The Sultan's Harem Bride. Annie West

severe expression and the glint of honed steel in his eyes, Jackie wondered if anything would shift him when he’d made up his mind.

      Once she’d have been sure she could persuade him, but her self-assurance had shattered, leaving her questioning her judgement in coming here.

      Yet if Jacqui didn’t have this project, what did she have? Her insides heaved as she fought panic.

      ‘Thank you.’ She straightened her jacket with clammy hands and entered.

      Though she was prepared, the sight of the man standing near the vast desk made her breath catch. He was taller than she remembered and memory hadn’t exaggerated the breadth of those shoulders. Or the keenness of that stare.

      Briefly she wondered if she should curtsey but knew she couldn’t carry it off. Besides—heat seared her—after he’d had an eyeful of her nude body last night it was a little late for such niceties.

      ‘Good afternoon, Your Highness.’ Her gaze took in his finery: a long grey tunic embroidered at the high collar and hem, worn over pale, loose trousers that tucked into boots. No dagger at his side this time, but he wore a neat white turban threaded with silver. He looked imposing, his spare features harsh.

      ‘Ms Fletcher. Please sit.’

      And let him tower over her?

      ‘Thank you but I prefer to stand.’

      ‘Fine. What I have to say won’t take long.’

      Jacqui’s insides tumbled in a sickening corkscrew. She planted her feet in her low-heeled shoes and braced herself. She should have argued her case last night but she’d been swaying with exhaustion after twenty-four hours of travel and then the trauma of the nightmare.

      He paced closer and she had to make a conscious effort not to retreat. His gaze pinioned her like a hunter marking his prey.

      Atavistic fear quivered through her as he came close and she read something in his stare that wasn’t simply disapproval or dismissal. Something made her remember the brush of the silk coverlet against her bare skin and the strange jittery sensation deep in her core. She swallowed hard.

      ‘You’re lucky to have such an advocate, Ms Fletcher.’ He was so close his breath warmed her and his hot spicy scent teased her nose. ‘My grandmother is very taken with you. So I’ve decided you can stay.’

      It took Jacqui whole seconds to take it in. She goggled.

      ‘I can?’ A smile trembled on her lips but they were too stiff to curve properly. Relief was a swoop of sensation through her chest so strong it hurt. She’d been so sure he’d banish her from the palace, perhaps the country.

      ‘You may.’ There was no lightening in his expression. If anything, it sharpened. He leaned closer, looming so her pulse jumped. ‘But I have conditions.’

      Jacqui nodded, feeling the force of his disapproval. ‘Yes?’ Her voice was a scratch of sound.

      ‘One, absolutely no photos without permission.’

      ‘Of course. I—’

      ‘Two, no attempt to report on my family’s personal lives. A social history is one thing, digging for gossip is another. I won’t hesitate to sue if necessary.’

      Outrage stirred. ‘That’s not what I’m here for!’

      Astonishingly his hand reached out to cup her chin, tilting it up till his face filled her vision. Tension snapped between them and an unfamiliar sensation shot through her as his fingers splayed over her throat, reinforcing her vulnerability to his superior strength.

      No man had ever held her like that. Jacqui was torn between wide-eyed anxiety and a sudden, startling jab of excitement. She hated men who threw their weight around, who encroached on women. But as she arched back in his hold part of her thrilled at his masculine power.

      She blinked. She must be going mad.

      ‘My family is precious to me and I won’t have them harmed.’ He paused, his jaw tight. ‘I’ve seen what damage the press can do.’

      Slowly she nodded, surprised and a little daunted by this glimpse of the man behind the royal title. The man she was sure would bring retribution on anyone who hurt those for whom he cared. Curiosity stirred.

      ‘Three.’ He paused, his gaze flicking to her parted lips then to her eyes. To her dismay her mouth tingled from that look. ‘You will sign a contract agreeing to these terms and I will meet with you regularly for updates on your progress. I intend to take a very personal interest in this book of yours.’

      Jacqui 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.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘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