her to lounge. He sat turned half towards her, half towards the long pool that shimmered invitingly.
Silence surrounded them.
‘I’m curious,’ he said at last. ‘Why would a woman like you embark on this particular project?’
‘A woman like me?’ She strove to keep the indignation from her voice. What was he accusing her of now?
His reluctance to have her here, his hawk-like scrutiny of her research and her daily guard proved he didn’t trust the press. But she’d hoped she’d allayed his concerns and he’d begun to trust her a little.
‘I’ve read your profile, Ms Fletcher. You’re one of Australia’s youngest foreign news reporters and well regarded. You received an award for media excellence, though you were in hospital and missed the ceremony.’ Jacqui tried and failed not to stiffen at the casual mention of the time when shock and guilt, as much as her injuries, had incapacitated her. ‘You rarely take leave and when you do it’s to follow another story. You have a reputation for doggedness and for grasping the bigger picture.’
‘You’ve checked me out.’ It shouldn’t surprise her yet Jacqui sat straighter, nerves jangling.
‘Of course. Don’t pretend you haven’t done the same.’ Jacqui felt the challenge in his stare though his eyes were shadowed.
Finally she nodded. ‘You inherited the crown at twenty-five. You were educated in France and England, including at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst. You’ve got a Master’s degree in business administration.’ She paused, reflecting on those old reports of extreme sports and hard partying.
‘Despite your early reputation for...adventure, since taking the throne you’ve gained a name as a broker in diplomatic and trade negotiations and as a leader of vision. You’ve built on your nation’s loyalty to your family and are well respected.’
‘Touché, Ms Fletcher.’ Laughter threaded his voice, making it far too appealing.
Her fingers tightened on the arms of her chair. Sitting in the darkness with this man whose presence sent her senses into hyper-awareness was a supremely bad idea. Her nostrils twitched. She wished he’d doused himself in some expensive aftershave any man might buy. Instead, she guessed that far too appealing spice and man mix was innate to him.
‘And so?’
‘And so, after checking your credentials, I’m intrigued. Why step away from your career to write about a lifestyle that no longer exists?’
‘I hope plenty of people will be interested in reading about life in a harem.’
‘Because sex sells?’
He leaned towards her and she shifted back. ‘The book won’t be about sex.’ She waved a hand. ‘Or only in part.’
‘But that’s what readers will expect.’
Jacqui shrugged. ‘I want to paint a portrait of a vanished way of life.’
‘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,
