Mills & Boon Modern Romance Collection: February 2015. Кэрол Мортимер
swallowed. ‘Of course.’ She made to jerk her head away but his grip firmed. He didn’t hurt her but the sensation of being at his mercy sent anxiety scudding through her, as it was meant to. Her jaw clenched. ‘There’s no need to assault me to make your point.’
‘Assault?’ His brows rose. ‘I’m simply reminding you that while you’re in my home, and in my country, my will is law. If you attempt to take advantage of my family you’ll pay dearly. Understood?’
‘I understand.’ For a moment longer Jacqui stood unmoving. Then abruptly she slumped from the knees, her body weight dragging his arm down, pulling him off-balance. A twist, a jerk and she was free; another quick movement as he reached to support what he presumably thought was her fainting body and now it was she who gripped him, her thumb hard on the pressure point in his hand. His skin was firm and warm under hers.
Her chest pounded as adrenalin shot through her blood. She stifled a grin at the surprise in his coal-dark eyes. Suddenly, for the first time in months, she felt strong and confident. It was a heady relief after so long doubting herself.
‘And I hope you understand, Your Highness, that I won’t be intimidated.’ Beneath her touch his pulse throbbed an infuriatingly even rhythm. ‘If ever I want a man to touch me, I’ll invite him.’
Slowly his mouth curved in a smile as lethal as a scimitar. ‘I’ll be sure to remember that, Ms Fletcher.’
Strangely, his words didn’t reassure.
‘IS SHE ON your list of potential brides?’ Asim’s grandmother whispered as they stood side by side, farewelling guests from the formal reception.
He stiffened. He hadn’t sought the old lady’s help to find a wife but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try to sway him.
‘I’m keeping my options open,’ he said as he watched the young woman in question leave with her parents. They’d loitered till the very end of the evening and he wondered if they’d hoped for some signal of preferment. If so they’d waited in vain. The girl was nice enough, but...
‘She’s very pretty,’ his grandmother murmured. ‘Very well brought-up.’
So well brought-up she’d barely spoken till Asim had asked her questions she had to give more than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer to. Even then she’d kept her eyes downcast.
His gaze shifted to a knot of people so engrossed in conversation they hadn’t realised the reception was breaking up. At its centre was a familiar tawny chestnut head. Jacqueline Fletcher, nodding at something one of the country’s most renowned lawyers said. Even from here he saw the flash of her bright eyes. Asim couldn’t imagine her standing meek and silent before a man her parents wanted her to marry.
His lips twisted in a grim smile as he remembered how she’d been anything but meek. She was too opinionated, too outspoken for comfort.
‘And she’s obviously eager to start a family.’
Startled, Asim turned to stare at his grandmother, only then realising she referred to the woman who’d just left.
‘That’s a definite plus,’ the old lady murmured, ‘Since you want heirs. Did you know she volunteers at the children’s hospital? She adores children.’
‘I’d noticed.’ She’d only become animated when talking about children at the hospital and, blushing, about her hopes for a large family.
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