The Sultan's Harem Bride
‘The question remains. Why give up a challenging, successful job for which you’re receiving accolades to write this book?’
Her breathing hitched and when she swallowed it felt like she’d gulped a block of ice. It froze her from the inside. She tried to prise her fingers from their claw-like grip on the arms of the chair but couldn’t.
He leaned closer. ‘I’m surprised your network has given you time off for this. Surely they want you doing what you do best?’
Jacqui bit down a sour laugh. What she did best.
What she used to do best.
‘I didn’t take leave,’ she admitted in a rush, the blood pounding in her ears. ‘I resigned.’
Even now the admission dealt her a sickening blow. After years building her career it still stunned her that she’d actually walked away from the only thing that had given her purpose and identity—her work.
As long as she could remember she’d wanted to be a journalist. Now that part of her life was over and it was no more than she deserved. Because of her Imran had lost his life. The price she paid was small by comparison. Her shoulders inched high as tension radiated up from her clawed hands.
In the other chair her inquisitor sat comfortably, fingers steepled together.
‘I see.’ Something about his inflection suggested that, even if he didn’t see the whole picture, he guessed most. The idea of him silently dissecting what she’d said pushed her into speech.
‘I’m sure your grandmother has told you about the essays I’ve written.’ She snatched a breath and hurried on. ‘They were well received and I’d always thought one day I’d try my hand at a book.’ Like when she retired.
‘It’s good sometimes to work on something longer term, without the quick demands of current affairs reporting.’
Except she’d thrived on pressure and deadlines. Being without them now created a new sort of pressure, increasing her fear that she wasn’t cut out for this longer project. Was this all a huge mistake?
‘And yet it’s a remarkable decision for a woman with such a promising career,’ he mused. ‘To cut herself off from work which, from what my cousin used to say, was a vocation, not a job.’
Jacqui’s breath hissed between her teeth. This man was too insightful.
‘I assure you I’m devoting all my energies to this. I’m not playing at it.’
He waved his hand dismissively. ‘But you must understand my doubts about this unlikely career choice. Especially when it coincides with heightened media interest in my sister’s whereabouts.’
‘You think I’m here to get a scoop on your sister?’ Jacqui frowned. ‘If that were so, surely I’d be staking out the private Caribbean island where she’s staying?’ That was where the pundits reckoned she was hiding, licking her wounds after a disastrous love affair.
Jacqui shook her head. Tunnel visioned as she’d been, she hadn’t considered Princess Samira relevant. ‘There was I thinking you doubted my qualifications. Or that I intended to write some titillating fiction about sex slaves rather than a well-researched history.’
‘Both crossed my mind.’ The admission was a slap in the face, making her skin tingle and igniting a spark of professional pride. ‘But what I’ve gleaned from our daily interviews and my investigations has reassured me somewhat.’
‘Somewhat!’ Annoyance spiked. How disappointed he must have been when she’d reported on her research. So far she’d focused on marriage celebrations and the training of young girls in domestic skills like preparing the spectacular sweets for which the royal court was famous. Nothing at all salacious.
He shrugged casually, the movement drawing attention to those wide, straight shoulders. ‘Your arrival just as Samira is being hounded by the press is too coincidental.’ He paused. ‘I’ve allowed you to remain for my grandmother’s sake, but I can’t be completely easy with your explanation.’
‘You don’t have much time for the press, do you?’
‘My caution comes from experience.’ His voice was steely.
Jacqui remembered the reports about his lovers and his jet-setting lifestyle before he’d inherited the throne. Even now he captured headlines wherever he went. The combination of stunning looks and extreme wealth guaranteed it. Then there were older reports she’d skimmed about his parents’ volatile relationship. They’d provided perfect fodder for sensationalist media outlets with gossip about break-ups, lovers and jealous rages.
‘I’m a journalist, not a paparazza!’