Mills & Boon Modern Romance Collection: February 2015. Кэрол Мортимер
Jacqui took a deep breath and looked in the mirror.
She blinked and looked again.
That was her?
The woman in the mirror looked subtly elegant. Not ungainly or scrawny. A few weeks of eating the delicious palace food must have helped her put back on the weight she’d lost. She wasn’t much of a cook at the best of times and in the months following Imran’s death preparing meals had been too much bother.
Jacqui stroked her palms down the fragile silk covering her hips and thighs and felt a ripple of excitement glissade across her skin. She knew nothing about couture but even she recognised this had been styled by an expert. From the delicate drape of the cowl neck that made the most of her less than impressive bust, to the belt of silver metal links that cinched her waist and the full-length sweep of skirt, the dress was fabulous.
She twisted, frowning as she surveyed the narrow slit at the back of the bodice. It was just wide enough to prevent her wearing a bra. But what was the point of it when she was covered from neck to toe?
Swivelling back, she stared again. With her shoulder-length hair up in a deceptively casual knot that had required the expertise of Madame’s personal attendant, and subtle make-up that enhanced her eyes and glossed her lips, she didn’t look like boring old Jacqui Fletcher.
She recalled the way Asim called her Jacqueline in that slow, lilting way, as if he rolled the sound around his mouth. Did she look like a Jacqueline now?
She’d always thought it ironic her parents had chosen such a feminine name for a tomboy like her. Jack suited her better. But tonight... She cocked her head and a slow smile spread across her face. Trepidation gave way to excitement.
Tonight perhaps she had it in her to be Jacqueline for a few hours.
* * *
Asim dragged his attention back to the pretty brunette beside him. Her hands fluttered like tiny birds as she talked. Delicate colour flushed her cheeks and her eyes sparkled. The acid green of her halter-neck dress showed off her smooth olive skin to perfection and her glossy curls danced.
She laughed and without pause launched into another line of conversation. Asim’s smile grew fixed.
No one could accuse her of being meek. She was talkative and friendly. Her trill of laughter turned heads and made their neighbours at the long dining table smile. Nor had she mentioned children. Instead of being fixated on babies her conversation ranged from the economy to her work in television and the latest reality television show, about which Asim now knew more than he wanted.
After two hours in her company he longed for silence.
Fortunately as Sultan there were many demands on his time. He and his wife need not live in each other’s pockets. If he wished, he could avoid her easily.
After all, he didn’t seek a love match. A shudder skipped down his spine at the thought. With his parents’ example before him he knew any such relationship would turn destructive. That was the nature of love, at least in his family. He had no doubt he carried the same defective taint as his parents. Children of dysfunctional families usually did.
No, he didn’t do love. He wanted a mother for his children and a helpmeet. She’d take her place at his side and share the burden of official entertaining.
Yet why saddle himself with a chatterbox, no matter how bright and cheerful? Asim wanted a woman who could hold her own in conversation but also knew when to hold her tongue.
Unbidden his gaze slid down the table to the svelte vision in silver that had robbed him of speech when she’d entered the room.
He stiffened, horrified at the way his attention kept straying there.
Jacqueline Fletcher wasn’t the woman he sought. She didn’t chatter, but she was more likely to question his decisions than support them. Right now she fielded the attention of two diplomats, a businessman and a cabinet minister who, rumour had it, was on the lookout for a new bride after a recent divorce.
Heat rippled under Asim’s skin. She’d played him for a fool. All those weeks she’d covered herself up, he’d almost believed she was uncomfortable showing off her body.
Now she flaunted herself. With that clinging dress moulding her ripe breasts like a lover’s caress, she might as well have worn a sign saying ‘open to all offers’. And this after she’d pushed him away that day at the pool!
If she wanted to hook a man to enliven her stay, his royal dinner wasn’t the place.
With a scowl he turned back to his companion.
* * *
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
Jacqui slammed to a halt, her hand going to her throat as that familiar, deep voice sounded behind her. To her horror, awareness unfurled in the pit of her stomach. If only she could conquer this response to him. But it grew worse, not better. She’d spent half the night snatching glances at him entertaining VIPs, among them a number of beautiful women.
Snagging a shallow breath, she turned and there he was, resplendent even in the low light of the quiet corridor, wearing a tunic of scarlet silk shot with silver, dark-grey trousers and a matching turban. All the other men tonight, even the handsome young diplomat who’d been so attentive, had faded into the background near Asim.
He stalked towards her, every inch the autocrat, his mouth a straight line, his look brooding.
‘I repeat, where are you slinking off to, Ms Fletcher?’
‘Slinking?’ She stiffened. And Ms Fletcher when she’d finally got accustomed to Jacqueline? ‘I’m not slinking anywhere.’
He halted less than an arm’s length away, well inside her personal space. Jacqui frowned. Since that day at the pool he’d been scrupulous about maintaining his distance.
‘No? Then why carry your shoes if not to be quiet?’
‘They’re new and they rubbed.’ She’d felt like Cinderella leaving the ball, knowing the night’s magic was over when she’d had to remove the sandals.
‘But you’ve missed the way to your suite.’ If anything his expression grew sterner. What was his problem?
‘I wasn’t going there.’ She hadn’t wanted the evening to end. Attending a royal banquet was an affair to remember. The company had been fascinating and she’d basked in the pleasure of knowing she looked almost pretty. She was too wired to sleep.
‘You have an assignation?’ Asim moved closer, his brow lowering. His expression made her shuffle back, disquiet rippling across her nerves. Suddenly the isolation of this rarely used corridor struck her.
‘Assignation? No.’ She stared squarely back at those dark eyes, indignation swelling. Was this about her supposedly digging up dirt on his sister? She’d thought they’d moved on from that.
‘But this is the way to the rear gate of the palace.’
‘It is?’ She shrugged. ‘It’s also the way to the harem. I thought I’d sit in one of the garden courtyards for a while.’ She’d avoided the one near her rooms ever since Asim had hauled her out of the pool and her body had gone into meltdown.
‘Is there a problem, Your Highness?’ She was sick of the way he stood there, glowering. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She could have eaten her dinner with her fingers rather than the exquisite antique gold cutlery and he wouldn’t have noticed; he’d been too busy gawping at the vivacious beauty at his side. ‘If not, I’ll go.’ She moved past him, her happiness stupidly dashed by his hostility.
A hand snaked out, shackling her wrist and pulling her to a halt mid-step. Jacqui gasped. Even through the long, fitted sleeves his touch singed.
‘What did you think you were doing, wearing that to the banquet?’ His gaze scorched a trail from her neck to her breasts and lower, to where the silk flared