He turned his gaze out of the windows once more, movement poolside bringing his gaze back into focus—and his thoughts into razor-sharp precision behind it.

She was quite attractive, in a western kind of way, her figure indeed watchable, despite the conservative clothes and the honey-blonde hair restrained too tightly behind her head. She would look so much better in more feminine clothes that showed off her curves. But then, given the truth of what Kamil had said, her conservatism was a definite plus right now…

He stroked his chin while he considered the possibilities. Fair-skinned, with honey-blonde hair and a generous mouth, she looked nothing at all like Joharah. That could only be a plus.

He clamped down on a twinge of guilt that he should be contemplating marrying anyone. But this would not be a marriage as theirs would have been. This marriage would be one of simple expediency that would put paid to Qasim’s plans for the throne and bring stability to Jamalbad as a result.

Reason enough for him to contemplate the enjoyment he’d get presenting this woman as his bride. Her looks were merely a bonus. And bedding her would be no chore. He was a man, after all. He could certainly think of less enjoyable ways to foil his cousin’s plans.

‘Perhaps, Kamil,’ he mused, ‘we need not extend our search as far as the beach. Tell me,’ he said, pointing to the young woman who had abandoned her reading of the newspaper and was currently engaged in painting his mother’s nails, ‘have you done all the necessary security checks on this woman?’

It wasn’t really a question. He knew the answer would be in the affirmative—she wouldn’t have been employed otherwise—and the older man looked confused at the sudden change of topic.

‘Of course. She has a clean record, impeccable references, and no unsavoury connections that we could find.’

‘And personally?’

‘No attachments. As far as family she has just the one sister, a twin, recently married and with her first child.’

‘Perfect,’ Tajik announced coldly. ‘Then she will not be missed.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kamil asked, with the tone of someone who really didn’t want to hear the answer.

Tajik placed a hand on his secretary’s shoulder. ‘It’s quite simple, my good friend. In finding my mother the perfect companion you have also done your country a great service. You may also have found Jamalbad the perfect queen.’

‘EXCELLENCY, this is madness. Taking a wife, taking a sheikha for your country, this is a serious matter.’

‘You’re right, Kamil,’ he said with a brotherly slap on the back, ‘and much too serious to be decided for me by the likes of my cousin.’

‘But to decide on this woman on a whim, when the council cannot force you to marry Abir?’

‘Listen, my good friend, do you think that if I refuse to marry Abir, Qasim will desist in his efforts to gain power? Of course he won’t. He will keep working away, using whatever influence he has on the council for his own purposes.’ He shrugged before continuing, ‘And on one level Qasim and the council are right. Jamalbad needs an heir. And, sadly, I am in no position to provide them with an heir without a wife—a wife I simply have no interest in searching for.’ He waved his hand in the direction of the window. ‘Especially not when such an apparently suitable specimen sits just a few yards away. And she looks nothing like your “women on the beach”. I am sure I can convince the council that she has all the necessary virtue she needs. Now, does this woman, this companion for my mother, have a name?’

His secretary was still shaking his head, but he could no more refuse his ruler than stop breathing. ‘Her name is Morgan Fielding, Excellency. But what makes you think, even if she were suitable for the role, that she would agree to marry you?’

Tajik laughed. The idea was preposterous. ‘Come now, Kamil, she is a woman, and if you believe everything my cousin says I am a playboy through and through. With such a reputation, how could any woman resist me?’

Today was Gold Coast weather at its best: the sky an endless stretch of azure blue, bisected only by the occasional spear of jet stream, and with a slight breeze taking the edge off the sun’s heat. Palm fronds swayed lazily in the gardens surrounding the pool, and diamonds of light played on the surface of the aqua water.

If a job could be perfect, then this one had to come close—relaxing days, beautiful surroundings, and nothing more taxing to do than keep a fascinating woman from an equally fascinating country company. She loved the stories Nobilah had told her about Jamalbad. She seemed to make the rich desert sunsets and the colours, scents and noise of the local soukhs come alive with her words.

Oh, yes, it was a dream job. Just a pity that it ended in less than two weeks. The gentle-faced Nobilah would return to Jamalbad and she would return to the temp agency. She sighed a wistful sigh. There was no way she could expect to be this lucky again. More likely she’d end up working ten hours a day for a madman in some office where the milk in the fridge lasted longer than the PAs.

Less than two weeks to go—so she’d just have to enjoy this experience while it lasted.

Morgan closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, the scent of frangipani adding a heady sweetness to the air. If she tried hard she could almost imagine she was there, in Nobilah’s home in Jamalbad, the desert-warmed air kissing her skin, the sweet scent of the palace orange grove tugging at her senses.

A shadow moved over her as the sun disappeared behind a cloud—until she remembered there were no clouds today, and there should be no shadow.