the button on her waistband, lowered the zip and wriggled till the fabric pooled at her feet. She felt shockingly vulnerable yet daring.

  Her skin was so sensitised the air on her legs felt heavy. She breathed deep and told herself she wouldn’t regret this. She wouldn’t allow herself to.

  ‘Now come here.’

  Gingerly she stepped out of her trousers, leaving her shoes behind, and padded across the carpet. With each step tension coiled higher, till she stopped before him. Now she read his expression and was glad she hadn’t been able to earlier. He looked so fierce that heat licked inside. His eyes glittered as she imagined those of his warlike ancestors might have when they’d spied a trade caravan loaded with riches entering their realm.

  She shivered and rubbed her hands up her arms.

  ‘You’re cold?’ Still he didn’t touch her. She shook her head and he nodded, a tiny, knowing smile lifting the corner of his mouth. ‘You won’t be for long, Jacqueline. Sit on my desk.’

  She followed his glance to the antique desk, bare except for a sleek computer and a single tray of papers.

  Arousal shuddered through her as she pictured making love on that gleaming surface. It would be hard, fast and satisfying. She wanted him so badly she almost obeyed without a word of protest. She, who’d never been intimate with a man before last night!

  ‘You’re sure no one will come in?’ Excitement and dread warred.

  ‘Be assured, Jacqueline. We won’t be disturbed. My secretary has left and locked the outer office on the way out.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘You told him to? But he’ll know we’re...’ She shook her head as words failed her.

  A small voice inside jeered that, standing almost naked, she’d left it late to have second thoughts.

  ‘Fahid is utterly discreet. You have nothing to worry about.’ Asim stepped closer and at once the vast study shrank. She felt crowded, excited and aroused, yet at the same time annoyed.

  This was utterly unfamiliar territory. Last night had turned her inside out, made her question long-held certainties and put her trust in a man she barely knew. Even so it had felt right.

  Now, abruptly, standing half-dressed while he calmly gave orders, unease spiked. If only Asim had come to her, embraced her, done something other than bark instructions. Tension crawled along her shoulders. Indignation rose. She might be desperate but she had some self-respect.

  ‘Do you make a habit of seducing women on your desk?’ The words shot out and she raised her chin, battling to hide churning distress.

  She didn’t expect declarations of undying devotion but she wasn’t some convenience, available to satisfy a passing itch.

  Nevertheless, she had to fight her needy body that swayed towards him as if seeking a caress from its master.

  He strode forward till they almost touched. His brilliant gaze raked her; the subtle scent of his skin filled her nostrils, weakening her knees. He radiated heat that hazed her skin.

  ‘I have never seduced a woman here.’ He paused and Jacqui was surprised to see him swallow. ‘My desk has been used for nothing but paperwork.’ His eyes narrowed to glittering darts that scraped her skin. His voice was steely. ‘I spend my days and many of my nights here working, not dallying with women. As for Fahid guessing...’ Asim’s shoulders rose in a shrug. ‘It seemed preferable to have privacy rather than run the risk of interruption.’

  ‘Because you were so sure I’d give you what you want.’ And he’d been right. Jacqui had bared herself to camisole and panties, desperate for his touch. Were her doubts just delaying tactics so she didn’t have to acknowledge she was putty in his hands? Her stomach cramped.

  ‘What we both want. Don’t deny it, Jacqueline. I see the flush of arousal on your perfect skin. Your pulse races and your beautiful breasts are rising fast because your breathing is too shallow.’

  He was right. Her body betrayed her. She wanted him.

  Yet she needed more, proof this meant something to him too. That they were equals in this.

  Doubt lingered. Why had Asim made love to her? Had he been motivated by pity and mere convenience? Last night she hadn’t thought so but today he seemed so cold and uninvolved. It was hard to shake a lifetime of self-doubt.

  ‘Then why haven’t you touched me?’ Despite her intentions it sounded like a plea.

  He shook his head, his face grim. ‘Once I touch you, Jacqueline, there’ll be no holding back, no time for finesse. I’ve spent the whole day waiting for you, and I’m not a patient man.’

  Startled, Jacqui gazed up at that strongly sculpted face and felt heat squiggle through her. Now she saw more than his piercing gaze. A pulse throbbed at his temple. His squared jaw was set and the tendons visible in his neck spoke of tension. Tension she’d put there? Heady relief and pleasure filled her.

  His big hands fle
xed as if resisting the urge to reach for her. The movement drew attention to the bulge in his trousers she hadn’t noticed earlier.

  Remembering the heavy, delicious weight of him, the softness of satin over forged steel, her inner muscles contracted. His body fascinated her but last night, though they’d shared more intimacies than she’d ever experienced, he’d been the one exploring her body. She’d had no chance to satisfy her curiosity.

  ‘Sit on the desk, Jacqueline.’ His voice was harsh but she caught an edge of desperation. ‘I promise you’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ Asim’s head reared back, his eyes rounding. He’d been so sure of her. And not used to anyone denying him what he wanted. ‘What do you mean, no?’ It was a roar of outrage.

  Jacqui licked dry lips as excitement and trepidation warred. She made herself meet his eyes.

  We’re equals, she told herself. He might be lord of all he surveys but she wasn’t his subject. Besides, something had changed after last night—the way he’d confronted her hang-ups and shown her they meant nothing to him. Her body hummed with arousal and a woman’s curiosity.

  ‘No, I don’t want you to take me on your desk. Not yet.’ For now she said it aloud she was shocked at how appealing it sounded.

  ‘Then what do you want?’ His brow furrowed in a scowl.

  For a moment longer she hesitated, but her body, primed by a day of physical pampering and now by proximity to Asim, had no doubts.

  She dropped to her knees and heard his hiss of indrawn breath. Reaching out, she flicked open the button at the top of this trousers and tugged the zip.

  ‘This,’ she said, reaching for him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  SHE WAS KILLING HIM.

  Hour by hour she drove him quietly insane.

  Asim frowned as he strode from the stables. His ride hadn’t cleared his head. It was filled with Jacqueline. Her sighs as she snuggled up to him in bed; the look of exhilaration when he told her how beautiful she was.

  The spark of devilment in her eyes when she occasionally convinced him to let her take the lead in sex. He tightened as heat flashed through him. Remembering her hands on him, her mouth—hot and sultry and a little clumsy—brought him to fever pitch all over again.

  He’d wondered that first night if she was a virgin, but she’d been adamant and he’d let himself be persuaded. Now he was convinced he’d been right. Jacqueline was passionate and eager but definitely inexperienced.

  Or she had been.

  Asim’s jaw clenched. At least that had relieved his earlier discomfort that he might be poaching on his cousin’s territory. Imran really had been just a friend. But now there was guilt that he’d seduced a virgin. A decent man would have pulled back straight away, respecting her innocence. But with Jacqueline Asim feared he had no control.

  She was a houri, an enchantress.

  She was disrupting his well-ordered life.

  Was he mad, having an affair with a journalist? Logic should say yes but instinctively he trusted her.

  He grimaced and entered the palace, nodding to a guard.

  Sleep he could do without. He preferred to spend the midnight hours exploring Jacqueline’s insatiable appetite for passion. She interfered with his work too. Those daily briefings on her research became long interludes that left him smiling and sated yet still hungry for her.

  Worse, she interrupted his thoughts. Yesterday during another round of trade negotiations he’d found himself recalling her pithy assessment of one foreign diplomat. On impulse he’d changed his carefully laid approach to test what she’d suggested was a weakness in the foreign position. And the hunch had paid off! She’d been correct.

  He should thank her; she’d saved him time and effort. Yet that crossover from lover to advisor niggled.

  Asim kept his women separate from his public life.

  That would change a little when he had a wife, of course. His wife would be intelligent and experienced enough to deal with diplomats, royalty and all manner of VIPs. But in the meantime it disturbed him that he found himself thinking about Jacqueline so often.

  That was another thing. She stymied his search for a bride. How could he devote himself to that important task when the passion between them flared so hot? Obviously it would dim with time, passion always did, but in the meantime he owed it to himself, and his country to choose an appropriate wife. Yet lately the few he’d seen hadn’t come close to arousing interest.

  One had been superficially suitable: engaging, intelligent and well-bred. But he’d felt no spark of attraction. How could he spend his life with a woman if he wasn’t interested enough to bed her?

  Another candidate he’d mentally dismissed as too short. Too short! Just because he relished the fact that when he kissed Jacqueline he didn’t have to fold himself in half to reach her lips. Plus the feel of her long, slim legs locked around his waist was currently one of his greatest pleasures.

  Asim grunted in self-disgust. At thirty-five he needed to find a suitable wife and start a family, securing the throne for the future. He couldn’t afford to fixate on a woman as his father had done with his mother. Their passion had been unhealthily intense, turning into a sick relationship that had damaged all the family.

  Starting today, Asim would do what he should have been doing: focus on his search for the perfect queen.

  * * *

  ‘I’m so glad my grandmother finally brought you to visit.’

  Jacqui watched her companion twirl her long sable hair. It was a nervous gesture Princess Samira had repeated several times since Jacqui had arrived.

  The princess was a beauty. The harsh, extravagantly male cast of Asim’s aristocratic features were, in his younger sister, softened. They had the same hooded eyes, though in his sister’s case they were a rich sherry colour. Her mouth was lush, not thin, and her jaw, though determined, wasn’t uncompromisingly hard.

  Yet despite her beauty there were shadows under her eyes and she had a lustreless quality as if weighed down by unimaginable woes.

  ‘I’m honoured you invited me.’ And intrigued that Lady Rania had left them alone after half an hour.

  Jacqui’s chest squeezed in sympathy as the princess fumbled the traditional coffee pot she’d been tending, her hand unsteady. She looked tired and fragile but her minuscule frown as she concentrated on pouring the honeyed coffee into tiny cups reminded Jacqui of Asim.

  But everything reminded her of Asim. He was in her thoughts constantly. She spent the night flush against his big, naked body, and even when she dreamed it was of him, not the horror that had haunted her for months.

  ‘Thank you, Your Highness.’ Jacqui accepted a steaming, fragrant cup.

  ‘Please, call me Samira.’ The other woman smiled and Jacqui caught her breath at the impact a little animation had on her face. More than beautiful, she was stunning. No wonder the press was avaricious for photos. That face would sell millions of magazines.

  It took a moment to realise the other woman’s smile had faded.

  ‘I’d be honoured.’ Jacqui was surprised at the unlooked for offer. ‘Thank you, Samira. And I’m Jacqui.’

  ‘Not Jacqueline, as my brother calls you?’

  Jacqui froze, the cup halfway to her lips. ‘He talks about me?’ Intimate as they were, she hadn’t expected him to discuss her with his sister.

  A mischievous smile tugged Samira’s mouth. ‘More than I suspect he realises. But my grandmother and I don’t tell him.’ She lifted her cup to her lips. ‘Now I’ve begun to know you a little, I understand why.’

  Jacqui wondered what sort of back-handed compliment that was. Except the princess struck her as genuine and friendly. And they had something in common: Asim.

  Why did everything come back to him?

  It was because
he’d taken over her world, turning it from dark grey to glowing brightness.

  He’d made her happier than she’d dared hope.

  And he made her feel special. So special it scared her, made her worry this couldn’t be real. She’d never felt such closeness, even with her family. Was she imagining he cared for her because she wanted it to be true? Was she extra needy because of the stress she’d gone through?

  ‘Tell me more about your project, Jacqui. I was too...unwell to attend the sessions with my grandmother and her friends. But I’d like to hear more.’

  An hour later they were on their second coffees and the conversation had veered through traditional Jazeeri dresses to the silvery grey designer original Jacqui had worn at the formal dinner.

  ‘You mean you designed it?’ She leaned forward, admiring the portfolio Samira had produced. There were sketches, fabric swatches and photos of finished dresses. All were stunning, ultra-feminine in an unfussy, eye-catching style that instantly appealed.

  ‘Grandmother wanted to give you a gift.’ Samira smiled. ‘She is so excited about your book and the sensitive way you’re approaching it. She wasn’t sure you had something suitable for Asim’s formal dinner.’

  ‘I don’t. Didn’t.’ Jacqui shook her head. ‘I still can’t believe you designed that amazing dress. And these. They’re gorgeous.’

  Samira shrugged. ‘It’s a very trivial talent, nothing compared with the work you do—’

  ‘Nonsense!’ The word shot out and belatedly Jacqui wondered if she’d been too forthright when Samira stiffened.

  Jacqui had enjoyed their conversation so much she’d almost forgotten her companion’s royal status, and that they’d just met. It felt as if they’d known each other for ages. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.’ Even now Samira didn’t smile and the shadows were back in her eyes. Jacqui wondered if it was just her break-up with her actor boyfriend that had wounded her, or something deeper.

  ‘What I meant was that we each have talents and should be grateful for them. I could never design anything as beautiful as this.’ She gestured to a photo of a blonde model whose evening gown of midnight blue swirled around her like a dream.