The Sultan's Harem Bride

‘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 over her hips before swirling to the floor.

The tone of his voice mixed anger with disapproval and for a moment hurt assailed her. Then she recalled Lady Rania’s delight when she’d seen Jacqui in the dress, and the interest in her dinner companion’s eyes.

‘Dressing for dinner.’ She bristled. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to take his bad mood and shove it, but he had the power to eject her from the palace. She drew a slow breath and pretended not to notice the way his gaze flickered on the movement. ‘Your grandmother—’

‘No!’ He raised his free hand. ‘Don’t bring her into this. This is about why you chose to wear that—’ he gestured disparagingly to her beautiful dress ‘—to an important royal occasion. You must have known the effect it would have.’

Jacqui stared up at him, seeing a flash of fury, and felt her eyes widen. He was serious. And he was mightily offended.

To her horror something crumbled a little inside. Could she have got it so wrong? Had Lady Rania been too polite to tell her she’d been mistaken about the gown suiting her? Had the diplomat’s assiduous attention been too over-done? Could he have felt sorry for her, trying to masquerade as glamorous when she wasn’t?

Jacqui swallowed and it felt like razor wire lodged in her throat. She’d never been a good judge of fashion. Had she been blinded by the beauty of the dress into thinking it could transform her with a mere slither of its silk?

A horrible churning sensation filled her insides. Normally she didn’t worry too much about how she looked. But tonight she’d thought...

‘It won’t happen again, Your Highness.’ Her voice was wooden but she refused to look away and let him see how much the truth hurt. ‘Next time, if there is a next time, I’ll wear my suit.’

He nodded stiffly. ‘That would be preferable to making an exhibition of yourself.’

Jacqui tore her hand from his, anger and hurt spiralling uncontrollably. It was one thing to know her limitations after having her stepmother harp on them so often, but it was horrible to hear him spell them out.

‘Damn you!’ She snarled the syllables between gritted teeth. ‘That’s a horrible thing to say.’ Her breath sawed in her throat as she strove for breath. ‘We can’t all be glamorous and sexy like you but that doesn’t give you the right to belittle others for the way they look.’

Jacqui marched away, only to catch herself up on her long skirt. Cursing under her breath, she scrabbled at the slippery silk, lifting it enough to walk, and strode off.

She’d gone two steps when he grabbed her elbow and swung her round to face him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘YOU’RE NOT SERIOUS.’

But those amber eyes spat fire at him. This was no joke. And there was hurt in the twist of her mouth.

His stomach dived.

‘Never more so.’ Her jaw angled so she could look down her nose at him, despite the fact he was so much taller. This woman had sass.

She also had sex appeal in spades. Only iron willpower kept his hand on her elbow instead of skimming up that shimmering fabric and cupping her firm, high breasts. His gaze dipped inevitably and he saw her nipples tighten as if responding to the hunger inside him.

‘Oh!’ She stamped her foot on his but she was barefoot and it had no impact. ‘Let me go. Now!’ She thrashed in his hold, trying to get free.

‘Be still, Jacqueline. You’ll—’

‘Don’t you dare “Jacqueline” me. It’s Jacqui. Or Jack.’ Her mouth trembled and pain smacked him in the chest.

‘You’ve got it wrong.’

‘Oh, I have, have I? So you didn’t come stomping after me to tell me I shouldn’t have worn this?’

‘No. Yes.’ Asim gritted his teeth, infuriated with himself as much as her. Even now he couldn’t believe his behaviour. He’d insulted her, grabbed her, hurt her. Spent the whole evening lusting after her. ‘You don’t understand.’ Hell, he didn’t understand! Where was his calm? His easy charm? Where was his dislike of reporters?