Jacqui hesitated, wondering if she should try harder. Maybe order something at the café in the centre of the park and watch the people. Except it was near the Fairies Tree, a mecca for parents with young children.
Jacqui lengthened her stride, heading for the road. When had she become such a grouch that the laughter of children unsettled her?
Since she’d discovered Asim was planning his own family with some other woman.
Jacqui would never bear his child, or hold him close, or have him look at her in that way that made her heart flutter.
She grimaced. That look had merely signified lust. She’d just been too naïve to recognise it.
Had he found his bride? Jacqui had avoided the news, not wanting to hear of a royal betrothal. Pain tore at her throat and roughened her breathing.
With a quick look at the traffic, she stepped onto the road, crossing to her hotel.
That was when she heard the hubbub and saw the security cordon. Jacqui frowned. It was a pleasant hotel with a view over the Treasury Gardens but it wasn’t one of the luxury premises visited by VIPs. Yet she saw a news camera beside the entry and a phalanx of staff at the top of the stairs.
Distracted, Jacqui hesitated, then had to scurry to the pavement as a limousine drew to the kerb.
The crowd surged, held back by men in dark suits. The hotel manager hastened from the head of the stairs as the limo door opened.
Curiosity stirring, Jacqui watched a tall figure emerge from the back seat. A figure with wide shoulders and a jacket of steel-grey shot with midnight blue. The slanting morning light caught the rich, matching fabric of his neat turban and accentuated an arrogant slash of a nose that perfectly matched his proud, honed features.
A tingling began in her fingers and toes as numbness swamped her. Even her breath suspended as she took in that oh-so-familiar visage.
Then, in a rush, the blood pounded in her ears and her breath sawed on a gasp that seared her lungs.
She stumbled as she swung around, lurching against a bystander and almost falling as she willed her feet to keep moving. Anywhere. So long as it was away from here.
Asim, here! What did it mean?
It couldn’t be coincidence. For one thing, he’d never mentioned planning a visit to Australia. For another, this wasn’t the sort of palatial hotel to house heads of state. For another...
Jacqui couldn’t think of another but instinct shouted he was here for her. Why, she didn’t know, but she wasn’t staying to find out. She wasn’t up to treating Asim as a casual acquaintance.
A shout came from behind her. Was that her name?
Jacqui didn’t turn but walked faster, clutching her lightweight cardigan around her.
Lights at a crossing flashed green and she hurried across, joining the jostle of pedestrians.
Her heart was hammering, her breath was uneven and her teeth had an alarming tendency to chatter. Swept by the crowd, she scurried along one block then another, until she reached a pavement café. Shock took its toll. Knees rubbery, she dropped into a chair at a table by itself, half-hidden by a planter box.
Jacqui grabbed the menu then laid it down. It shook so badly she couldn’t read it. No matter; she’d ask for something sweet and full of chocolate. Something to counteract the shock of seeing Asim.
Had she imagined him? He couldn’t really be here.
‘Jacqueline.’ That deep voice ran like treacle through her body. Instead of stiffening in surprise, Jacqui found herself slumping, exhausted by the inevitable. Had she really thought to escape?
What Asim wanted he always got and for some reason he wanted to see her.
Anger sparked. Couldn’t he leave her alone? Couldn’t he see she was trying to get on with her life?
Slowly she raised her eyes and flinched as her heart gave an almighty thump of recognition and longing. He towered over her, broad and imposing and impossibly sexy, despite the stark concern etched into his spare features and the grim line of his mouth.
‘You shouldn’t be here, Asim.’
‘I know. I’m supposed to be on a state visit to France.’
‘And interviewing brides.’ The words jerked out.
Without asking, he took the seat opposite, propping his arms on the table as he leaned close, scrutinising her.
For the first time that day Jacqui gave a thought to her appearance. Hair in a high ponytail, already coming down around her ears, bare of make-up and dressed in lightweight trousers, T-shirt and cardigan, she was hardly prepared for an interview with royalty.
She’d hoped if she saw him again—and she had hoped—that she’d look serene, aloof and even beautiful.
Jacqui bit her lip, her eyes lowering.
Asim was the only one who’d called her beautiful.
‘Don’t.’ His hand snaked out and captured hers, clamping it to the table. She gasped as fire sizzled through her veins. The fire she’d told herself she’d imagined. But memory hadn’t exaggerated.