remembered the reports about his lovers and his jet-setting lifestyle before he’d inherited the throne. Even now he captured headlines wherever he went. The combination of stunning looks and extreme wealth guaranteed it. Then there were older reports she’d skimmed about his parents’ volatile relationship. They’d provided perfect fodder for sensationalist media outlets with gossip about break-ups, lovers and jealous rages.
‘I’m a journalist, not a paparazza!’
‘So you tell me.’
Jacqui pursed her lips, thinking. He’d given her support...so far. But he could change his mind at any stage. Only one thing would convince him—the truth.
A shudder ripped through her and she hunched forward, her arms automatically crossing, holding tight, as if that could keep the pain at bay.
She could keep her secrets and hope he didn’t change his mind about letting her stay. Or tell him what he wanted to know. Tell him what she’d not told a soul.
His patient silence, the sense of a listening presence in the anonymous darkness, won out. Or maybe she was just tired of hugging the truth to herself.
‘Everything I told you is true.’
‘But there’s more.’
Yes, damn him. There was more. She sucked in a sustaining breath.
‘I can’t do that job any more. I’ve tried and...’ She shook her head. ‘I just can’t.’ Jacqui heard the wobble in her voice and bit her lip. ‘I tried being in the field again and I just...shut down. I couldn’t function. Even being in the newsroom, working at that end, with the bustle and the people and the pressure, it was too much.’ She blinked and lifted her head to stare up at the clear, bright moon. She remembered staring at a moon like that from her lonely hospital bed that first night, when she still couldn’t believe the horror she’d witnessed.
‘Ever since the bombing, since Imran died, I haven’t been able to work.’
‘Post-traumatic stress?’
She lifted her shoulders in a tight movement. ‘Trouble sleeping, trouble handling more than one task at a time.’ It almost killed her to admit that. She’d been so proud of her professional skills. ‘Trouble with loud noises and too many people.’ On bad nights she couldn’t even face darkness, fearing sleep and the nightmares it might bring. And beyond all that was guilt that she’d led Imran to his death. She’d been responsible.
‘Tonight was the first night I’ve been able to stand being in a crowd of people without searching for suspicious packages or jumping at shadows.’
She told herself that was progress, but in some ways tonight had only made it all worse. For she’d spent the evening in conversation with such fascinating people, people she’d normally pursue for an interview. She’d had an idea for a report on current regional trade negotiations, but the thought of following it through had made her queasy. She’d been second-guessing herself, wondering if the idea was as good as she believed or if her judgement was flawed.
Forcing herself to face him, she laid herself bare, ignoring the shrieks of her ragged pride.
‘I need this project. Once I realised I couldn’t go back I had nothing. No job, no hope for the future. Until your grandmother and I corresponded again after...Imran.’ Jacqui swallowed over the obstruction in her throat and forced herself to continue. ‘She was so enthusiastic, I realised the project was too big for the article I’d planned. It needed a book. So here I am.’
Jacqui didn’t add that her work defined her. Relationships had never succeeded for her. She’d never belonged anywhere as she had in journalism. Burying herself in reporting, building a life around her professional goals was all she had.
Moonlight silvered the strong lines of his face as he surveyed her.
Did he believe her or still think this was a conspiracy to uncover dirt on his sister? Had she bared her secret shame for nothing? Was he going to kick her out?
‘Thank you for sharing the truth.’ His voice was rich and slightly rough, like crushed velvet rubbing on bare skin. ‘I suspect you haven’t shared that with many.’
None. But she refused to tell him that.
Jacqui was an intensely private person, having learned to rely only on herself from the day her parents had split. It had been difficult, discovering at ten that neither of your parents loved you enough to want you full time. That you came a poor second to their new families. That you didn’t belong except as an unpaid babysitter. But it had made her strong. She gave thanks now for that strength.
‘I realise it was difficult for you.’
She nodded, her throat still closed.
‘I’ll continue to monitor your progress’ He paused and she felt his scrutiny like a touch. ‘But you’ve put my mind at rest for now.’
For now? What hoops did she have to jump through to win this man’s approval?
Jacqui felt wrung out. She wasn’t sure she had the stamina to go another round with the Sultan, no matter how desperate she was.
Abruptly he stood. ‘Come, it’s late. I’ve kept you from your bed.’
In the gloom he extended his arm and for an insane moment Jacqui thought he meant to accompany her to bed. A jagged slash of heat scorched her, resolving into an eddying pool of liquid warmth deep in her abdomen.
‘In my country a handshake is a sign of trust.’
Reluctant despite the unlooked-for compliment, Jacqui reached out and took his hand. It was just as she remembered, firm, warm and strong.
Instead of the expected handshake he pulled her to her feet till they stood toe-to-toe, close enough for her to feel his breath on her forehead. The heat in her belly flared and sparked and a new kind of tension stirred.
There it was again, that searing stare that spoke of things far more intimate than news stories or remembered anguish. Breathlessly Jacqui told herself it was a trick of the moonlight that made his eyes glitter.
Yet instinct made her pull free of his hold. Not because of what she thought she saw there but because of the answering hunger growing inside, banishing the last glacial chill of memory.
She’d never known such an overwhelming response to a man. It made her want to run and hide.
‘Good night.’ She kept her head up, resisting the impulse to rub away the imprint of his touch. It was too unsettling but she knew better than to reveal that.
‘Come, I’ll see you to your door.’
‘There’s no need to go out of your way.’ Her voice sounded scratchy and breathless and she cursed this sudden rush of hormones.
‘It’s not out of my way at all. Haven’t you realised yet that you’re staying in my private wing?’
Even in the darkness his slow smile packed a punch that made her reel.
‘So if you need me in the night I’m not far away.’
