The Sultan's Harem Bride

Even though it meant keeping it secret from Asim.

No doubt he’d get on his high horse when he discovered what they’d done, but when he saw how well it worked he’d accept it was a masterstroke.

Of course he would.

But no one had mentioned fireworks.

Each crack of sound plunged her back into that day of chaos, blood and death.

The acrid scent of gunpowder turned her stomach. The whole display was torture, testing her resolve to the limit, cracking it till she feared any minute she’d fling herself to the ground, curling in a foetal position as the world shattered around her.

Another explosion splintered the air and she flinched. The hairs on her nape and arms prickled and she fought to keep the contents of her stomach down as terror iced her blood.

‘That one was close.’

Mouth dry, she nodded at the reporter, trying to feel grateful for the mundane observation.

‘And it seems to have been the finale of the show. Now we can talk.’

‘Of course.’ She’d been unable to think or speak during the barrage. Now she frantically drew on her reserves of strength, hoping years of experience in front of the camera would come to her aid.

She wasn’t used to being interviewed. She’d shunned even her network’s request for an interview after the bombing. But surely she could do this for Samira. Jacqui gripped her hands tight together.

Tentatively she began, confidence building as she followed the script she and Samira had developed. The interviewer tried to probe about Samira’s private life but it was easy enough to turn the conversation back to what they’d agreed: Samira’s dresses and her design style; the celebration; the magnificent citadel as a backdrop for what promised to be a blossoming design career. He even asked about her presence here and Jacqui relaxed a little more, describing her research and the generosity of the royal family.

‘So tell me, Jacqui. What’s happening between the princess and her ex? Our readers are desperate for more. You’re an insider now.’ The reporter leaned close, his smile gloating as he returned to his favourite subject. ‘Just a hint will do and we can develop the story further.’

Jacqui forced her features into a smile, though she gritted her teeth. She’d known he wouldn’t want to accept her ‘no comment’, but he’d have to.

‘I—’

‘You have all you need for your story.’ A deep voice sliced through the night air, making her jump. ‘The interview is over.’ Long fingers gripped her elbow, turning her inexorably to face the tall man looming out of the night. Dark eyes flashed.

‘Your Royal Highness.’ The reporter half-bowed but managed to thrust a microphone forward.

Asim ignored it, ignored him, towing Jacqui away past security staff and VIPs. They didn’t hurry but moved purposefully, though Asim paused occasionally to exchange pleasantries with guests.

Only Jacqui, with his hand anchoring her like a manacle of iron, guessed the tension riding him. It vibrated, a palpable force that sent shivers of apprehension through her.

‘Should you be seen holding my arm?’ she hissed between clenched teeth as the photographers turned their lenses towards them. ‘Surely it’s not a good idea to—’

‘Don’t presume to give me advice on appropriate behaviour.’ His whisper cut like a blade. His grip tightened almost to the point of pain and Jacqui sucked in a shocked gasp.

Instantly Asim’s hold relaxed but the angle of his jaw spoke of trouble, of fury barely contained.

‘I need to see Samira.’ Jacqui turned her head. ‘She did so well but she needs—’

If his voice had been dangerous before, it was lethal now. ‘Never presume to tell me what my sister needs.’

A glacial chill crackled down Jacqui’s backbone.

He paused and drew in a mighty breath that lifted his impressive chest, reminding Jacqui of the latent power in his big form. A power he carefully leashed when they were together. She sensed he was on a knife-edge of control and anxiety feathered through her.

Asim wasn’t a violent man. But she’d never seen him like this. Even his controlled pace spoke of barely contained ire.

They left the royal enclosure, passed the guards and entered the passageway that led into the palace then wound confusingly. Still he didn’t speak and with each tap of her heels Jacqui’s tension screwed to breaking point. She should say something, explain, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

They emerged in a garden surrounded by a pillared arcade. No lights shone but the moonlight revealed the old harem courtyard. A breeze whispered through the leaves of a climbing vine, making a desolate sound.