The Sultan's Harem Bride

‘Who said I don’t, habibti?’

‘But you...’ Her words petered out as she watched that smile take hold and turn into a grin. ‘You let me believe...’

‘I merely preferred to have our discussion in private rather than where we might be overheard. I never said I didn’t believe you.’

‘Then why didn’t you say something?’ She shook her head, the wind taken out of her sails.

One large hand tugged her hair loose of its ponytail.

‘Far better,’ he murmured. ‘I like your hair loose. You look like one of our Jazeeri lionesses with that spark in your amber eyes and your tawny hair rippling around your shoulders.’ His voice dropped to a seductive caress. ‘I love it when you argue, Jaqueline. You have such fire. Such passion. And I want it all.’

He pulled her closer and she was stunned to feel his arousal against her belly. Instantly the fierce roil of emotions within transformed to familiar hunger as instinctively she moulded herself to him. Asim threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her face to his.

‘Yes,’ he murmured against her ear, ‘Like that.’

‘No!’ She tried to insert space between them, levering herself back from his chest, even though the movement pushed her lower body against his and the friction there felt so good she almost groaned.

‘Wait,’ she gasped. ‘You mean you deliberately picked a fight to watch me lose my temper?’ Disbelief warred with something unbelievably close to delight.

‘I did nothing, habibti, but say I wished to speak with you. You did the rest and I’m man enough to enjoy the fireworks.’ His hand slipped down to her breast and she saw stars as he gently kneaded the sensitive mound.

‘You, you arrogant, conniving—’ Her head lolled as he nipped her earlobe and insinuated his hand beneath her shirt, tweaking her nipple. Fire arced, drawing her tight against his body.

‘And you don’t mind at all, do you, my sweet?’ he murmured as he kissed his way down her throat and delight rippled through her. ‘Because you’re not intimidated and making up is so very, very satisfying.’

Jacqui opened her mouth but all that emerged was a feathery sigh as she succumbed to his expert touch.

With a tight smile Asim swung her round so her back was to the wall. Then he proceeded to show her exactly how satisfying making up could be.

CHAPTER TEN

ASIM LEANED INTO HER, chest heaving, trembling in the aftermath of a climax that had blown him apart. Stars faded behind his closed lids.

He nuzzled the tender skin at the base of her neck, inhaling the scent of summer-ripened apricots. She shuddered and clenched around him one last time and impossibly he felt a flicker of renewed response.

Virile he might be but Jacqueline Fletcher pushed him to limits he’d never thought possible.

Was that why he’d sought her out in Samira’s rooms rather than whittle down the list of bridal candidates? He’d returned from his ride determined to give that task his full attention and instead he’d given in to temptation again. He hadn’t been able to settle as the clock had passed the hour for their usual appointment.

It disturbed him, how his usual control deserted him around her.

‘Asim?’ He loved hearing her voice like this, low and breathy. ‘You should put me down.’

For answer he widened his stance, wedging her tighter against the wall, her legs still around his waist. He didn’t want to let her go. He wanted her right where she was.

How long would it take to convince her she wasn’t too tall or her perfect breasts too small? That she was beautiful? It didn’t matter. He enjoyed demonstrating how wrong she was.

Except one day he’d have to put her aside when he took a wife. The realisation exploded his sense of well-being.

Some internal organ he couldn’t identify clenched hard in denial.

He distracted himself by kissing her bare shoulder. ‘You have the most perfect skin,’ he murmured. ‘Like cream. How did you grow up in Australia and not get covered in freckles?’

‘I have freckles!’

‘A smattering on your nose and a couple on your hands, no more.’

‘My mother insisted I cover up in the sun and I kept the habit of wearing long sleeves. It wasn’t difficult. Summers in Tasmania are short.’

She wriggled and reluctantly Asim decided it was time to move. The condom needed disposal, then they should talk.

Minutes later, after a slow kiss that left Jacqueline satisfyingly silent and starry-eyed, Asim headed for the bathroom.

His jaw set as he saw his reflection in the mirror. The dishevelled clothes didn’t bother him, but the unfamiliar expression in his eyes did. It was more than sexual satisfaction. More than smugness at having silenced the most argumentative, feisty woman he knew.