The Sultan's Harem Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

only pausing to be sure the door snicked shut behind him.

CHAPTER THREE
    A SIM PACED THE COURTYARD , resolutely dragging his mind from imagining Jacqueline Fletcher discarding her less than adequate covering.
    She was an enigma. Passionate and argumentative, not knowing when to give up. Fiery yet vulnerable. That made him want to ignore the danger she represented.
    His desire to protect her was equalled by a burning desire of another kind and that was unnerving.
    Yet he wanted to blame her for being alive when Imran wasn’t.
    He spun on his heel.
    What was his grandmother thinking, inviting a
journalist
here? Having a professional snoop under the same roof—no matter how large a roof—invited trouble. Any further invasion of his sister Samira’s privacy could tip her into a complete breakdown. The doctors hadn’t said it outright but it was what they feared.
    His stomach knotted. Samira had endured so much because he’d failed to protect her. The knowledge ate at him like acid.
    Reluctantly he’d supported her plan to study overseas, only to learn she’d embarked on a passionate affair with a Hollywood actor who was the epitome of shallow self-absorption. But Samira had had stars in her eyes, had talked of marriage and hadn’t seen him for what he was.
    She’d only found out when he’d been discovered in bed with his co-star by the woman’s wrathful husband. Acrimonious divorce proceedings had ensued, eagerly reported by the press. Scandal grew with stories of multiple infidelities, drug use and even the corruption of minors.
    Samira was an innocent party in the morass of stomach-turning revelations about her boyfriend and his co-star. But the press didn’t let up. Once the darling of the paparazzi with her stunning looks, aristocratic heritage and high-profile romance, now she was their prey.
    She’d sought refuge here. Only he and his grandmother and a few select staff knew that, as well as being heartbroken, Samira had to recuperate physically too.
That
story would never make it into the press.
    He’d never known fear such as he’d experienced when he’d thought he might lose her. He’d felt so ineffectual. But this, now, was a situation he could control.
    Asim grimaced, raking his fingers through his hair. He’d do whatever it took to keep his little sister safe. He wouldn’t fail her again.
    Had Jacqueline Fletcher told the truth about writing a book? Or was it a ploy to get a scoop on Samira?
    Suspicion ran deep in Asim. How could it not after he’d witnessed the web of lies that had been his parents’ marriage? How could he trust the woman who’d been caught up in Imran’s death?
    Yet he couldn’t get a handle on her. He knew she was a respected news reporter. She was Australian, though she’d spent years in Africa, Asia and the Middle East. He knew she’d been with Imran when he died.
    Everything else was speculation.
    Speculation and an unhealthy dollop of attraction.
    Asim shook his head, fed up with his circling thoughts. It was time.
    He knocked but didn’t enter. Better to be sure she was decently covered. The door swung inwards.
    ‘You!’ Those stunning eyes widened and it struck him again how fragile she looked. Was that real or some trick?
    Asim stepped inside and she shifted back.
    ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. ‘You surprised me. I expected one of the servants.’
    Is that why she was dressed in drab trousers and a navy top that leached the colour from her face? She wore no make-up and had pulled her hair back in a ponytail.
    And still arousal beat low in his belly.
    He frowned. Just because he’d seen this woman naked didn’t mean he was going to have her in his bed, no matter what his body wanted. He had more sense than to hook up with a journalist. After what had happened to Samira, how could he? Besides, his women were always poised, polished and beautifully dressed, at least to begin with.
    Jacqueline Fletcher was...no; not ordinary. Not with those eyes or that mouth. But