Now she felt bereft.
It struck her how rootless she was. For years she’d had no real home. Visits to family were short and infrequent and her flat was a spartan place she didn’t miss. She’d felt more at home in Asim’s palace than she could remember feeling any time in the last eighteen years.
What did that say about her life?
* * *
Asim tossed a piece of wood onto the fire, watched the sparks flash and heard the greedy hiss as flames took hold. In the flare of light Jacqueline’s face was pensive, almost sad.
His gut twisted. He needed her smile, her gurgle of throaty laughter, the flash of animation in her sultry, amber eyes.
He needed her.
The realisation was stark and undeniable.
He needed her as he’d needed no other woman.
That made a mockery of his attempts to negotiate a compromise.
He didn’t want compromise! He wanted Jacqueline.
It was only now he’d lost her that he understood how important she was.
Asim frowned. He couldn’t recall another lover having had such an impact. He chose his women for their beauty and good humour, for intelligence and sophistication. For their ability to please.
Jacqueline Fletcher was just a little too sharp and questioning, a little too unpolished. Yet she charmed his family, his courtiers and guests, and she charmed him. Her passion was instinctive rather than subtle, honest rather than practised. He liked her mind, her inquisitiveness, even her damned independence.
Even after tonight’s fiasco the link between them was strong. The sizzle of passion hadn’t faded, though inevitably it must. He’d known enough women to understand that. Besides, nothing that burnt so bright could last indefinitely.
Yet Asim acknowledged with a flash of disturbing insight that he’d never be content to part from Jacqueline till this ardour faded.
He didn’t want other women. He’d even let his bridal search stall, distracted by her.
Giving her up wasn’t an option. Not yet.
He had to win back her trust.
Asim drew in a slow breath and faced the unpalatable fact he’d been avoiding. Jacqueline wouldn’t be won over by platitudes and a trite apology. She needed to know the whole truth.
She deserved to know it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘YOU BELIEVE ME to be overprotective.’
Beyond the flames Asim saw Jacqueline shrug but she said nothing.
He unknotted his hands and flexed his fingers. When that reporter had pumped Jacqueline about Samira, Asim had come within an inch of decking him. Hot fury surged and the need for violence had twanged every taut sinew. As if the man he’d spent a lifetime moulding himself into—honourable, thoughtful and judicious—was a sham.
As if he’d reverted to the unbridled, unthinking emotion that had been his parents’ hallmark.
His sudden lust for blood, his desire to wrap his fingers around the reporter’s throat, had made a mockery of everything he’d striven to be. Distaste filled his mouth.
‘You know my parents had a troubled marriage.’
Jacqueline lifted her head as if startled at the direction of the conversation. Slowly she nodded.
‘My earliest memory is the sound of fighting. Not physically,’ he added quickly when he read her expression, ‘Though there were lots of breakages. Ornaments and mirrors didn’t last long in the royal apartments.’
Asim paused, remembering. ‘I used to lie in bed, listening to the rhythm of the arguments. I became expert at reading the progress of a fight. I’d tell myself it would be over soon, when my parents kissed and made up, or temporarily separated.’
He shook his head. Amazing how some memories stayed fresh. His parents had soured his view of marriage and taught him that so-called love was a curse to be avoided at all costs. Was it any wonder he’d been in no hurry to find a bride? Shackling himself to a life partner, even in a carefully arranged transaction devoid of romance, was a step he’d put off for years.
‘I protected Samira as much as I could.’
‘They hurt her?’ Horror edged Jacqueline’s voice.
‘Not intentionally. But she suffered. One minute she was petted and fussed over, and the next they were too busy screaming at each other to notice her. The poor kid never knew what to expect from day to day.’
‘Nor did you.’
He blinked. Was Jacqueline taking his part?
‘I was older. I’d learned to cope. But for a long time Samira thought she was to blame for their unhappiness, or when one of them stalked out and wasn’t seen for weeks. She had nightmares for years, night terrors, they called them. I used to sit with her and try to keep her safe.’
‘Surely you had a nanny or someone to look after you?’