office, Jacqui wondered if she’d done the right thing. Her fingers fluttered over the delicate fabric. Against her skin it felt like a whisper, not clothing. A whisper that teased like the memory of Asim’s breath on her bare skin.
Horrified at the sultry heat unfurling within her, Jacqui turned towards the water cooler, stopping as Asim’s secretary returned.
‘His Highness will see you now.’ He smiled and held the door open and Jacqui had no choice but to enter.
Her mouth turned as arid as the great Jazeeri desert when the door closed and she confronted Asim. He stood by the windows, the glare turning him into a formidably large silhouette, his face in shadow.
Jacqui’s heart hammered a tattoo against her ribs and she sucked in a breath, grateful he was too far away for her to register the spicy scent of his skin. It had lingered in her nostrils all day, a tantalising reminder.
What to say?
She swallowed and tugged her jacket.
Casual. She needed to be casual and calm. As if last night hadn’t blown her self-possession to smithereens then put her back together a different woman.
Jacqui opened her mouth.
‘Take it off.’ Had his voice been so deep last night? It burred through her, stirring the blood in her veins.
She blinked. ‘Sorry?
‘The jacket. It’s an offence to my eyes. Take it off.’
At that tone of command her hand jerked up automatically to the button of her jacket before she realised what she was doing.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She tried to inject her voice with hauteur, but what emerged was a breathless gasp. She’d been prepared for embarrassment and the need to assure Asim she wasn’t some lovesick fool. She hadn’t expected this.
‘So you should. It’s appalling.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Wear it near other men. Never with me.’
Jacqui sucked in air. Again that hint that they’d be alone again and, from the gravelly undercurrent in Asim’s voice, intimate.
She shook her head. She was imagining things. ‘No thank you.’ Best to treat his words as an invitation to be comfortable during their meeting. ‘I prefer to keep it on.’
‘And I prefer never to see it again.’ He paused and when he spoke again his voice was a sultry ribbon of invitation. ‘Take it off for me, Jacqueline. Or should I come across and do it for you?’
His words terrified her. It was one thing to tell herself she could pretend to be aloof and quite another to do it if he came near.
She fumbled the button open then peeled the jacket off, covering the wash of heat across her bare arms and shoulders by taking her time putting it on a chair.
When she turned back she heard a sharp intake of breath.
‘Lovely,’ he murmured in a voice that turned her blood to sweet, heavy syrup. ‘As lovely as I recalled. And you remembered not to wear a bra for me.’ His words scraped to the core of her where her insides seemed to be melting. ‘I approve of the colour too. You should wear it more often.’
Jacqui licked her lips, about to tell him the camisole was a gift from his grandmother, when her brain slipped into gear. He thought she’d gone braless for him? That she’d wanted to please him in the hope that they’d...?
She gulped, shocked. Wasn’t that exactly what she’d done? She’d told herself she was running so late and it wouldn’t matter if she was braless as no one else would know. But she’d known and with every step, as her tight nipples grazed cobweb-soft silk, she’d thought of Asim.
‘Now your hair. Take it down.’
‘No! Anyone could come in.’
‘No one disturbs the Sultan unless invited.’ He spoke with such certainty it hit her anew that he was a man used to having every order obeyed. ‘Now, take it down.’ Dimly she registered surprise as excitement rather than anger rippled through her.
Part of her wanted to comply. The part that had come alive under his touch and the velvet caress of those dark eyes, not to mention that potently deep voice. But this was broad daylight. They were in his office. They couldn’t...
The molten heat between her legs told her they could. That she wanted to.
‘Last night I stripped when you asked me, Jacqui.’
Is that what he wanted? A striptease? Her heart hammered so heavily against her chest she wondered if she’d feel bruised later. A shot of adrenalin, heady as neat alcohol, pulsed into her blood.
Her? Strip for him? Horror merged with excitement to skate down her backbone then burrow through her belly, transforming into butterflies the size of buzzards.
She hated baring her body.
Yet last night he’d made her believe he looked at her skinny frame and saw a different woman to the one she knew.
Fear sliced through her and embarrassment. That pulled her up short.
Did she really want to go back to being the woman she’d been before last night? The woman who hid herself in non-descript work clothes? Even if all she’d experienced with Asim was an illusion, it was an illusion she craved.
Did she dare? Anxiety cramped her stomach.
Her hands went to her ponytail. A few practised flicks and her hair fell in waves around her cheeks and shoulders.
‘Now the trousers.’ His voice was gruff. She couldn’t read his face. Yet even after a single night she recognised the edge in his voice. No matter how he tried to hide it, Asim was as desperate as she. At least she hoped he was.
Praying he was right and no one would dare enter, she snapped open the button on her waistband, lowered the zip and wriggled till the fabric pooled at her feet. She felt shockingly vulnerable yet daring.
Her skin was so sensitised the air on her legs felt heavy. She breathed deep and told herself she wouldn’t regret this. She wouldn’t allow herself to.
‘Now come here.’
Gingerly she stepped out of her trousers, leaving her shoes behind, and padded across the carpet. With each step tension coiled higher, till she stopped before him. Now she read his expression and was glad she hadn’t been able to earlier. He looked so fierce that heat licked inside. His eyes glittered as she imagined those of his warlike ancestors might have when they’d spied a trade caravan loaded with riches entering their realm.
She shivered and rubbed her hands up her arms.
‘You’re cold?’ Still he didn’t touch her. She shook her head and he nodded, a tiny, knowing smile lifting the corner of his mouth. ‘You won’t be for long, Jacqueline. Sit on my desk.’
She followed his glance to the antique desk, bare except for a sleek computer and a single tray of papers.
Arousal shuddered through her
