Date with a Surgeon Prince Read online

  Praise for

  Meredith Webber:

  ‘Medical Romance™ favourite Meredith Webber has penned a spellbinding and moving tale set under the hot desert sun!’

  —Cataromance on

  THE DESERT PRINCE’S CONVENIENT BRIDE

  ‘Medical Romance™ favourite Meredith Webber has written an outstanding romantic tale that I devoured in a single sitting—moving, engrossing, romantic and absolutely unputdownable! Ms Webber peppers her story with plenty of drama, emotion and passion, and she will keep her readers entranced until the final page.’

  —Cataromance on

  A PREGNANT NURSE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

  ‘Meredith Webber does a beautiful job as she crafts one of the most unique romances I’ve read in a while. Reading a tale by Meredith Webber is always a pleasure, and THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE is no exception!’

  —Book Illuminations on

  THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE

  He’s just a man! she told herself, but that didn’t stop a tremble in the pit of her stomach as he looked around the room, dark eyes taking in the newcomer, his head nodding in acknowledgement, his eyes holding hers—a second or two, no more—and causing heat to sear downwards through her body.

  ‘So, we have a stranger in our midst,’ said this man who was causing the problems, his voice reverberating through her like the echoes of carillon bells. ‘And you are…?’

  ‘Marni Graham, sir,’ she said, hoping she sounded more in control than she felt.

  ‘In here I’m Gaz—just Gaz, Marni Graham,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the team.’

  She really should say something—respond in some way—but her voice was lost somewhere in the general muddle of the new and unbelievably vital sensations she was experiencing right now.

  Lust at first sight?

  It can’t be, Marni argued with herself—but silently, and very weakly.

  The man in question had pulled his mask up to cover his nose and mouth and seemed about to turn away, but before he did he smiled at her.

  Of course she couldn’t see the smile, not on his lips, but she was certain it was there, shining in his eyes and making her feel warm and very, very unsettled.

  Dear Reader

  My fascination for desert regions still has me in its grip, so it’s not surprising this is another book set in one of those fascinating places.

  People ask where my ideas come from and I really cannot answer that. It seems to me that they come not as a full-blown notion but as little snippets of this and that. Some of these snippets came as I walked on a beach with Marion Lennox, a dear friend and a tremendous support from the day I started writing. So there we were, coming up from the beach through the native shrub, where I know bad snakes are known to lurk. Being terrified of snakes, I talked to keep my mind off it, prattling on about a young woman who was brought up by her grandfather, and as I talked they came to life in my head and their journey stretched before them.

  As always, it didn’t follow the original path, but hopefully the path it did follow proves enjoyable for you.

  Meredith Webber

  MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Once I read an article which suggested that Mills & Boon® were looking for new Medical Romance™ authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

  Date with A Surgeon Prince

  Meredith Webber

  www.millsandboon.co.uk

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Praise for Meredith Webber

  Excerpt

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  PROLOGUE

  ‘ARE YOU COMPLETELY mad? Bonkers? Round the twist?’

  It wasn’t often Marni yelled at her grandfather. In fact, if she’d been in any fit state to think about it, she’d have realised it was probably the first time. But this was just too much.

  ‘It says here the man’s a prince. Just because he hasn’t married doesn’t mean he’ll be interested in some cockamamie story about being betrothed to me when he was three!’

  She was still yelling, and brandishing the newspaper Pop had been reading at the same time, while the voice that lived in her head told her it would be a bad idea to bash an ailing eighty-four-year-old man to death, especially as she loved him to bits and couldn’t bear the thought of life without him.

  Except that she had to start—start imagining it, that was. Eighty-four, with a blocked valve in his heart and blocked stents in the vital arteries that fed the heart muscle.

  The specialist wanted to do open-heart surgery to replace the valve and, at the same time, the surgery necessary to bypass the stents. Pop was vacillating, another cause for anger because as a nurse she thought he should have the operation. Of course he should, he was a man who enjoyed life, and, selfishly perhaps, she really, really didn’t want him dying of heart failure.

  ‘You finished?’ Pop retrieved the flapping paper from her now limp grasp, and opened it up to fold it at a different page. ‘For your information, he was six, you were three. Now, look at this page near the back.’

  Ignoring a momentary pang that she could no longer see the photo of the strong-featured face, framed by a white headdress, that had started the conversation, she peered over Pop’s shoulder to read what he was showing her.

  Not that her mind would take in much—she was still struggling with the little gem the old man had delivered earlier, finger pointing at the picture, voice full of wonder as he’d said, ‘That’s Ghazi. His father and I pledged the two of you would marry. Says here he’s still single. You should get in touch.’

  Forget this prince business and get with it, the inner voice in her head said firmly. Pop’s made it clear he doesn’t want you hanging around here while he’s getting over the op, no matter how much you might want to be with him. Perhaps a short contract job somewhere else?

  ‘See,’ Pop was saying, and for a moment Marni wondered if he could hear her thoughts because he was pointing at a job advertisement. ‘Theatre nurses wanted for new children’s hospital in Ablezia. That might be why Ghazi’s out here. He’s looking for nurses.’

  Yeah, right, she thought. Of course the crown prince of any country would have to check out hospital staff!

  But Marni ignored the voice in her head this time, intent on reading exactly what was on offer in this place she’d never heard of, which, presumably, was far enough away from the Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia for her not to be tempted to ignore Pop’s plea to keep away while he went through his operation.

  If he went through with the operation!

  Six months’ contract’ extendable, the advertisement read, air fares and accommodation provided. Six months would bring her up to Christmas and if Pop had the operation as soon as possible, then he’d be well on the way to recovery by the time she got home.

  Six months! It was the answer to the other problem plaguing her too—her virginity! Given six months, thousands of miles from home—surely in six months she’d meet someone…

 
She sighed as she looked blankly at the paper, sighing because the virginity thing, as she thought of it, shouldn’t really be a problem. It wasn’t as if she’d held onto it deliberately, she’d just put things off for various reasons—Pop, Nelson, her mother’s behaviour—then the cruel words of the last man she’d become involved with had made her realise it was a burden as well as an embarrassment.

  Read the ad!

  The pay scale seemed staggeringly generous, but it was the thumbnail description of the country that made her heart flutter. Set by the warm waters of the Ablezian Sea, the country was well known for its underwater wonders—coral reefs, abundant marine life, nesting turtles on the beaches…

  This idea could actually solve some problems. She could make Pop happy by taking the job and getting out of the way while he recovered, make him even happier by at least meeting this prince guy—she owed Pop that much—and maybe, as a bonus, find someone with whom to have a holiday romance, or a work romance, or even just a little fling…

  ‘I’ll get the picture,’ Pop said.

  Marnie lost herself in thoughts of diving into warm gulf waters and playing with the fish and turtles. She barely heard Pop as he left the paper in front of her at the breakfast table and disappeared into his study.

  Nelson, who’d been with her grandfather as long as Marni could remember, as valet, butler, cook and probably secretary, appeared in his usual silent way.

  ‘I don’t know, Nelson,’ she said quietly. ‘It seems wrong to even think of going away. Pop’s taken care of me and been there for me all these years, surely now I can be there for him?’

  Nelson shook his head.

  ‘You know he probably won’t have the op if you’re around, because he doesn’t want you to see him weak and sick. He wants you to remember him as the strong, active man he’s always been, and can be again. He’s far more likely to agree to the procedure if he knows you’re not fretting over him.’

  Nelson paused then, with only the slightest quaver in his voice, continued, ‘You know I’ll take good care of him.’

  Blinking back the tears that had filled her eyes, Marni got to her feet and hugged the man she’d known since the age of two, when she’d been dumped on her grandfather because her mother’s third husband hadn’t wanted a kid around the place.

  ‘I know you will, Nelson, and I know you’re right about him recovering more quickly if I’m out of the way. If he’s so set on me leaving, I’ll do it. I’ll take this job and check out this prince bloke, say hi to him from Pop, and report back. Can’t you just imagine it—me rocking up to a palace in the desert to tell the local ruler he’s betrothed to me! I’d be arrested and thrown into the deepest, darkest dungeon, or fitted with a straitjacket, or at the very least deported on the first plane out.’

  Nelson’s serious brown eyes studied her for a moment.

  ‘It would make your grandfather very happy if you did meet the guy,’ he said, so seriously that Marni groaned.

  ‘Not you too!’ she protested.

  ‘Well, he was a really nice little kid and he was very good to you, although in those days you were a right little tantrum-throwing madam.’

  ‘I met him? I knew him? When was all this?’

  Marni frowned, trying to remember, to place a time she might have played with a prince.

  Not something everyone would forget!

  ‘It was shortly after you first arrived to live with us,’ Nelson explained. ‘Your grandfather had only recently moved into this apartment and Ghazi’s father booked out the entire hotel section for himself, his family and his staff.’

  ‘The whole hotel?’

  ‘He had a lot of wives and daughters,’ Nelson said, as if that explained everything.

  The Palazzo Versace was the first six-star hotel built on the Gold Coast, her grandfather’s apartment one of a few privately owned condominiums included in the ritzy complex. As residents, they were free to make use of all the hotel facilities, the beautiful pools, the restaurants and the day spa, so she’d often played with the children of hotel guests as she had been growing up.

  But one called Ghazi?

  She had no memory of it at all, even when Pop returned with a box of photos showing her as a very small child with a boy who stood much taller. the photos told her they’d had fun together, two children at play while slender, black-robed figures sat in the shade by the pool.

  ‘This is the one,’ Pop, who’d been sifting through the photos, declared.

  He handed it to her.

  It was a more formal shot showing a tidily dressed little girl, blonde hair in pigtails, pale blue eyes looking up at the boy sitting on the arm of one of the big lounge chairs in the hotel’s foyer—a white-robed boy, who was holding her hand and smiling down at her.

  Even then you could tell he was going to be good looking, although the miniature white headdress he was wearing in the photo concealed all but his profile. Strong nose and jaw, a high forehead, shapely lips widened in a slight smile—

  ‘Hey, I was looking at that,’ Marni protested as Pop turned the photo over.

  He ignored her, pointing at the writing on the back. The top line was in his handwriting and, sure enough, there was this nonsense about the two of them being betrothed, Pop’s signature at the end of the statement.

  Beneath that was a line of beautiful, flowing, Arabic script, and presumably another signature.

  ‘Honestly, Pop, you can’t read Arabic so for all you know the man’s written something like, “This nonsense should make the man happy!”’

  Marni regretted her words the moment they’d popped out of her mouth and she caught the hurt in her grandfather’s eyes, hurt that prompted a quick hug and a totally impulsive promise to go right now and apply for the job in a country called Ablezia.

  ‘And I’ll do my best to see this guy but only if you agree to have the operation,’ Marni added. ‘Deal?’

  ‘Deal!’ Pop agreed, and they shook on it, the slight tremble in her grandfather’s hand reminding her just how frail he had become.

  CHAPTER ONE

  WAS IT THE subtle scent that perfumed the warm air—salt, spices, a fruit she couldn’t identify—or the air itself that wrapped around her like the finest, softest, mohair blanket? Or was it the mind-boggling beauty of a landscape of red desert dunes alongside brilliant cobalt seas, the dense green of a palm grove in an oasis at the edge of the desert, or the tall skyscrapers that rose from the sand like sculpted, alien life forms?

  Or perhaps the people themselves, the shy but welcoming smile of a headscarfed woman, the cheeky grin of tousle-haired boy, pointing at her fair skin and hair?

  Marni had no idea. She couldn’t give an answer to the question of why she’d fallen in love with this strange, exotic land within hours of stepping off the plane, but in love she was—flushed with excitement as she explored the narrow market lanes that sneaked off the city highways, trembling with delight the first time she dived into the crystal-clear waters, and shyly happy when a group of local women, fellow nurses, asked her to join them for lunch in the hospital canteen.

  This was her first day at the hospital, her schedule having allowed her four free days to explore her new home before starting work, and today was more an orientation day, finding her way around the corridors, feeling at home with the unfamiliar layout and the more familiar hospital buzz. Now her new friends were telling her about the theatres where they all worked, which surgeons were quick to anger, which ones talked a lot, which ones liked music as they worked, and which ones flirted.

  Hmm! So there were some flirts!

  Would they flirt with her?

  Seriously?

  The young women giggled and tittered behind their hands as they discussed this last category and Marni wanted to ask if they flirted back, but felt she was too new to the country and understood too little of the local ways. So she listened to the chat, enjoying it, feeling more and more at home as she realised the women’s words could be talk among theatre nurses anyw
here in the world, except that it was never personal—no mention of family or relationships—usually the main topics of conversation among nurses back home.

  But for all the ease she felt with her fellow nurses, nerves tightened her sinews, and butterflies danced polkas in her stomach when she reported for duty the next day.

  ‘Welcome,’ Jawa, one of the nurses she’d met the previous day, said as Marni pushed through the door into the theatre dressing room. ‘This morning you will enjoy for Gaz is operating. He’s not only a good surgeon, but he takes time to tell us what he is doing so we can learn.’

  Aware that many of the staff at the hospital were imports like herself, she wondered if Gaz might be an Australian, the name a shortened Aussie version of Gary or Gareth. Not that she had time to dwell on the thought, for Jawa was handing her pale lavender—lavender?—theatre pyjamas, a cap and mask, talking all the time in her liltingly accented English.

  ‘So we must hurry for he is not one of those surgeons who keep patients or staff waiting. He is always on time.’

  Jawa led the way through to the theatre where they scrubbed and gloved up, ready for what lay ahead. The bundle of instruments on the tray at Marni’s station—she would be replenishing Jawa’s tray as Jawa passed instruments to the surgeon—looked exactly the same as the bundles at home, and relieved by the familiarity of that and her surroundings she relaxed.

  Until the gowned, capped, gloved and half-masked figure of the surgeon strode into the room, when every nerve in her body tightened and the hairs on her arms and back of her neck stood to attention.

  He’s just a man! she told herself, but that didn’t stop a tremble in the pit of her stomach as he looked around the room, dark eyes taking in the newcomer, his head nodding in acknowledgement, the eyes holding hers—a second or two, no more—yet causing heat to sear downwards through her body.

  ‘So, we have a stranger in our midst,’ the man who was causing the problems said, his voice reverberating through her like the echoes of carillon bells. ‘And you are?’