Mills & Boon Modern Romance Collection: February 2015. Кэрол Мортимер
more powerfully attractive than any man she’d ever seen.
‘Really, there’s no need.’
His eyebrows rose loftily and there was steel beneath the velvet of his voice. ‘You reject my offer of friendship?’
* * *
Asim looked at the woman in his hold and felt hunger rise, sharp and raw. She couldn’t be trusted. She was a journalist, one of the breed that had feasted on the carcass of his parents’ marriage and now preyed on his vulnerable sister. He’d be a fool to let her close.
Yet when he looked at her he saw simply a woman.
An infuriating, challenging, surprising woman who didn’t know when to shut up or when simply to obey.
A woman who in her sleek, rust-brown one-piece swimsuit looked like a naiad. Water sluiced over her lithe frame, accentuating each streamlined curve and hollow. Her limbs glowed in the late-afternoon light, giving her a luminous quality that made her seem otherworldly.
Except the woman beneath his hands was real, so fine-boned his fingers almost spanned her waist.
But it wasn’t her waist that drew his attention. His gaze fixed on her lips, pink and inviting.
‘Asim,’ she said finally in a throaty murmur that sounded more like invitation than capitulation and made his blood rush hot and hard.
‘That’s better.’ His voice was a low growl and he heard her gasp.
He wanted to hear her gasp like that while she lay beneath him and he took them both to paradise.
Jacqueline Fletcher invaded his peace. Every day she visited his office to report progress. She was businesslike and brisk but those stunning slanted eyes would flare amber fire when something fascinated her. Then she’d forget her formality and her whole being would come alive with an enthusiasm Asim wanted to capture and taste.
Each day it grew harder to concentrate on her words or remember the need to be suspicious. He wanted to strip away her shapeless trousers and loose shirts and touch the pearly skin he remembered. His body tightened as he imagined her writhing in pleasure against him.
Except he was in the process of selecting a bride. He had no time for sexual diversions. Besides, honour dictated he shouldn’t seek a mistress and a wife at the same time.
His brain said that. His body refused to listen. It told him a few hours’ diversion was exactly what he needed.
Her teeth snagged on her bottom lip and he lifted one hand, pressing his thumb there, feeling her swift intake of breath.
‘Don’t. You’ll draw blood.’
‘Then let me go. I don’t want this.’
Liar.
Asim was tempted to demonstrate how much she wanted precisely this. It would be easy to kiss her till she surrendered. He’d carry her to a bed and relieve them both of the pressure that had built inexorably since the night he’d found her naked in the harem.
‘Please, Asim.’
Whether it was the fact she pleaded, this prickly, opinionated woman, or the way she said his name, in a voice barely concealing distress, Asim felt a fist lodge in his chest. Reluctantly he opened his hands and stepped back.
She looked up, those feline eyes gleaming with a slumbrous heat that made a mockery of her protest and his caution. Then he read the tension in her mouth. She’d paled, the tiny smattering of freckles across her creamy skin standing out like blood on parchment.
‘I’m sorry I intruded.’ She ducked her head and spun away. ‘I should have realised you might want the pool.’
The fist in his chest twisted.
‘Don’t!’
Alarmed, she stared back over her shoulder.
‘Don’t apologise.’ He breathed deep, filling the void in his lungs. ‘I don’t like it when you’re...meek.’ The words surprised him as much as her. He felt the shock of that admission reverberate through him, even as he saw it ripple across her face.
He didn’t approve of the way she argued with him, refusing to be silenced after he’d made a decision. It happened daily when she tried to wheedle access to records or palace staff or ancient pavilions that had been locked up as unsafe generations ago. Yet seeing her hesitant and downcast was like watching a bright light dim.
For long seconds their eyes locked. Long enough for him to notice that in the syrupy late-afternoon light her eyes flashed with shards of gold.
Slowly her mouth eased into a crooked smile.
‘In that case, Asim...’ She paused over his name as if savouring it. ‘I promise not to be meek with you again.’
She scooped up her towel and wrapped it around herself, hurrying towards her room. But her chin was up and her shoulders back and, despite his body’s howl of protest at her departure, Asim found himself smiling.
‘IT’S GORGEOUS, BUT I can’t accept it.’ Regretfully Jacqui tore her gaze from the liquid fall of pewter silk in her hand and turned to Lady Rania.
‘Of course you can. You’ll look marvellous.’
‘It’s kind of you but unnecessary. I’ll wear my skirt and jacket to the dinner.’ Seeing the other woman’s raised brows, she hurried on. ‘I’m here for business, not pleasure.’
Lady Rania shook her head. ‘You have a lot to learn, Ms Fletcher. There is no reason why business cannot be spiced with pleasure, or why a lovely young woman cannot make the most of herself. After all,’ she continued with a glance at Jacqui’s long-sleeved top, ‘The dress is modest.’
Jacqui didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t admit she’d never worn a formal evening gown and had no wish to start. This slinky dress would highlight the deficiencies of her lanky frame. There’d be nowhere to hide in it.
Yet the slide of silk through her hand was seductive.
Jacqui wondered how it would feel, wearing this designer original against bare skin, and shivered. Maybe because her riotous imagination pictured strong, bronzed hands stripping it off her—Asim’s hands.
Carefully she laid the dress over the exquisitely upholstered sofa. Everything in the dowager’s apartments was delicate and feminine, everything Jacqui wasn’t.
‘It’s just...’ She wiped her palms down her trousers.
‘Yes?’ The old lady gestured for her to sit. ‘You know it would give me immense pleasure to do this for you, Ms Fletcher. I don’t think you realise how much your project has meant to me.’ She smiled wistfully, a small hand gesture conveying a hint of frailness Jacqui had never noticed before. ‘Everyone these days is interested in moving forward but never in looking back. It does an old woman good to be useful again. My friends and I have been useful, haven’t we?’
‘Absolutely.’ Jacqui leaned forward. ‘You’ve been a mine of information. My research would never have got off the ground without you.’ She paused, wondering if the dress was meant as a farewell gift. Was this a signal her stay was about to end? ‘I had hoped to continue working with you a little longer...’
Lady Rania smiled gently. ‘I look forward to that. In the meantime, allow me to do this. Tonight will be a formal dinner and it would please me if you wore my gift.’
Put like that, Jacqui had no choice. ‘Thank you.’ She eyed the spectacular fabric and gulped. She could do this. She couldn’t offend or disappoint the woman who’d been so good to her. ‘I’m honoured by your gift.’
‘Excellent.’ Lady Rania sat straighter, that hint of frailty