Desert King, Doctor Daddy Page 6

  And quite apart from that, given that his brother still had designs on the throne, encouraging development and foreign investment to build a power base among certain sections of the population, there was the very real risk that he, Yusef, marrying a foreigner would strengthen his brother’s claims to be ruler.

  He sighed to himself, concerned now, not about the attraction he couldn’t pursue but for the future of his country and its people should his brother take the throne. The problems he already saw would worsen as the society split into haves and have-nots, the old values of sharing and caring lost for ever. The thought caused real physical pain deep within him, but he hoped he hid it as he asked, as calmly as possible, ‘So, will you come?’

  The moment had arrived, yet Gemma still hesitated. While the glories of Europe had seemed attractive in the past, she’d never felt the allure she felt now towards a desert land on a gulf—a land where roses scented the air and flavoured the food, a land called Mountains of the Dawn.

  A motherless child called Fajella.

  And though her heart all but stopped beating in her chest, she heard herself agreeing.

  ‘I will come,’ she said, and sensed the relief that flowed from the man, although it still bothered her that he seemed to think she was the only person suitable for the job he had in mind.

  But when he spoke he was all business. Perhaps she’d imagined the relief.

  ‘You are not a traveller so you will need a passport. I can see that it is done as swiftly as possible,’ he said.

  ‘Actually, I do have a passport,’ she admitted, remembering her dread as she’d organised it, Paul insisting she accompany him to New Zealand for a combined honeymoon and conference, telling her that getting into a plane was the only way to rid herself of her fears.

  In the end, she hadn’t gone, buying the second house and losing Paul, but she had no regrets on that score.

  ‘So, tomorrow we will make the final arrangements. You are sure?’

  ‘I’m sure,’ Gemma told him, squashing her fear and speaking honestly. ‘Not only for the opportunity to be part of expanding services in your country but for the chance to learn from the women who live there.’

  ‘Good,’ Yusef said, ‘but we have talked enough for one night and the rain has cleared. Come, you must see the view from the balcony.’

  It wasn’t exactly an order, so Gemma, who’d decided, back when she’d said goodbye to Paul, that she’d never take orders from a man again, stood up and walked with Yusef to where the glass panels had been slid back, opening the room to the balcony and the view beyond.

  It was a view of the harbour she hadn’t seen before, looking west over the opera house to the bridge. Ferries and other boats in the harbour scurried around like bright water beetles, wavering reflections of every colour spreading across the water. But though she looked and admired, hopefully making all the right noises, most of her awareness was centred on the small of her back where Yusef’s hand rested.

  Waves of heat radiated out from that small patch of skin, and tingling nerves sent messages she didn’t want to acknowledge throughout her body.

  ‘Beautiful, yes?’ Yusef said, and she turned towards him, to find him looking at her, not the view.

  A gust of wind caught a tendril of her hair, tugging it loose, and as she put up her hand to catch it and tuck it back behind her ear, he also moved, also reaching for it, so their fingers touched. Nerves afire, she snatched her hand away but not before the damage was done, her hair now ensnared by his watch.

  ‘Keep still,’ he ordered, an order she was only too pleased to obey as this closeness had stolen her breath, and she doubted she could have moved if she’d wanted to.

  ‘There,’ he said, and she looked into his face, so close she could see the fine lines that fanned out from his eyes and the crescent indentations left by smiles in his cheeks.

  So close…

  ‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, his fingers still holding the tendril of freed hair. ‘So beautiful.’

  Then his lips met hers, a touch, nothing more, yet that touch fired such an aching need Gemma responded, her lips pressing against his, opening to the delving of his tongue, giving and taking in a moment of sheer madness, their bodies linked only by lips and his fingers on a tendril of her hair.

  She pulled away, feeling him release her hair immediately. The words ‘How dare you?’ sprang to her lips but she left them there, unsaid, for she, too, had dared.

  ‘I would blame the moon but it is hidden this evening,’ Yusef said, his deep voice coming to her from the edge of the balcony where he now leaned against the railing, his back to her.

  And while she still struggled for something—anything—to say, he turned to face her.

  ‘So I will offer nothing but an apology. It is not my habit to kiss strangers, even beautiful ones, but your hair, the colour of it, the softness, it possesses a magic that, for a moment, made me forget myself. You need not fear that it will happen again, Dr Murray.’

  Dr Murray? That’s putting me right back in my place, Gemma thought, and although she knew she should be pleased he had doused the fires he’d aroused so quickly and easily, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment in his promise that it would not happen again.

  ‘I must go,’ she told him, more angry with herself for that twinge than with him for the kiss. Attraction was attraction—kisses happened. Well, they didn’t happen all that often for her these days, but she did know about such things!

  ‘I will see you to your car. It is in the underground car park?’

  Yusef stepped towards her, as wary as he’d be approaching a wild horse. He’d like to think he’d been bewitched that he’d behaved so irresponsibly, but hair, red or otherwise, didn’t bewitch. And even were it possible, he was a man of science, he didn’t believe such nonsense.

  Yet it would have been easier to stop the desert sands from shifting in the wind than to stop himself from kissing her.

  She had answered yes and moved into the apartment, and he followed, his eyes watching the way she moved, seeing the shape of her beneath the fairly shapeless dress she wore. Desire stirred within him and he had to wonder if it was a big mistake, to take this woman to his country. Yes, he needed her vision and experience to sort out the problems in the overwhelmed medical facilities for women and children in his country so he could move on to other matters of importance, knowing his people, both settled and tribal, were getting the best possible care.

  But now he knew the attraction was there, might he not be wiser to find someone else?

  Abed was waiting by the door, obviously intending to take the visitor to her car, but Yusef waved him away, summoning the elevator himself, and ushering Gemma into it.

  ‘James introduced himself as your secretary. Who is Abed?’ she asked as they travelled downwards.

  Was she making conversation to cover the awkwardness between them? Or was she sincerely interested?

  He studied her for a moment, seeing the flush that still lingered in her cheeks.

  ‘He is my brother,’ he said, and as the green eyes revealed her surprise, he tried to explain. ‘Not by blood, but by…propinquity? Is that the word I want? It is our custom for children of our family to have a shadow child, one who is nursed with him or her, like a twin though not related. We shared a wet-nurse, Abed and I, and we have grown up together, travelled together, studied together, though he has a master’s degree in business rather than medicine.’

  ‘You have an MBA stand behind your chair while you eat?’ she asked, as the elevator reached the lower level of the car park.

  She sounded so astounded Yusef had to smile.

  ‘He could have sat with us had he wished, but he chose not to,’ he explained, but obviously that didn’t help for she was still looking at him with a puzzled frown.

  Eventually she shook her head, and started to search in her handbag for her car keys. Once found, he took them from her, feeling again the burn of attraction as skin met skin.
A thousand ancestors yelled at him to forget this woman—to find another who could do his bidding without causing him a moment’s unease. But as she led him to where she’d parked her vehicle he knew they were already fated to be joined in the endeavour of fulfilling his dreams.

  As for any other kind of joining, no matter how strong the attraction, he doubted they’d be lovers, for once back in Fajabal he would be busy with concerns of state, and the women of his family were already looking for a new wife for him, a task his lack of interest in the project had relegated to them.

  ‘I will phone you tomorrow?’ he said, as he held the car door open for her.

  She looked up at him from the driver’s seat, her eyes questioning him.

  ‘To tell you of the arrangements for our departure,’ he added.

  Our departure? They would be travelling together? Given the kiss, Gemma didn’t think this was a good idea.

  Not that she could say so!

  ‘You are in a hurry to leave?’ Dread pooled in Gemma’s stomach, although maybe it would be good if she didn’t have too much time to think about the flight.

  ‘I cannot be away too long. I came to do a job and now it is done. To have to wait is inconvenient.’

  Gemma nodded her understanding, said goodnight and drove away, thinking not about what lay ahead of her but of a kiss. Why was she thinking about such a thing when he’d promised it would never happen again and even on such short acquaintance she was reasonably sure he was a man who kept his promises.

  But the kiss had made her feel alive—really alive—for the first time since she’d started the centre, since she’d tackled charities and government agencies, bullying and pleading, shoring up her case with facts and figures about women who suffered and even died needlessly in childbirth, until she’d finally got the funding to begin to fulfil an idea that had become an obsession.

  Did he even know the potency of his kisses?

  Was that how he got his way when orders didn’t work?

  The windscreen wipers slashed against the rain that had been deluging Sydney for weeks, and, kiss or not, Gemma couldn’t help but think rather longingly of a desert climate. What a welcome change it would be.

  Was she really on a plane to Fajabal? And not any plane, but some kind of luxurious private jet, as big as some of the overseas airliners she’d seen at the airport but configured so she sat in armchair-like comfort.

  The days between her decision and their departure had passed so swiftly she’d had no time to dwell on the flight itself, or her fears, and even as she’d boarded, excitement then amazement at the splendour of the cabin had pushed fear to the back of her mind.

  But now she was buckled into her seat, and the floor beneath her feet vibrated with the roar of powerful engines. She knew there were no memories of that other fateful take-off, she’d been too young, barely two, yet the fear was there, and very, very real…

  The engine noise grew louder and the plane moved forward, taxiing slowly at first then accelerating, engines whining their protest as they prepared to lift the huge aircraft off the ground.

  Gemma closed her eyes and clung to the seat, feeling her fingers sink through the leather, indenting it no doubt, right down to the metal or wood beneath the padding. But she couldn’t close her ears to the noise which whirled in her head like terror incarnate, filling all the space in her brain with a terror too big to battle.

  Would she faint? Pass out? Maybe that would be the best thing…

  ‘You didn’t tell me you had a fear of flying.’

  A deep accusatory voice at her elbow, and a warm hand closed on her white-knuckled grip on the chair arm, but she couldn’t open her eyes or release her hand. Images buried deep inside now flared across her mind and her heart raced erratically.

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’ the deep voice asked, caring now, not accusing at all.

  Was there anything?

  She didn’t know. She’d only imagined this terror, never really felt it—not through and through so every cell in her body was filled with it, wound so tightly she wondered she hadn’t already shattered into a million pieces.

  ‘Perhaps a diversion,’ the deep voice said, making very little sense. Unless he meant a physical diversion. He’d order the plane returned to land. She could breathe again!

  But she couldn’t breathe for his idea of a diversion was physical. Very physical! He was kissing her, his lips firm and hard against hers while his arm, hot and heavy, now snaked around her shoulders, holding her firmly, drawing her close, his mouth increasing the pressure on her lips.

  Hands still clamped on the chair arms, Gemma felt the kiss steal into her blood, slowly but surely easing some of the tension in her body. His lips pressed more firmly, parting hers so his tongue could invade her mouth—an exciting invasion, or was her terror adding a new dimension to a kiss?

  Gently but surely he coaxed a response, so now she was kissing him back, exploring his lips as he had explored hers, learning the taste of him, the tart tang of his aftershave, the trace of man beneath it. Now her heart raced for a different reason, especially as he manoeuvred so her hand, the one closest to him, gave up its grip on the chair and somehow came to rest behind his head.

  Silky soft hair, cut short, but not so short her fingers couldn’t find purchase in it. But now she needed to hold on for a different reason, now she needed to anchor herself to him as he awoke sensations within her that she had never felt before. His hand cupped her breast, his thumb teasing at her nipple, and through the cloth of shirt and bra she felt it harden to his touch-rasp and scratch against what she’d always thought was soft material.

  Her body softened, opening to sensation, wanting more, needing more.

  ‘We are airborne, now it will get easier.’ He spoke against her lips, the words surprising her so much she gave a little gasp.

  Did he read it as renewed fear that his arm tightened its hold on her shoulders, or that his mouth once again closed in with a kiss? She had no answer—couldn’t answer now, too involved in kissing.

  ‘And we can remove the arm of this chair so we can be more comfortable.’

  Comfortable? Up here, thousands of feet above the earth, and he expected her to be comfortable?

  Terror returned but he countered it again, renewing his attack on her lips, his free hand roaming her body, setting fire to it in places she’d never imagined as erotic—inside her forearm with a gentle stroking, the back of her neck with tiny flicks, his mouth following his fingers now, tongue licking, teeth nipping.

  What was he doing? Yusef held the woman in his arms, feeling the fear still lingering in her tense muscles and quivering limbs. But kissing her had definitely made her forget the fear for the time it had taken for the plane to lift into the sky, so if he could kiss her until she relaxed and maybe slept, would not the journey be easier for her?

  With one hand behind her head, holding it but also toying with the knot into which she’d wound her hair, he deepened the kiss.

  If he answered honestly, it wasn’t totally altruistic because he could not remember ever feeling so attracted to a woman—instantly attracted from the moment they’d first met, when she’d been worried and stressed over her patient and her wild hair had been escaping its confinement.

  But for all that he’d given in to temptation and kissed her on the balcony, he definitely would have resisted the attraction had he not seen her terror on take-off and been willing to do anything to alleviate it. He hadn’t needed Abed, who never missed much, to remind him that an affair between them would be impossible back in Fajabal, in the full glare of the public eye and with the weight of public opinion still divided about his succession.

  Her mouth tasted of strawberries, with something astringent, maybe lemon juice, squeezed over them. It should have been offputting yet he found the sweet and sour enticing, tasting, and tasting again, his tongue delving deeper, his body hardening when she gave a little sigh of pleasure as if welcoming his invasion.

  CHA
PTER FIVE

  ‘SIR, sir!’

  The urgency in the words shocked him back to the present and he turned to find the flight engineer hovering by his side.

  ‘It is Massa, the chief pilot, he has collapsed.’

  Yusef’s first thought was for the woman he’d been kissing.

  ‘It is all right, we are quite safe. The plane has two pilots and I am also qualified to fly this aircraft,’ he assured her, but she was no longer in his arms, or in her seat. She was on her feet and moving towards the front of the plane. Fear forgotten as she reacted automatically to an emergency? Could she be so strong?

  ‘Wouldn’t pilots have regular health checks?’ she asked as he joined her, passing her, in fact, telling her he could handle it.

  ‘Of course they do, but even the healthiest of people can have an unexpected heart attack or stroke,’ he reminded her, as she ignored his assurances that she wasn’t needed and followed him into the cockpit.

  Massa was slumped forward over the controls, apparently not engaging any of them for the plane flew on steadily, the copilot doing his best to ignore his comatose colleague and concentrate on his job.

  The cockpit looked just like those she’d seen in movies. Why this absurd thought should occur to Gemma as she watched Yusef and the man who’d summoned him lift the pilot from his seat she didn’t know. She thrust the thought away to concentrate on emergency procedures. Stroke or heart attack, aspirin was good. The man was stirring, he could take it orally.

  He was on the floor in the narrow entrance to the cockpit, groaning now, hand pressing his chest, talking to Yusef who was feeling for a pulse, checking his breathing, while the second man loosened the pilot’s clothing.

  ‘His pain says it’s heart. We’ll move him to the master suite,’ Yusef said, and Gemma followed the two men and their burden, marvelling that they carried the heavy man so easily.

  The master suite was another marvel! They pushed through a curtained partition, heavy dark blue velvet drapes opening to reveal a bedroom of such luxury it would shame the best of hotel suites.