Mills & Boon Modern Romance Collection: February 2015. Кэрол Мортимер
It was my fault. I had the scoop. I should have checked it out before dragging him in.’
‘Why? So it could have been you lying there in a bomb crater and not Imran? How would that be better?’
Jacqui yanked at his hold but Asim’s grip was implacable.
‘Imran has people who grieve for him. Your grandmother, you. People who—’
‘And you think no one would miss you?’
She lifted her shoulders, trying to imagine the reaction of her parents and half-siblings if she’d died. They’d have been shocked but would they really have missed her?
‘You’re wrong, habibti.’ A strong hand cupped her face, lifting it till she stared into stormy eyes. ‘We’d miss you—Samira and my grandmother and me. And so would your family.’
Ridiculously Jacqui felt her lower lip tremble. She didn’t cry except in her sleep when the nightmares devoured her. Yet Asim’s tenderness unplugged the dam of grief she’d held at bay so long.
‘He had all his life ahead of him,’ she mumbled. ‘And it was snuffed out because of me. I should have taken precautions—’
‘Listen to me.’ Asim leaned closer, his breath warm on her face. ‘It wouldn’t matter what precautions you’d taken. Imran was his own man. He’d have been there with you if there was a chance of a scoop. He lived for his job.’
His thumb grazed her bottom lip and she swallowed at the tenderness of the gesture.
‘You think I don’t know that? He was my friend.’
‘But you didn’t know him intimately.’
Jacqui peered up at Asim, trying to read his expression. ‘If you’re asking whether we were lovers, the answer is no.’
He shook his head. ‘I wondered that when you first arrived, but as soon as we made love I realised that wasn’t the case. You were a virgin, weren’t you?’
Jacqui frowned. ‘Did it matter?’ She’d lied so he wouldn’t stop. Because she’d wanted more than anything to be one with him. Her mouth flattened. If only sex was all she wanted from Asim. If only life were so simple.
‘It mattered that you shared something precious with me, Jacqueline. Something to be treasured.’
The gleam in his eyes unnerved her.
‘You were talking about your cousin,’ she said briskly.
For long seconds she thought he wouldn’t accept the change of subject. Finally he spoke. ‘I meant merely that you didn’t know Imran as intimately as someone who’d grown up with him.’
Asim’s mouth curved reminiscently. ‘Let me tell you about my cousin. He could climb before he could walk and he never walked when he could run. His nickname in the family was “Trouble” because he was always in strife. Luckily he had nine lives, like a cat, because he was regularly falling off roofs or down wells or under horses. He took risks others wouldn’t.’
‘Even you?’ Jacqui couldn’t imagine Asim being left behind by his cousin.
‘I never seemed to collect the injuries Imran did.’
So, they’d been as bad as each other.
‘When he got older he found a passion in rally driving.’
‘I’ve seen the photos.’ Jacqui smiled wistfully. Imran had looked in his element, dusty, dishevelled and elated, leaning against a car that looked as if it had barely survived the rigorous course.
‘It wasn’t till he went to college and discovered a love of cameras and film that he became focused. He found his purpose. Some of those stories he got...’ Asim shook his head. ‘He didn’t get them waiting on the sidelines to be assured it was safe.’
Reluctantly Jacqui nodded. Imran had been up to any challenge when it came to getting a story. That had drawn them together in the beginning. She’d put it down to his commitment to his job, but had there been an element of thrill-seeking too?
Of course there had been. But Imran had also been professional, taking appropriate precautions in risky situations, at least when she was around.
‘At first I wanted to blame you for his death. I was looking for a scapegoat.’ Her breath snared as he voiced the guilt she’d carried so long. ‘But I couldn’t do it. It just didn’t fit.’ He paused, his eyes capturing hers. ‘You can’t tell me my cousin would have waited for you to reconnoitre the situation alone.’
Jacqui blinked. When Asim put it like that... But the fact remained it had been her tip-off, her responsibility. ‘I led him into danger.’ She swallowed.
‘No.’ Asim shook his head. ‘You told him what you’d learned. If he’d wanted, he could have turned back. Couldn’t he?’ His eyes held hers. ‘Jacqueline?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Is it likely he’d have waited for you to go off alone and track down the story?’
Under that unblinking ebony stare Jacqui found herself confronting the harsh truth.
‘No.’ The word burst out. ‘No, he wouldn’t have waited. But that doesn’t mean I feel any less guilty.’
‘Because you survived and he didn’t.’ Asim’s arm curved around her shoulders, drawing her into his warmth. ‘He didn’t die because of you, Jacqueline, but because someone cared more for their own ends than the lives of innocents.’
‘I—’ She shook her head, her mouth working.
‘It’s okay to grieve for him, habibti, so long as you understand you’re not to blame.’
Jacqui huddled into Asim’s big frame, drawing comfort. What he said wasn’t new, the counsellor had said something similar, but for some reason it seemed to make more sense. Because Asim had known Imran? Because they were here in the desert Imran had loved? Or because Jacqui was finally ready to move on?
She buried her face in Asim’s sweater, breathing in the spicy scent of his skin. Tears leaked beneath her eyelids and she wrapped her arms around him, holding tight as he gathered her in and rocked her.
Jacqui drew a shuddering breath.
She’d come out here because Asim had broken her heart.
Now it felt like he’d put it back together again.
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