adamant about me being interviewed tonight instead of her.’ Jacqueline nodded slowly. ‘She said she usually managed with a smile and a “no comment”.’
‘That worked until Jackson Brent.’ Asim watched his hands clench into fists. This time he felt no remorse at the tide of loathing that filled him. If he didn’t know it would make things worse for his little sister, he’d enjoy taking the actor apart with his bare hands.
‘A smile and no comment is probably the best thing she could have done,’ Jacqueline said. ‘It lifted her above the rest of the players in that little drama. It showed she has class and integrity. She won a lot of sympathy.’
‘She shouldn’t have to win public sympathy!’ The words slid out between gritted teeth.
‘I know, Asim. I understand.’
He met Jacqueline’s eyes over the fire and there it was again, that arc of energy, that link between them, as real as if she’d touched him. He read her regret and somehow it calmed him.
‘What you don’t know is the full story. I spoke to Samira before I came here and she agreed to me telling you.’ He’d hated even asking.
‘I know enough.’ Jacqueline frowned. ‘Her boyfriend, her lover...’ she paused on the word and Asim wondered what she was thinking ‘...had an affair with his married co-star. Her husband caught them and is dragging his wife through an acrimonious divorce. Now the press are dragging up every detail of both their marriage and the relationship between Samira and Jackson Brent.’ She spread her hands. ‘Since Samira is gorgeous and talented, plus she’s a princess with wealth and an exotic background, it’s not surprising the press want her story.’
Asim inhaled slowly, a familiar weight crushing his chest. ‘But what they don’t know, what they must never know, is that Samira was pregnant at the time.’
‘Oh, Asim!’ Jacqueline’s eyes bulged, her face a mask of horror. ‘She didn’t...?’
He nodded, his gut clenching as he remembered his sister, parchment-white and dazed, her face marred by the salt tracks of tears, lying beneath a starched sheet, a nurse hovering. ‘She miscarried just after she arrived here. Whether from the stress or whether it was going to happen anyway, no one could say.’
Asim had never felt so helpless, so utterly useless, in his whole life.
‘I’d always done my best to look out for her. It went against every instinct to do nothing when she hooked up with Brent. But I told myself she had to grow up some time. She had to make her way in the world.’ He dropped his head, torn between shame that he hadn’t done better by Samira and frustration that she’d made him promise not to exact revenge on Brent.
‘I wasn’t much of a protector. All I could do was look after her till she recuperated and give her privacy.’ The feeling that the world had spun out of his control, that there was nothing he could do for someone he cared for, wasn’t one he ever wanted to experience again.
‘You did the best you could. You did all anyone could.’ Supple fingers closed around his fist and a jolt of power sizzled through him. Jacqueline had moved to sit beside him, he realised. Her arm was across his, her slim frame warming his side.
Asim clamped his other hand over hers, unwilling to let her slip away again. He didn’t try to understand how her touch, her sympathy, could ease his turmoil. He simply accepted that they did.
He breathed deep, drawing in the scents of sand and warm, sweet woman, and felt that terrible roiling in his stomach quieten down.
‘You were right, Asim. You had to let her go. She’s not a child.’
He stared at their joined hands. They looked so right.
‘Samira was so fragile, so distraught, we feared she might have a complete breakdown. The one thing I knew was she had to be kept safe from the press.’
‘And then I turned up, bearding the dragon in his den. No wonder you hated the idea of me staying in the palace.’ She squeezed his hand and, despite everything, Asim’s mouth turned up at the corners.
‘I’ve been called many things but never a dragon.’
‘Really?’ He caught a lighter note in her voice. ‘But it’s so apt. You’re very fierce and proud, and handsome, in a dangerous sort of way.’
Asim huffed humourlessly. ‘Don’t forget fire-breathing.’ His hold on her tightened. ‘Jacqueline, I’m ashamed of how I reacted tonight. I saw you with that reporter and I lost it. I should have known better.’
Jacqui felt the ripple of tension through Asim’s broad shoulder and arm. Regret laced his voice as he squeezed her hand and she felt the last of her fury fade.
She’d been hurt, unbelievably hurt, but now she understood what had driven Asim and why he’d overreacted.
‘I’m not surprised you lost it,’ she murmured eventually. ‘Tonight pressed every one of your hot buttons: your fears for Samira, your need to protect her, your distrust of the press. Even down to the idea of a female journalist taking advantage of her.’ It all made a skewed sort of logic.
‘But you didn’t deserve that tirade. You put yourself out for my sister.’
Jacqui shrugged. ‘She’s a good friend.’ Amazingly, after just weeks, it was the truth. They had clicked in a way Jacqui never had with another woman. In the past she’d kept to herself, focusing on work, the part of her life where she felt competent, where she fitted. Her friendships had been limited to colleagues and her job meant she was often moving on. Only Imran had been a constant, keeping in touch even when they weren’t working together.
‘So I understand now.’ He paused. When he spoke again his voice was gruff. ‘What you did for her—not just managing the press, but posing with her model friends to show off her designs for the cameras—that took real guts.’
Asim was right. Being photographed with a bevy of beauties had tested her. It was one thing to bask in Asim’s assurances, quite another to parade for the press. Only knowing how much it meant to her friend had kept her there. Samira’s need was greater than hers.
‘Then there were the fireworks.’ Asim shifted and she looked up to see his eyes fixed on her. ‘How did you manage? You hate loud noises.’
Jacqui lifted her shoulders, arrested by the gleam of warmth in that look. Heat trickled through her where just a short time ago there’d been an arctic chill.
‘I don’t know. The first bang nearly had me on the ground, till I realised everyone was looking up and smiling. After that it was easier.’ No point admitting every eruption of sound had jarred through her like the crack of doom.
‘You’re a remarkable woman, Jacqueline Fletcher.’
Her eyebrows rose. ‘All I did was help Samira choose how to face the public. She just needed a positive angle.’
Asim shook his head. ‘Don’t downplay it. I know your demons.’ His thumb stroked her wrist. ‘I’ve seen the nightmares and I’ve watched you break into a cold sweat at a sudden loud noise.’
Jacqui squirmed, trying to move away, but he wouldn’t release his grip.
‘I’m
