The Sultan's Harem Bride

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 plus,’ the old lady murmured, ‘Since you want heirs. Did you know she volunteers at the children’s hospital? She adores children.’

‘I’d noticed.’ She’d only become animated when talking about children at the hospital and, blushing, about her hopes for a large family.

Asim liked children. He wanted his own. But he’d felt uncomfortable with a woman who seemed to have no interests beyond that.

‘Her mother tells me she’s an excellent cook. I suspect she’ll be a wonderful home-maker.’

Asim arched an eyebrow and stared down at his grandmother. ‘Why the hard sell? It’s not as if I’m likely to starve for want of a good cook.’ A wide gesture took in the remnants of the superb buffet supper prepared by the royal chefs.

‘I’m just pointing out her good qualities. Why are you so touchy?’

He shrugged, frowning. Why did he feel dissatisfied? Tonight had been arranged so he could vet a potential bride in a setting which wouldn’t make his interest obvious. Yet the result was strangely disappointing. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I knew what I wanted and now I’m having second thoughts.’

She nodded. ‘A man like you needs more than a sweet mouse, Asim, even if she is a domestic goddess. You need a real woman.’

He discovered his eyes were fixed again on Jacqueline Fletcher. He blinked as his grandmother’s words sank in. A real woman.

But not one like his unwanted guest. So she could hold her own in conversation and had an enquiring mind. That was all. She didn’t even dress to make the most of her assets. That dark suit would have been acceptable at a business meeting, but not tonight, where the women wore full-length gowns of impeccable quality.

Did she aim to draw attention to herself in some perverse way? Or did she think to hide herself behind the boxy cut of that jacket? Perhaps she’d worn it because of him. Did she really believe the unflattering style would make him forget her svelte, alluring body now he’d seen it laid out before him?

‘Asim, dear. You’re scowling.’

His jaw firmed and he stiffened as he realised his grandmother was right. He’d been Sultan for ten years, had been attending formal events since childhood. Concealing his thoughts in public was second nature. Until now.

* * *

‘Allow me to escort you to your suite.’ The deep voice was as rich and tempting as the thick Arabic coffee sweetened with wild honey that was a local specialty. It slid right through her insides, scorching as it went.