The Sultan's Harem Bride

His gaze roved over the slim figure in amber. She was stunning, a beacon glowing in the early evening light. Her dress shimmered, the long skirt moulding her neat hips and giving a tantalising hint of gorgeous long legs.

Immediately desire throbbed, as if his body had been trained to respond to the mere sight of her. He registered vague disquiet. This fascination should be ebbing. Instead it had escalated.

He wanted to be with her, stripping off that dress that flowed over her slender curves like apricot syrup. This on the night when he should be rejoicing in his achievements and the accolades of his people!

She made him want to forget his duty. He wanted to lose himself in her. Or at least be with her, seeing her delight in the spectacle and listening to her refreshingly honest assessment of everything, from the pageantry to the behind-the-scenes lobbying by guests. He sensed danger in the way she distracted him, making him lose focus. It was his duty, his responsibility, to keep control and protect those, like Samira, who relied on him.

Asim made himself turn. It was a test of willpower that he stay away.

His grandmother and her cronies would take Jacqueline under their wing. He’d remain here, doing his duty till it was time for the fireworks.

As the light faded and he finally made his way back to the enclosure a ruffled press secretary raced over to report a breach of security. Amongst the invited media, a cameraman and reporter from a major magazine were on the premises. A magazine that had pursued Samira relentlessly. Its staff had been banned from all royal premises. Yet they were in the royal enclosure, large as life.

Asim marched up the hill, barking questions to his stumbling retainers.

How had they entered? He couldn’t believe his efficient security team had slipped up so badly.

But there was a conundrum. For it appeared the pair had press passes that had been checked and double checked and proven genuine.

Only years of self-discipline prevented Asim taking the steps three at a time. The Sultan of Jazeer never publicly showed haste or fury. He topped the rise and his heart pumped an aggressive rhythm.

It was worse than he’d thought.

A sweeping look took in the cluster of photographers held back by security staff. Their lenses were trained on the platform overlooking the plain below. On it posed women dressed in flamboyant rainbow colours. Among them he saw Jacqueline in full-length amber looking luscious as toffee and, in a gown of deepest violet, Samira.

Asim halted, pulse hammering, barely able to believe his eyes. Samira hadn’t planned to attend. When he’d tried to persuade her weeks ago she’d claimed she needed time before facing crowds again. What was she doing here?

A barrage of sound hit and the sky exploded in fireworks.

Asim was stalking forward, his jaw clamped, when a hand touched his arm. About to shake it off, he looked down into his grandmother’s concerned face.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll get rid of them.’ He started forward but her hand tightened.

‘No. That’s exactly what you won’t do.’

‘Sorry?’ He couldn’t believe his ears. The old lady had supported his strategy to protect Samira.

‘They’re here now. If you cause a scene it will fuel the flames. Look—they’re not talking to Samira, just taking photographs.’

Asim followed her gesture, confirming that, while Samira was in full view of the press, his staff kept them from questioning her. The women came together in a neatly choreographed move and posed for the cameras, a burst of multi-coloured light adding to the spectacle.

‘It’s deliberate,’ he murmured, taking in the scene properly for the first time. The beautiful women, the glamorous dresses, the backdrop of ancient fortifications and stunning pyrotechnics. The scene would enthral millions of avid viewers.

‘Of course,’ his grandmother responded. ‘Don’t inflame the situation.’

Grimly Asim nodded, forcing himself to stand and watch those vultures snap photo after photo.

Yet he felt betrayed. Someone in his palace had arranged this press intrusion and put Samira at risk. A few weeks ago she’d barely had the energy to stir herself and here she was, posing like some catwalk model for the paparazzi.

When he got his hands on the person who planned this, they’d wish they’d never been born.

* * *

Jacqui wondered if the smile she’d pasted on looked convincing or was a grimace of stress. These days she didn’t like crowds and being on show, a reluctant model for Samira’s gorgeous creation, shredded her nerves. But Samira had insisted, latching onto this opportunity with a feverish determination that convinced Jacqui she had to do her bit to make it a success.