Annie West - The Sultan's Harem Bride

Reluctantly he’d supported her plan to study overseas, only to learn she’d embarked on a passionate affair with a Hollywood actor who was the epitome of shallow self-absorption. But Samira had had stars in her eyes, had talked of marriage and hadn’t seen him for what he was.

She’d only found out when he’d been discovered in bed with his co-star by the woman’s wrathful husband. Acrimonious divorce proceedings had ensued, eagerly reported by the press. Scandal grew with stories of multiple infidelities, drug use and even the corruption of minors.

Samira was an innocent party in the morass of stomach-turning revelations about her boyfriend and his co-star. But the press didn’t let up. Once the darling of the paparazzi with her stunning looks, aristocratic heritage and high-profile romance, now she was their prey.

She’d sought refuge here. Only he and his grandmother and a few select staff knew that, as well as being heartbroken, Samira had to recuperate physically too. That story would never make it into the press.

He’d never known fear such as he’d experienced when he’d thought he might lose her. He’d felt so ineffectual. But this, now, was a situation he could control.

Asim grimaced, raking his fingers through his hair. He’d do whatever it took to keep his little sister safe. He wouldn’t fail her again.

Had Jacqueline Fletcher told the truth about writing a book? Or was it a ploy to get a scoop on Samira?

Suspicion ran deep in Asim. How could it not after he’d witnessed the web of lies that had been his parents’ marriage? How could he trust the woman who’d been caught up in Imran’s death?

Yet he couldn’t get a handle on her. He knew she was a respected news reporter. She was Australian, though she’d spent years in Africa, Asia and the Middle East. He knew she’d been with Imran when he died.

Everything else was speculation.

Speculation and an unhealthy dollop of attraction.

Asim shook his head, fed up with his circling thoughts. It was time.

He knocked but didn’t enter. Better to be sure she was decently covered. The door swung inwards.

‘You!’ Those stunning eyes widened and it struck him again how fragile she looked. Was that real or some trick?

Asim stepped inside and she shifted back.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘You surprised me. I expected one of the servants.’

Is that why she was dressed in drab trousers and a navy top that leached the colour from her face? She wore no make-up and had pulled her hair back in a ponytail.

And still arousal beat low in his belly.

He frowned. Just because he’d seen this woman naked didn’t mean he was going to have her in his bed, no matter what his body wanted. He had more sense than to hook up with a journalist. After what had happened to Samira, how could he? Besides, his women were always poised, polished and beautifully dressed, at least to begin with.

Jacqueline Fletcher was...no; not ordinary. Not with those eyes or that mouth. But nor was she sophisticated.

‘It’s after one a.m. Why wake someone when I can lead the way?’ Besides, he intended to keep a personal eye on her.

He scanned the neatly made bed then picked up the single suitcase and laptop bag. She travelled light. His sister had arrived with more than half a dozen cases, probably full of shoes. ‘Is this all?’

‘Yes, but I’ll take the laptop.’ She reached out but at a look from him her arm fell.

Why so eager to take the computer? Because she had something there she didn’t want him to see or simply a journalist’s instinct to protect the tool of her trade? Suspicion stirred anew.

‘I can just about manage them both.’ He nodded to the door. ‘After you.’

She moved with a grace that belied tiredness or nerves. Baggy trousers hid her slender curves but his mind filled the blanks.

Asim turned off the lamp and followed. In the dim corridor it took a moment for his eyes to adjust but he sensed when he reached her. His nostrils twitched as the sweet tang of her perfume reached him. Something fruity and light that made him think of summer.

‘I’ll lead. Just watch your step. The old tiles are uneven.’

Silently she fell into step.

His mouth quirked. Who’d have thought this woman could be so biddable?

On the other hand, there’d been something curiously refreshing about the way she’d continued to argue her case after he’d stated his decision. Maybe Imran had been right and he was too used to getting his own way now he’d been Sultan so long.

His cousin had liked her, he recalled with a pang that crushed his smile.

‘Where are we going?’ Her long legs stretched to match his stride. Automatically he eased his pace.

‘To a guest apartment where you won’t be disturbed.’ More to the point, she wouldn’t have a chance to disturb anyone else.

‘I’m very grateful for you taking the time to see me settled.’ She was like a prim little girl reciting polite words she’d been taught.

If only she knew. Asim took her personally to her new accommodation because he didn’t trust her. As soon as he had her installed he’d call security to ensure she didn’t indulge in any night-time prowling. He refused to compromise Samira’s safety.

‘Is it in a modern part of the palace?’

‘Yes, completed in the last ten years.’ When he’d become ruler his one indulgence had been to build a suite of modern rooms for his own use and that of his private guests. The apartments his parents had used were too full of memories he’d rather forget.

‘That will be...nice.’

Asim shot her a glance. ‘They’re very comfortable.’

‘I’m sure they are.’ She didn’t sound enthused.

‘But? There’s a “but” in there.’

‘Of course not.’ He waited. Finally she added, ‘It’s just that I barely had time to explore the old rooms and they were so beautiful. That wall painting, for instance, with the climbing roses and the birds. It was magnificent.’

Curiosity stirred. ‘You would like to stay in a place like that? Beautiful but cut off from the world?’ It wasn’t what he expected.

Moonlight lit her features as they passed through another courtyard. She looked serious, as if considering. ‘It has a certain appeal. I’d enjoy it...for a while. But I’m a modern woman. Seclusion would lose its charm and I’d end up feeling trapped with nothing to do.’

‘The women who lived there kept busy.’

She turned. ‘Pleasing the Sultan? Being available to meet his every need?’

Despite himself Asim’s lips twitched. She sounded almost prudish as she skated over the issue of sex.

‘You’ve been reading too much fiction. It wasn’t just the lord’s wife or lover who lived there, but all his female relatives.’

He gestured for her to precede him into a corridor illuminated by glowing wall lights. Modern marble flooring replaced worn tiles underfoot.

‘According to family tradition, that’s why my ancestors were so warlike and successful in battle. It gave them an outlet for their frustrations since their female relatives tried to rule the roost at home.’

She slowed and he stopped, turning. Pale before, her face was animated now, delicate colour highlighting regular features. Even her lips looked plumper, rosier.

‘There are two sides to every truth. I bet your male ancestors wouldn’t have given up the freedom to ride across their kingdom, pick fights with their neighbours and grow rich from trade and war even if it meant living a life of domestic bliss. And as for the right to take the most beautiful girl in the kingdom as their own—’

Asim raised his hand. ‘I see you’ve done your homework.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say? Men will be men.’ In his family, particularly so. Marauders, warriors and rulers, they had a reputation for fierceness as well as for honour and their impeccable taste in women.