by Annie West
‘Not everything, Jacqueline.’ She wished she could see his expression rather than just his silhouette against the headlights.
She stood mute. Instinct told her to run, get as far from Asim as she could. She couldn’t take more of this slashing pain. Logic told her he’d simply follow. He knew the desert and she had no hope of escaping.
Pride locked her knees. She refused to retreat again.
‘Please?’ He sounded as uncomfortable as she felt.
Finally, with a ragged shrug, she stepped forward. What choice did she have?
Stiffly she took her seat by the fire, aware of Asim standing to one side. She’d been right. Worn denim clung to his muscled thighs and he wore a black sweater and serviceable boots. She almost wished he wore his regal finery. He looked too potently masculine, too approachable and real in casual clothes.
Real enough to rip shreds off her, she reminded herself, wrapping her arms tight around herself.
Finally he sank cross-legged to the ground on the other side of the fire. The easy movement reminded her of the fluid strength in his hard-packed body. A strength that had always attracted, even awed, her.
Jacqui hunched her shoulders, dragging her gaze away.
‘If you’re not here to arrest or deport me, why are you here?’
‘To apologise.’
The prompt response stunned her and she found herself staring across the embers into a face of forged bronze and shadows. Something quick and hungry sparked between them as Jacqui met Asim’s eyes. She blinked, telling herself it was a trick of the light or her own stupid, yearning heart.
That same heart catalogued his taut features and she could almost pretend to find regret and shame there. Shame? Not likely. Not from a man like Asim.
‘You don’t say anything.’
Jacqui shook her head, not trusting her voice. Asim apologising? Was anything so unlikely? Even if he’d learned the truth, since when did an absolute monarch feel the need to apologise?
‘You don’t believe me?’
She swallowed, her throat arid as the desert around them. ‘I don’t pretend to understand you, Asim.’ She’d thought she knew him, that he knew her too, but she’d deluded herself. Tonight’s outburst confirmed that.
Slowly he nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘It’s not easy, what’s between us.’
‘There’s nothing between us!’ Not after what he’d said. He’d lacerated that fragile, delicate thing between them.
‘If that were true I’d be in the palace, sleeping the sleep of the just.’ His lips twisted. ‘Or entertaining a new lover in my bed.’
Jacqui couldn’t prevent her gasp as ice pierced her breast and ripped through her insides.
‘Exactly.’ His eyes bored into hers as if he delved deep into her secrets, to the woman she’d never shared with anyone. ‘There’s still this connection and even my suspicions and disappointment couldn’t sever it.’
‘You’re wrong, Asim. You have severed it. I feel nothing for you. I don’t even know why you’re here.’
His stare unnerved her. It took all her willpower not to fidget, to pretend she felt whole instead of raw and bleeding.
‘Do you have any idea how I felt when I went to your room and couldn’t find you?’
‘Relieved? Triumphant?’
Slowly he turned his head from side to side. ‘Gutted. As if someone had taken a dagger to my belly.’
Jacqui stared, her mouth gaping. Had he really felt it too? That slash of pain? Asim was many things: autocratic, suspicious, tender, thoughtful, assertive and generous, but never vulnerable.
‘You’re lying,’ she croaked. But as she said it she knew that was one thing she’d never accuse him of—dishonesty.
Yet to believe him meant he cared about her, which he’d already proved impossible. Jacqui frowned, her thoughts tumbling over themselves.
‘Why would I lie?’ He leaned closer. ‘You think I enjoy admitting this?’ He paused and Jacqui felt his hesitation like a weight.
‘I couldn’t find you in my suite, or yours. I couldn’t find your clothes, except those two evening dresses, and I felt...’ He shook his head, his mouth a grim, flat line.
‘Do you understand the dangers you face out here?’
The abrupt change of subject disorientated Jacqui and she shook her head.
‘The dunes are treacherous. What if you’d rolled the vehicle?’ His eyes flashed. ‘What if you’d hurt yourself with no one knowing where you are?’
‘But I didn’t.’ Her brow puckered. He hadn’t chased after her in case she ran into car trouble.
‘And you’re alone.’
‘I’m an adult. I’m used to being alone.’ Independence had been bred into her early. Conveniently she ignored the fact that usually when she’d travelled in risky locations she’d been with Imran or another colleague.
‘A woman alone can be vulnerable to unscrupulous men.’ He paused, letting that sink in. ‘And you know about our lions?’
Jacqui stiffened, her eyes frantically scanning the darkness beyond the firelight. ‘No one mentioned lions.’
‘Jazeer was famous for them and there’s a tradition that, while lions live in the Jazeeri wilderness, our people will remain safe from external threat. Over the years their numbers dwindled to near extinction but in the last decade there’s been a programme to re-establish them in this national park.’
‘Not here?’ She shivered, remembering a pride of lions she’d seen in Africa devouring some poor antelope.
‘In an enclosure not too far away. Rangers have stopped poachers trying to kill them for so-called sport.’ He paused, his expression grim. ‘It’s dangerous for you here alone. Such men flout the law. I doubt they’d respect an unprotected woman.’
‘You came here to make sure I was safe?’ Jacqui’s jaw tilted. She wasn’t some chattel to be protected.
‘Partly that.’ He lifted one hand and raked it through his dark hair, leaving it rumpled. Jacqui remembered the feel of it through her fingers, like a soft, thick pelt inviting her touch. A twinge of heat flickered.
‘I had to know you were safe. And we have to talk.’
‘You’ve already said more than enough.’ She didn’t have the stomach for more. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stop her hurt showing. Pride only stretched so far. ‘It’s late, Asim. I’m tired and fed up. You’ve seen for yourself that I’m fine. Why don’t you go back to your palace and leave me be?’
His arm dropped. ‘Because I was wrong.’
‘Pardon?’ Jacqui felt her eyes bulge.
‘I made a mistake.’ His eyes locked on hers, sending a sizzle through her blood. ‘I jumped to conclusions when I should have known better. I accused you of dishonesty, of manipulating my sister for your own ends, and I was wrong. Totally wrong.’
Silence engulfed them, but for the soft crackle of the low fire and a faint whisper across the sand. Jacqui held herself taut, disorientated and almost scared of what he might say next.
‘I behaved badly, Jacqueline, and I ask your forgiveness. I realise you were doing what you thought best for Samira.’
Jacqui leaned back, as if to sever the force field that drew her towards him. It was harder than it should have been, resisting the temptation to believe him.
‘How do you know? What did Samira tell you?’ Sourness filled her mouth. How easy for him to believe her now his sister had revealed the truth. Yet when Jacqui had needed his trust it hadn’t been forthcoming.
Asim shook his head. ‘It wasn’t Samira. I knew as soon as I returned to the celebrations and more fireworks exploded. Finally my brain kicked into gear. If you’d wanted to sell a scoop, you wouldn’t have picked anywhere so public. If you’d betrayed us you’d have done it quietly, not surrounded by my people and lou
d detonations. The whole scenario was wrong.’
He leaned forward and Jacqui thought she saw tenderness in his eyes. ‘I realised too late how strong you’d been, supporting Samira when she most needed it. How much you gave of yourself to help her. I should have been thanking you, not attacking you. An apology isn’t sufficient but, believe me, I’m sorry for what I said, what I believed.’
Jacqui read sincerity in his expression and heard the warmth in his voice, yet something held her back. He’d destroyed something inside her with his mistrust. She wasn’t ready to let him close again.
She’d never let anyone as close as Asim, not even Imran, and tonight’s devastating events proved how dangerous that was. She’d opened herself to a world of hurt. She should have known better. Her family had taught her she didn’t have what it took to inspire love but she’d thought at least Asim respected her. His rejection after slowly winning her trust and her regard had shattered her.
But, oh, it was tempting to accept his change of heart. Her weaker side wanted to forget his earlier contempt and pretend tonight hadn’t happened.
‘If only Samira had confided in me this wouldn’t have happened.’
But it had, Jacqui thought miserably. Nothing could erase it.
Was she being precious, too wary to accept his apology? But nothing had prepared her for the devastation his distrust had wrought.
‘Samira thought you wouldn’t agree if you heard our plans. Your press office has been adamant she remain out of the public eye. She was sure you’d take their advice again.’
Asim frowned. ‘That’s only ever been for her protection. When she first came back she was in no state to face anyone.’
‘But she’s better now. She’s stronger than you think.’
‘You believe I’m over-protective?’
Jacqui shrugged, surprised at how easy it was to talk about Samira instead of what lay between them. ‘Isn’t that what older brothers do?’ She’d been almost wistful, hearing Samira talk about how Asim tried to shelter her.
Jacqui had never known that sort of protectiveness. You learned resilience early when you were unwanted. ‘And your media advisor was all for keeping Samira isolated.’
‘Samira said you disagreed.’
Jacqui shrugged. ‘He could have reassessed the situation when Samira felt better.’
‘So you came up with tonight’s scenario.’
‘Samira and I did together. As I said, she’s stronger than you think.’
He nodded. ‘She is. Between you, you’ve turned the secret of her isolation on its head. The press think she’s spent her time working on what will be a stunning formal fashion collection. They’re slavering for more. That sort of interest could be a springboard to a successful career.’
Jacqui smiled, relieved that he could see the positives in what they’d done. ‘She’s talented enough to do it too.’
‘I can’t thank you enough, Jacqueline.’ His voice dipped to a low note that never failed to do funny things to her insides. ‘You’ve been a true friend to Samira and my grandmother. You’ve given them both something they needed at a very difficult time in their lives.’
His intensity made her skin prickle and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.
‘It was only—’
Asim raised his hand. ‘It wasn’t only anything. When you arrived here I expected trouble and instead you’ve done my family considerable service. A service that deserved far more than my distrust.’ He drew a slow breath. ‘If there’s anything I can do to make amends, you must tell me. We owe you so much. I owe you.’
Words trembled on her tongue. Hungry, eager words that would reveal how much she wanted from him.
Jacqui firmed her lips rather than blurt them out. She hugged her knees. She’d experienced so much with Asim, more than she’d ever expected, and still she wanted more. The depth of her neediness scared her. Was there no end to it?
Better to keep her distance. After all, though he’d apologised, he’d made no move to close the gap between them. Wasn’t it safer that way?
Yet she couldn’t staunch the slow bleed of hope and happiness. She wanted to be held and caressed and treasured.
The realisation almost stopped the air in her lungs. She’d begun to want too much.
‘There’s nothing I need,’ she said briskly. ‘Except to finish my research.’ Turning from his searching gaze, she looked towards the rising sun, a glimmer on the horizon. ‘I plan to visit the Asada oasis before I leave Jazeer. It used to be a favourite with the royal harem ladies and I want to take photos.’
The idea of leaving was like a physical blow. Her time in the palace had passed too quickly. She’d lived from day to day, not daring to think ahead, throwing herself into her project and immersing herself in the wonder that was her affair with Asim. Each day had been a revelation to a woman who’d thought never to smile again.
But her time was up. Regret shivered down her backbone.
Even if Asim’s distrust hadn’t shattered her illusory peace, the realisation of her vulnerability to him would have.
‘We can do better than that. I’ll take you to the oasis and you can stay in the royal pavilion there. It’s rarely used, but I guarantee you’ll love the old rooms.’ His tender smile made Jacqui’s stomach dip. She almost cried out at the sense of loss engulfing her.
It was one thing to know their affair was over. It was another to find the courage to move on. She couldn’t seem to switch off her feelings.
‘Thank you, but I couldn’t impose.’
‘Don’t treat me like a stranger, Jacqueline.’ His smile died, his voice turning harsh.
Why she fidgeted under his gaze, she didn’t know. He was the one who’d been at fault, not her.
But he was trying to make amends, wasn’t he?
The trouble was she wanted more than access to royal buildings from Asim. Much more.
She wanted his arms around her in the night when she woke from a nightmare. She wanted that gleam in his eyes as they made small talk at some official reception, promising delicious intimacies to come. She even wanted to debate politics with him! Spending a tranquil hour chatting with Asim at the end of the day had become one of her greatest pleasures.
Now she felt bereft.
It struck her how rootless she was. For years she’d had no real home. Visits to family were short and infrequent and her flat was a spartan place she didn’t miss. She’d felt more at home in Asim’s palace than she could remember feeling any time in the last eighteen years.
What did that say about her life?
* * *
Asim tossed a piece of wood onto the fire, watched the sparks flash and heard the greedy hiss as flames took hold. In the flare of light Jacqueline’s face was pensive, almost sad.
His gut twisted. He needed her smile, her gurgle of throaty laughter, the flash of animation in her sultry, amber eyes.
He needed her.
The realisation was stark and undeniable.
He needed her as he’d needed no other woman.
That made a mockery of his attempts to negotiate a compromise.
He didn’t want compromise! He wanted Jacqueline.
It was only now he’d lost her that he understood how important she was.
Asim frowned. He couldn’t recall another lover having had such an impact. He chose his women for their beauty and good humour, for intelligence and sophistication. For their ability to please.
Jacqueline Fletcher was just a little too sharp and questioning, a little too unpolished. Yet she charmed his family, his courtiers and guests, and she charmed him. Her passion was instinctive rather than subtle, honest rather than practised. He liked her mind, her inquisitiveness, even her damned independence.
Even after tonight’s fiasco the li
nk between them was strong. The sizzle of passion hadn’t faded, though inevitably it must. He’d known enough women to understand that. Besides, nothing that burnt so bright could last indefinitely.
Yet Asim acknowledged with a flash of disturbing insight that he’d never be content to part from Jacqueline till this ardour faded.
He didn’t want other women. He’d even let his bridal search stall, distracted by her.
Giving her up wasn’t an option. Not yet.
He had to win back her trust.
Asim drew in a slow breath and faced the unpalatable fact he’d been avoiding. Jacqueline wouldn’t be won over by platitudes and a trite apology. She needed to know the whole truth.
She deserved to know it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘YOU BELIEVE ME to be overprotective.’
Beyond the flames Asim saw Jacqueline shrug but she said nothing.
He unknotted his hands and flexed his fingers. When that reporter had pumped Jacqueline about Samira, Asim had come within an inch of decking him. Hot fury surged and the need for violence had twanged every taut sinew. As if the man he’d spent a lifetime moulding himself into—honourable, thoughtful and judicious—was a sham.
As if he’d reverted to the unbridled, unthinking emotion that had been his parents’ hallmark.
His sudden lust for blood, his desire to wrap his fingers around the reporter’s throat, had made a mockery of everything he’d striven to be. Distaste filled his mouth.
‘You know my parents had a troubled marriage.’
Jacqueline lifted her head as if startled at the direction of the conversation. Slowly she nodded.
‘My earliest memory is the sound of fighting. Not physically,’ he added quickly when he read her expression, ‘Though there were lots of breakages. Ornaments and mirrors didn’t last long in the royal apartments.’
Asim paused, remembering. ‘I used to lie in bed, listening to the rhythm of the arguments. I became expert at reading the progress of a fight. I’d tell myself it would be over soon, when my parents kissed and made up, or temporarily separated.’
