Date with a Surgeon Prince Page 11

  ‘A legend?’

  ‘A story like your Cinderella. You reminded me of it when you told me your fairy-tale. The date grove is the one place a betrothed couple may walk together without a chaperone.’

  Marni looked around and smiled.

  ‘I can understand that—they can hardly get up to much with the narrow pathways and the little canals and the prickly fronds of the date palms pressing in on all sides.’

  ‘Ah, but they walk together for a reason,’ Ghazi said, stopping by a heavy cluster of ripening dates drooping from a palm. ‘Our legend says if they find the perfect date, ripe and ready to eat, and they feed it to each other, not only will their marriage be fertile but they will live long together.’

  ‘Just live?’ Marni queried. She knew she should be protesting the marriage thing again, yet here she was querying a single word.

  Had she been hoping the legend would say live and love?

  Of course she had! It was the silly lump that kept forming in her chest causing this sudden longing for—

  Love? Get over it, Marni! Love was never the issue here! It’s the marriage thing you should be worrying about!

  She knew he was talking marriage now so they could go to bed together—a marriage dictated by lust. Although she hadn’t seen much of her mother since she’d abandoned her daughter to Pop and Nelson, she had memories of her mother’s desperate search for love, and understood now how lust could be mistaken for it.

  Did she want that?

  No!

  ‘Of course live,’ Ghazi said, his attention still on the cluster of dates. ‘Aha! I have it.’

  He plucked a date and turned towards her, holding it to her lips so she could take a bite.

  ‘Just a bite,’ he warned. ‘You must then feed me.’

  Ghazi was watching her, his eyes intent, his fingers moving closer to her lips.

  It’s only a legend, she told herself, but her heart was pounding and suddenly being fed a date—well, half a date—by this man was the most erotic thing that had ever happened to her.

  Her body afire, she opened her lips and bit into the sweet, juicy flesh. Ghazi’s thumb brushed her lower lip and she felt her nipples peak beneath her tunic and a near orgasmic heat between her thighs.

  ‘Now you,’ he said, his voice so husky it rasped against her sensitised skin.

  He handed her the date and she lifted it towards his lips, her fingers trembling as he opened his mouth and his even white teeth bit into it, taking it and her finger and thumb into the moist cavern of his mouth, suckling at them while her body pulsed with need.

  He released her fingers, disposed of the seed then drew her close so they embraced within the heady scent of the dates, and her body pressed against his, feeling his reaction to the tasting, wanting him so badly she was beyond all rational thought.

  Never had he held such a responsive woman in his arms—never felt a need that matched his own in its ferocity, and he’d gone and betrothed himself to her and so put her off limits for the moment. He could not tarnish her name with his family or his people by sneaking in or out of lodgings or hotels, and both the palace and Tasnim’s place were off limits for the same reason.

  He could kiss her, but kisses made things worse—but he couldn’t not kiss her…

  Ghazi groaned and held her more tightly, pressing the softness of her body against his, fitting the two halves that were man and woman together to make a whole, aware she must know just how much he wanted her.

  ‘It’s like a madness, my desire for you,’ he whispered, before his lips closed on hers, seeking to devour her, to draw her body into his, to make her his for ever.

  For ever?

  The words echoed in his head.

  Surely he didn’t mean it.

  Yes, he desired her, and would marry her if only to assuage that desire, but such desire—lust even—did not last for ever. He knew that from experience. Marriage, then a suitable arrangement to end it and no one any the worse off. Marni, in fact, would be better off, although he was aware her grandfather must be a wealthy man. But her settlement would certainly include a house and enough money to live on without having to work—she’d take whatever jewels he gave her during the marriage, it would all be worked out by his advisors and—

  She was pulling away from him, peering up at his face as if to read it in the shadows.

  ‘You’re not with me in this kiss, are you?’ she asked. ‘I think it best you take me back to Tasnim’s.’

  He didn’t argue, couldn’t, yet as he walked with her, back the way they’d come, he felt a sense of loss—not for the kiss, there’d be other kisses, but because of the conclusions he had reached.

  Although they had to be the correct ones, the best for both of them, surely…

  Tasnim had been in bed when Marni had returned the previous evening, but Shara had been waiting up for her and Marni had asked the young woman to wake her for breakfast in time for her to get to the hospital to do her shift.

  She didn’t know what Gaz might have arranged at the hospital, but she was due on duty and she’d decided that was where she most wanted to be. At least there she could concentrate on work and forget all the mind-boggling stuff going on in the rest of her life here in Ablezia, as well as her worries over Pop’s imminent operation.

  So, early next morning, reminding Shara to explain to Tasnim, Marni went out to the car Shara had arranged for her, feeling like her real self in her uniform and hospital shoes.

  Cinderella back in the kitchen after the ball!

  Jawa was surprised to see her, yet pleased.

  ‘As far as we know, there’s been no change in our work schedules so if you hadn’t turned up we’d have been a nurse short. We’re in Theatre Three with the Frenchman for the morning, then with a paediatric orthopaedic surgeon this afternoon.

  ‘Good. We should be busy,’ Marni said, knowing she needed something—anything—to distract herself from thoughts of Pop.

  And Gaz!

  And marriage, whatever that might have meant…

  Not to mention memories of the last time she’d told a man she was a virgin…

  Work went well, and Marni enjoyed the sense of teamwork that was typical of operating theatres—the moments of drama, the excitement when a tricky bit of cutting or stitching was successful, the quiet pleasure when a job was done.

  As they finished their shift, she and Jawa left the changing rooms together.

  ‘Coffee?’ Jawa asked, but Marni shook her head.

  ‘I want to sit with Safi for a while. I’ve been neglecting him lately.’

  It was mostly true, but when she’d checked her phone for messages earlier she’d found a text from Nelson telling her Pop’s operation was going ahead that day.

  Working out the time difference, she knew he’d be in Theatre right now, and although she knew worrying about it was pointless she couldn’t help feeling anxious, tense and sick-to-her-stomach nervous. Neither did she want to return to her current abode and have to explain her concerns or distraction to the ever-bubbly Tasnim.

  ‘So I’m really hiding here,’ she said to Safi when she entered his room and settled by his bed, taking his hand in hers. She knew he didn’t understand her but the slight pressure of his thin fingers told her he was glad she was there.

  She sang the songs she knew he liked and watched him drift off to sleep, before picking up his chart and checking what had been going on with him.

  As far as she could see, he was doing well.

  Pop would be, too! If she couldn’t be there, the least she could do was send positive thoughts in his direction.

  You will get through it! You will be well!

  ‘I thought I’d find you here. Tasnim phoned to say you’d sent the driver home and would take a taxi later. Drivers will always wait, you know.’

  Marni smiled up at the man who’d entered the room so silently he’d been standing beside her before she realised it.

  And before her body reacted?

&nb
sp; She must be distracted!

  ‘No, I didn’t know that,’ she said, trying for lightness, although she felt strangely intimidated by the white-robed Ghazi.

  ‘Is it your grandfather?’ he asked, pulling over a chair and sitting beside her, taking her free hand in his so the three of them were linked.

  Marni nodded.

  ‘He’s in Theatre now.’

  Had he felt a tremor in her hand that his fingers tightened on hers?

  ‘I could organise a hook-up to the hospital so you know exactly what’s going on,’ he offered, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the palm of her hand—distracting her in spite of her concern.

  ‘Nelson has promised to contact me when it’s over and he’s spoken to the surgeon,’ she said, turning to look at him, reading his sympathy in his dark eyes, feeling weakness all through her that this man should care enough to be here for her.

  Not that she could let him see her reaction. He was being practical—sensible—and she could do both!

  ‘I know the routine of the op, and that makes it both easier and harder,’ she said. ‘They’ll open his chest and bypass the two stents in his coronary arteries before opening his heart to replace the valve.’

  ‘You’ve seen the operation before?’

  ‘I worked in the cardiac theatre for a while when I was training. It’s a long, hard operation, but generally there aren’t too many risks.’

  Ghazi took both her hands now and smiled gently at her.

  ‘Or so you keep telling yourself,’ he said. ‘Now come, you need to eat. We’ll go to the restaurant at the top of the building again. You can turn your phone back on up there and be ready when your Mr Nelson calls.’

  Marni stared at him, feeling a frown forming between her eyebrows.

  ‘But you’ve no time for this,’ she protested. ‘You said yourself you’ve got a schedule from hell and I’ve already taken up too much of your time. I’ll just sit here for a while then go on back to Tasnim’s—even phone her to send a driver if that will make you happy.’

  His smile was broader this time, and it started up all the reactions her preoccupation had held at bay.

  ‘If the country’s boss can’t take time out to be with his betrothed when she needs him, who can? Besides, the dinner I was meant to be attending promised to be boring in the extreme—a meeting of some world soccer association organised by Nimr—and the men attending won’t know one sheikh from another. To them we’re all just men in long white dresses—so one less will hardly matter.’

  Still holding her hands, he eased her gently to her feet, but before he left the room, he, too, looked at Safi’s chart and examined the little boy who lay sleeping quietly in the big bed.

  ‘He seems to be doing well,’ Marni said, as they walked towards the lifts.

  But Ghazi’s, ‘Yes,’ was distracted.

  ‘You’re worried about him?’ she asked as they waited in the foyer.

  ‘Worried about his family situation,’ Ghazi admitted. ‘I really don’t want to send him home while he recovers enough for another operation, but he’s already been away from home for a month and that’s a long time for a child. Also, he can’t stay at the hospital. I can keep him at the palace, of course. The women would look after him and there are children he can play with, but his family—’

  The lift doors opened in front of them and they stepped in, the three occupants inside nodding their heads towards Ghazi, while Marni considered the conversation they’d just had.

  This man was the ruler of his nation, battling to come to terms with his ‘job’ and to meet the demands made of him, yet he had time to worry over one small boy, or made time to worry about him.

  He was special—not the boy but the man! The realisation wasn’t a total shock—Ghazi had shown his empathy with people before, his being here with her tonight being one example—but…

  The warmth unfolding in her chest as she pondered these things was different—not lust at all!

  Oh, surely not the other ‘l’ word,’ she thought as they left the lift and a warm hand on her back, guiding her towards the restaurant, sparked her more recognisable reactions. To fall in love with this man would be madness! They were from different worlds, so different she doubted any marriage could survive, especially if the love was one-sided.

  He’d spoken the truth when he’d said he wouldn’t be missed at the sports dinner, Ghazi mused as he asked the waiter for a table overlooking the desert, but there’d been many other things he could have been doing.

  So why was he here?

  Kindness—Marni was a stranger in his land and at the moment needed some support.

  Right! said the cynic within him. You couldn’t have made sure Tasnim or one of your other sisters was with her?

  And was support the only reason you wanted to be with her?

  Honesty compelled him to admit it wasn’t.

  He’d wanted to see her.

  Needed to see her!

  Not only to see her but to touch her, even just minimally as touches must be in public.

  This was crazy!

  This was a betrothal of convenience and somehow he’d allowed himself to become attracted to the woman.

  Allowed?

  Did one allow such reactions to happen, or were they beyond human control?

  Surely not! He’d always been able to control such impulses before.

  ‘Sir?’

  The waiter had obviously asked him a question as both he and Marni were looking at him, obviously puzzled.

  ‘Sorry!’

  He dragged his mind back to the present. This was hardly the time to be questioning his behaviour.

  ‘This time you will choose what we eat,’ he said to Marni. ‘There is an explanation for all the dishes in English, so you decide.’

  He smiled, hoping she’d forget his distraction.

  Some hope! She’d no sooner finished ordering and the waiter had disappeared than she asked, ‘Are you worried about something? Is it still Safi or was it more important than you made out, this dinner you’re missing? Because if it is, or if there’s something else you should be doing, I’ll be fine on my own. I could even go to Jawa’s rooms and wait for the phone call there. She’d understand.’

  He gazed at the woman across the table from him, aware how worried she must be beneath her cool exterior, yet here she was worrying about him! When had anyone last concerned themselves about his welfare—apart from Mazur and a couple of his closest servants?

  She disturbed him in ways apart from the purely physical…

  ‘Ghazi?’

  His name, softly spoken, reminded him she’d asked a question and deserved a reply. But there was more—the name itself—more internal disturbance.

  ‘That is the first time you’ve used my full name,’ he said, reaching out across the table to touch her hand where it rested beside her water glass.

  Her smile stirred the more usual disturbances.

  ‘That’s because when you’re in your prince gear I can’t help but think of you as Ghazi. Gaz is just a bloke—an Aussie term for an ordinary man—but in that get-up you have to be Ghazi.’

  She paused then added, ‘But don’t think you’ve distracted me with this talk of names. You’re obviously worried about something and if it’s that I’m keeping you from where you should be, please believe I’ll be okay on my own.’

  He had to smile.

  ‘I know you would. I am coming to realise just how strong and capable my betrothed is, but I want to be with you tonight.’ It was his turn to pause, though what he added was, ‘In many ways,’ which made the colour rise in her cheeks and his own body harden.

  Fortunately their dinner arrived, the waiter setting down plates and different dishes in the middle of the table, offering them first to Marni, who had chosen them.

  They ate, and talked of food, but he could see her anxiety growing, and noticed the quick glances she was giving her watch.

  ‘Come,’ he said, ‘we can get
a snack at Tasnim’s later if we’re hungry, but for now we’d be better waiting somewhere quiet. I’ve an office here, on the floor below. I’ll order some coffee and sweetmeats to be sent there and we can both be comfortable.’

  The relief on her face told him he’d made the right decision, and although she smiled her thanks as she pushed back her chair and stood up, he knew all she wanted to do was be somewhere private when she heard the results of the operation.

  He distanced himself when the phone rang, standing by the windows while she burrowed deep into one of his armchairs, the hand that held the tiny mobile to her ear trembling slightly.

  He only heard her end of the conversation but could tell from the relaxation in her voice that all had gone well, so he was surprised when she’d said goodbye to turn and see the tears trickling down her cheeks.

  ‘Marni? It’s all right, isn’t it? I heard you saying “That’s good” all the time. I realise it will be a while before he’s out of the CCU but your grandfather’s come through it well, hasn’t he?’

  Marni scrubbed at her cheeks, ashamed of her tears when everything had gone well. Far better than the surgeon had expected, according to Nelson.

  ‘Are they tears of relief?’ Ghazi asked.

  He’d taken off his headdress and come to sit on the arm of her chair, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.

  ‘Mostly relief, I suppose,’ she admitted. ‘I’m sorry to be such a wuss, but when Nelson said goodbye he called me “darling girl”. Nelson hasn’t called me that for years and I guess it just broke me up.’

  ‘Darling girl! What a lovely phrase. He’s something special, the man called Nelson.’

  ‘He is indeed,’ Marni responded, resting her head against Ghazi’s side and remembering just how special Nelson had always been to her. ‘Pop was very good with children but once they started to grow up, girls especially, he became…not embarrassed but less approachable somehow.