Date with a Surgeon Prince Read online

  Now she could see colour—rugs hanging over balcony parapets to air, market stalls set up inside the walls, the sun glinting off brass and silver pots and pipes and urns.

  Ghazi circled the building, allowing Marni a glimpse of an inner courtyard, green with trees and plants, then landed on a concrete pad at the back of the building but within the outer walls.

  Speechless with astonishment and wonder, Marni followed Ghazi as he led her past a long row of stalls, with horses’ heads poking out of some—horses here, not cars—and further on past different stalls—camels?—all the time heading towards the main building.

  ‘You’re late!’ he said, as Mazur pulled up in a little electric cart so they could ride the rest of the way.

  ‘You flew too fast,’ Mazur countered, but when Ghazi slid in beside him in the front, Mazur clapped him on the shoulder.

  ‘It’s done?’ Ghazi asked.

  ‘All done, although Fawzi and Hari aren’t here yet. Not that it matters. All you need are two adult males.’

  Ghazi nodded but gave no explanation of this weird conversation. Not that Marni minded. Now she was finally somewhere civilised, all she could think about was a bath. She just hoped this place was stocked up with clothes and underwear, because second in importance to the bath would be clean underwear!

  They drove through an arch into the courtyard, a wonder of green in the barren land. All around the courtyard Marni could see arched openings that led into the shade of the wide loggia, the covered outside sitting area.

  Mazur stopped the cart at the bottom of shallow steps, and Ghazi hopped out, turning to offer his hand to Marni. To her horror, she found that she was shaking—that the simple of touch of this man’s hand had thrown her into a quivering mess.

  She tried a smile and said weakly, ‘I was doing fine up till now.’

  He squeezed her fingers and she saw the familiar kindness in his eyes—kindness and something else she didn’t recognise.

  ‘You have been marvellous. Tasnim told me how you helped her remain calm.’

  Marni shook her head, and tried a better smile.

  ‘No, Tasnim did her bit. She told me it was the generations of desert women standing behind her that kept her going.’

  Ghazi saw the bravery in her feeble smile and felt the tremors of post-traumatic shock shake her body. He wanted nothing more than to gather her into his arms and hold her close, tell her everything would be all right now—tell her things he barely understood himself.

  But Mazur was there, servants appearing from inside the house, and a young woman, obviously chosen by his major domo here to look after Marni, was waiting in the doorway.

  ‘This is Lila,’ Mazur said, beckoning the woman forward. ‘Lila, will you take Ms Graham to her suite and do whatever she needs you to do.’

  So Ghazi had to hand Marni over to a stranger and hope she had the strength to keep going for just a little longer.

  ‘Does the girl know what is planned?’ he asked Mazur.

  ‘Only that you wish to see Marni in the majlis in an hour.’

  Ghazi heard the doubt in Mazur’s voice—doubt and no little condemnation.

  ‘I know she’s exhausted but that’s why I must do it now,’ Ghazi told his friend. ‘Once we’re married she can rest.’

  ‘Did you tell her?’ Mazur demanded, and Ghazi shook his head, unable to explain that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to mention marriage to Marni on the flight.

  Because he was afraid she’d object? Refuse to go along with it?

  ‘Then you should,’ Mazur said firmly. ‘I know you think you’re doing the right thing, but you can’t just drag the woman down the aisle with two witnesses—and why couldn’t I be a witness might I ask?—and expect her to go along with marrying you.’

  ‘It’s for her safety and as for witnesses, she knows you and I need you to be there as her friend, not mine,’ Ghazi snapped, then he strode away from his friend and mentor, angry, confused and heartsore.

  ‘We must hurry,’ Lila said as she led Marni along marble corridors and through jewelled archways, finally entering a room with a high domed ceiling, painted a deep, rich purple that matched the curtains around the huge four-poster bed.

  ‘Why?’ Marni managed to ask, as she took in the magnificence of this room, with its grilled windows looking out to the courtyard.

  ‘Because we only have an hour. I have drawn a bath, it is all ready for you. I will wash your hair while you are in it, then perfume you and do just a little henna design on your hand because although no one is supposed to know, you will be marrying our prince today.’

  ‘I will be what?’ Marni demanded, the words muffled as she’d been pulling the long tunic off over her head as she spoke.

  ‘Getting married,’ Lila said, obviously very excited about the upcoming event.

  ‘No, and, no, and, no!’ Marni stormed, although she did step into the bath. She could hardly argue with Ghazi stark naked—dirty and stark naked. ‘I’ll have the bath but I’ll wash my hair myself and while I’m doing it you find whoever you have to talk to and get a message to your prince that I’ll see him in my room in twenty minutes.’

  ‘Oh, but you can’t do that—not in your bedroom,’ Lila protested.

  ‘No?’ Marni muttered. ‘We’ll see about that! You just get the message to him. And leave some underwear and something I can wear on the bed before you go.’

  Sinking into the water, delicately scented and bubbling around her, was pure bliss, but having set her own deadline she couldn’t lie back and enjoy it. She wet her hair and lathered it with shampoo that was handily placed on a shelf alongside the bath, rinsed it off and rubbed conditioner in, then let her hair absorb the treatment while she scrubbed her body clean of sand and dust and dirt.

  Emptying the bath water, she stood up beneath the overhead shower and showered off the conditioner, then stepped out of the bath, wrapping herself in a super-soft towel and growing angrier by the minute that she hadn’t been able to revel in the luxury of her first bath in three days.

  The memory of when she’d last showered brought a rush of embarrassment, and she wondered if summoning Ghazi to her room might have been a mistake.

  No! She had to talk to him. A pretend betrothal was one thing, but being rushed into marriage was just not on.

  Wrapped in the towel, she went back into the bedroom, to gasp in wonder at the clothing Lila had apparently deemed suitable for her wedding.

  Various packets of lacy underwear offered her a choice of colour and size, but it was the garment that would cover it that gave Marni pause. It was a simple enough gown, long and straight like the tunic she’d been wearing in the desert, but there any similarity ended, for this garment was apparently made with spun silver—fine and delicate silver—elaborately embroidered around the sleeves, neckline and hem.

  It was something that should be in a museum, not about to be worn by any ordinary mortal.

  She searched the walls of the bedroom, knowing there’d be concealed wardrobe and dressing room doors somewhere, and within those rooms there’d be other clothing—something else she could put on.

  The doors eluded her, so she found underwear her size among the packets then returned to the bathroom, sure there’d be a robe there she could wear.

  No such luck, but the towels were huge, and choosing a dry one she wrapped it around herself, then went across to a small sitting area by one of the windows to await her confrontation with her betrothed. Talking to him in the sitting area was slightly better than anywhere near the bed, but the bed still seemed to dominate the room.

  And her thoughts!

  Seeing her clad only in a towel was very nearly Ghazi’s undoing. To hold her, smell her skin, feel her still damp hair against his face, peel off the towel—

  ‘So, what’s this all about?’ the woman in the towel demanded, and he jerked his mind back to reality.

  ‘No, don’t bother answering that,’ she added, before he could reply. ‘It’s y
our sense of chivalry, of honour that you’re insisting on this marriage business. And sit down, I can’t keep arguing with you when you’re towering over me up there.’

  For some reason he wanted to smile—perhaps because she should be at such a disadvantage in the towel, yet here she was issuing orders to him.

  He didn’t smile, knowing that would only make her angrier, but he did sit, and, sitting, could take in the clear pale skin of her shoulders—was that a bruise or the remnant of a love bite from the other night?—and the shadows of tiredness beneath her eyes.

  His arms ached to hold her, to kiss away those shadows, to feel her body tight against his—where he was sure it belonged.

  But was she sure it was where she belonged?

  He had no idea, which was why he had to tread carefully.

  ‘It’s a matter of keeping you safe,’ he said, forcing his mind to take control of his wayward thoughts. ‘I need to have the right to protect you for as long as you remain in this country. As my wife, you would have a status that makes you, by tradition, untouchable. We don’t have to stay married for ever or have a marriage in anything but name, but what has happened once could happen again, and next time your kidnappers could be more dangerous than a couple of stupid young men.’

  She frowned at him and he wanted to wipe away that frown, to smooth the skin above her neat little nose, maybe kiss the frown away.

  ‘They’re not stupid, they just don’t have enough to occupy them and that always leads to trouble with young people,’ she said, and Ghazi was so lost in thoughts of kisses it took him a moment to catch up.

  ‘You mean Hari and Fawzi? I’ve been telling Nimr that for ages, but we’re not here to talk about them, surely?’

  ‘Not exactly, but it’s the same thing in another way. Those two, well, we’ve worked out what they can do—run wildlife safaris for photographers and animal lovers. But they did what they did because they could—because no one’s ever said no to them or their wild schemes and I suspect it’s just the same with you, no one’s ever said no to you so you dream up this stupid idea of us getting married for whatever reason and don’t stop to think what I might have to say to it.’

  Now he did smile, and if the delicate flush of colour on her chest above the towel was any indication, he didn’t think he’d made her angrier.

  Marni had thought she was doing quite well with the conversation, considering she was sitting practically naked in front of the sexiest man in the world, and her thoughts were rampaging on about giving in to her body and letting the towel slip, and then he smiled and her mind went blank.

  ‘What do you have to say to it?’ he asked, the smile still lurking because she could see it shining in his eyes.

  To what?

  She’d totally lost the thread of the conversation, if it had ever had a thread.

  And she’d summoned him, so presumably she was the one who was supposed to be in control.

  ‘To us getting married,’ he said in such a kindly manner she wanted to slap him—or perhaps kiss away the little quirk of a smile on the corners of his lips. ‘After all, we are betrothed, and as I said earlier it needn’t mean anything, but it would give me the right to protect you, Marni, and I think I owe that to your grandfather.’

  ‘Pop! Oh, heavens, I’d forgotten all about Pop. I need to phone Nelson, I need to find out—’

  Ghazi touched her gently on her knee.

  ‘Your grandfather is doing well—far better than his surgeon expected. I have spoken to both the surgeon and to Nelson every day. It will be a long convalescence, as you already knew, but he’s progressing extremely well.’

  Marni wasn’t sure if it was the assurance or the hand on her knee that brought a rush of relief to her body, and with the relief came a release of the tension she’d been feeling for days.

  And a burst of gratitude to this man who thought of everything.

  Except she didn’t want to be feeling grateful to him—she didn’t want to be feeling anything!

  Not that she’d have a hope of stopping the physical stuff!

  But right now she had to get past that and get her brain working again, so she could explain why she wasn’t going to marry him.

  Wouldn’t it be easier to just give in and marry the man? Then she could sleep.

  Except…

  ‘You say we’re getting married so you can protect me but if I go back to being plain Marni Graham, a theatre sister, and live in a flat at the hospital, go to and from work there, then there’d be no need for protection. Now I know you better I know you can handle your sisters, so we can dispense with the betrothal business and everything can go back to normal.’

  Her heart grew heavier and heavier as she spoke, yet she knew it was the right thing to do.

  ‘Can it?’ he asked, while the strength of the attraction between them was such that she could feel his body against hers, his mouth capturing her lips, although a full metre of palace air separated them.

  ‘Of course it can,’ Marni said, but the words didn’t come out as strongly as she’d hoped they would. In fact, they sounded feeble in the extreme.

  She took a deep breath and tried again.

  ‘It’s not only the protection thing that’s pushing you,’ she told him. ‘I know you well enough to understand you feel you have to marry me because it’s the honourable thing to do, and that’s just nonsense. What happened happened, and I wanted it as much as you did.’

  ‘What happened was that I hurt you,’ Ghazi said, his voice full of regret. ‘Hurt you with my foolish words, but it wasn’t that you’d disappointed me in any way, but that, had I known—’

  ‘You’d have pulled back,’ Marni said. ‘Don’t bother denying it, it’s happened to me before.’

  The pain in her voice was too much! He stood up, lifted her out of the chair and sat down again with her on his knee. He brushed the hair back from her face and kissed her gently on the lips.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, running his hand over her hair, enjoying just holding her, ‘but only until I could make it special for you, make it easier and more enjoyable—slower and more careful, so it was more pleasure than pain for you. But how was I to know?’

  He looked into her eyes, filmed with tears, although a brave smile was hovering around her lips.

  ‘That I might still be a virgin at my age?’ she asked. ‘Not many people would think it. It wasn’t that I was keeping myself for someone special, or that I thought my virginity precious, or anything that definite at all—it just happened.’

  She was studying his face as she spoke, as if hoping to read understanding there.

  ‘You see,’ she continued, ‘I was brought up by two elderly men, who loved me as dearly as I loved them, so early on, at school and university when all my friends were experimenting with sex, I couldn’t quite get into it, afraid Pop and Nelson would be disappointed in me, that they’d think less of me. I knew if someone did come along that they’d like and approve of, then probably it would happen, but no one did, and then I was older and suddenly it was embarrassing to be a virgin and that made it harder and harder and—’

  He cupped his hands around her face and kissed her gently on her lips.

  ‘And when you did tell someone you thought might be the right man, he mocked you, hurt you with cruel words and snide remarks?’

  She nodded and rested her forehead on his chest while he wound his fingers through her hair and held her close.

  ‘So, now that’s sorted,’ he said, ‘how about we go and get married so I can show you just how wonderful it can be?

  Marni eased her head off his chest and looked at him.

  ‘You could show me anyway,’ she teased. ‘The bed’s right there, and no matter what you say, you’re marrying me because you feel it’s the honourable thing to do, aren’t you?

  He was and he wasn’t but how to handle it?

  Could he, who’d never opened up his heart to anyone, not even his closest friends, open himself up to this woman?


  Couldn’t that lead to loss of power?

  To vulnerability?

  To pain?

  Yet, holding her, knowing her as he now did, he knew nothing less would do.

  He stood up and put her back in her chair then knelt before her, taking both her hands in his.

  ‘You’re right about the honour,’ he said, trying hard to get the words he needed—to get them right. ‘Yes, I believe marrying you is the right thing to do, and even if you feel you don’t need it, I want to be able to protect you—to protect you, provide for you and care for you.’

  Deep breath because this was it—this was where he laid bare his soul.

  So she could trample on it?

  He had no idea.

  ‘But most of all I want to marry you because I love you more than I have ever believed I could love anyone. These last few days have been the vilest kind of torture, because not only did I not know where you were, or even if you were still alive, but because I’d hurt you before we’d parted, and not knowing if I’d ever be able to explain—to make things right between us—well, that was the worst agony of all.’

  Marni stared at him in utter astonishment.

  ‘But you never said—’

  ‘Did you?’ he countered, smiling up at her in such a way she felt her entire body melting.

  ‘How could I? I was worried it might just be lust, although as I got to know you, saw your kindness, your love for your country and your people, the way you were with Safi, it felt like love, but what did I know about that? It was as foreign to me as Ablezia, so how could I tell? I just wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Not I until I lost you,’ he admitted, then he lifted her hands and kissed the backs of them, before turning them and pressing a kiss into each palm.

  ‘So we’re good to go?’ he asked, his voice shaking just slightly with what could only be nerves.

  ‘I guess so,’ Marni told him, although she was sad that Pop wouldn’t be there on her wedding day. But then she leaned towards him, ready for the kiss that had to be coming.

  Needing the kiss as confirmation of their love.

  ‘If that towel falls off, we’ll never make the wedding,’ Ghazi told her, not kissing her at all but standing up and stepping back, needing space between them so the fires didn’t start up again. ‘Get yourself dressed. I’ll send Lila back to help you.’