A Sheikh to Capture Her Heart Page 9

  So forget the husky voice and dreams and show some strength.

  All she could muster was the smallest of smiles.

  ‘My pleasure,’ she said, as his hand took hers to help her to her feet. ‘I was coming in this direction anyway,’ she added, because if she didn’t talk she’d forget about strength and do something stupid like throw herself into his arms. ‘It’s on the way home to England, more or less, so it’s no trouble...’

  Her voice trailed away as Harry pulled her towards him and held her in a gentle hug, then kissed her on both cheeks. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, probably in tune with hers, but the cabin crew was waiting for them to leave the plane, so there’d be no proper kiss.

  Not in Ambelia! Not now she’d met Rahman al-Taraq and realised just how impossible this situation was.

  Would there ever be a proper kiss again?

  Hardly!

  It had been a brief affair—they’d both understood that.

  So why was her body betraying her with its heat? And, come to that, the tight grip on her hand felt like Harry’s rather than Rahman’s.

  But this wasn’t Harry from the resort. Here he was the ruler-in-waiting, and here he had a woman pledged to marry him and subjects who’d take a great interest in every move he made.

  The robes made those facts perfectly clear.

  Sarah sighed.

  Unless there were very roomy linen cupboards at the hospital they might have to forget the attraction side of their relationship—put it behind them.

  For the duration of her visit?

  She sighed again, but softly.

  In truth, it was probably forever, given his position, and the wife in waiting, and the fact that it had only ever been a holiday romance.

  Warmth hit her as she exited the plane, but it was pleasant, soft and dry as it enfolded her body. She was following Harry down the steps, and he stopped at the bottom and turned to take her hand, presumably to help her make the last step safely.

  His fingers gripped hers hard, and she squeezed his in return.

  ‘This is possibly the most ridiculous mistake I’ve made in my entire life!’ he muttered angrily. ‘I must know at least twenty excellent paediatric surgeons in London that I could have flown in, but no, I had to complicate my life—and probably yours—by demanding you.’

  And Sarah smiled.

  At least they were both suffering.

  No matter who he was—Harry, heir, husband-to-be—it was obvious their affair felt unfinished to him, too.

  Not that that was much consolation so she forgot about the man who was now striding ahead to a waiting limousine, and forced her mind to think about what lay ahead—to think about a tiny baby who needed the expertise of both of them.

  ‘Did you sleep on the flight?’ he asked abruptly, opening a rear door of the car for her.

  ‘Most of the way,’ she replied. ‘I spend a lot of my time in planes far less comfortable than yours, and have learned to sleep on all of them.’

  She looked directly at him, refusing to be distracted by the robes and headdress, and looking instead at his pale, hypnotic eyes and the grim set of his lips. At the tiny scar she’d traced with her fingers, and which she knew grew paler when he was stressed.

  Very pale. The way it was now.

  His tension was evident, but she was here to do a job, not to dally with this man, no matter how appealing more dallying might be. So right now she had to make it plain that the visit was for work.

  She took a deep breath and, well, prattled...

  ‘I think we learn to sleep at any time in any place during our training, don’t you? It’s probably nearly as important as learning anatomy, given the lives we lead, especially during our early days in hospitals.’

  Now it wasn’t just his lips that looked grim. He was positively glowering at her.

  But she wasn’t to be put off by a glower.

  She waited until he’d stalked around the car and got in the other side behind a silent driver, then, determined to keep things as casual as possible between them, she asked, ‘How’s the baby? Is the op urgent? I’m confident I could go straight into Theatre, although a shower and a cup of tea would be a nice way to relax first.’

  ‘A shower and a cup of tea?’ he repeated, the disbelief in his voice so strong it was like a physical force. ‘Is that all you can say?’

  She turned towards him and, hoping the driver who was now concentrating on getting the vehicle through the airport traffic wouldn’t see the motion, she took his nearest hand and held it in both of hers.

  ‘What else is there to say, Harry?’ she said softly. ‘Or should I call you Rahman here?’

  She squeezed his fingers.

  ‘What we had was wonderful, but I know, and you know, that we can’t take it further—not now you’re home and definitely not here, where word of any relationship between us would get back to the woman you are going to marry and so, I’m sure, shame your family as well as hurting her.’

  He bent his head, his hand still in hers, although now his fingers gripped hers as if he thought she might let his go.

  ‘The baby,’ she repeated quietly. ‘Tell me about the baby. Let’s concentrate on that and think about the rest later.’

  He raised his head but didn’t look at her.

  ‘He’s doing well. He arrived fourteen days early, which was hardly a problem, but the stenosis wasn’t picked up until the projectile vomiting started three days ago. I think the pylorus wasn’t totally blocked at first. Since the diagnosis, he’s been having limited amounts of parenteral nutrition, and the doctors are keeping a constant check on his electrolyte balance and hydration.’

  ‘And his mother, your sister?’

  Now he turned to look at her, and she saw the ravages that concern for his sibling and her child had left on his face.

  ‘Miryam’s been wonderful. She stays by his bedside night and day, her gloved hand through the window in the sterile crib, touching him, talking to him. Her husband is there as well, most of the time, but I’ve learned women are far better than men at handling things like this.’

  His face lightened and he almost smiled.

  ‘You’d have thought I’d have worked that out long ago, but until it becomes personal there are things you don’t see. Miryam’s husband has to leave the room to go into a corner somewhere and cry from time to time. It’s the only way he can keep going for his wife and child.’

  Harry squeezed her fingers, adding, ‘I’ve felt for him—felt his tears—teared up myself. Pathetic, really.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Sarah said, removing her hand before he broke the fingers she’d need for the operation. ‘This is your family, people you love, in pain and trouble. You’re entitled to get emotional about it because you’re human. Miryam probably cries sometimes as well, and her husband holds her and gives her strength to continue. But, being a man, he won’t let her see his tears in case she loses faith in his strength.’

  Grey eyes studied her face for a moment, then the slightest of smiles touched his lips.

  ‘Maybe I was right to call you...’

  Was that a compliment? Sarah wondered, then told herself to stick to the plan—be practical, do the job, go home to England...

  ‘We’re nearly at the hospital. If you’re sure you’re happy to go ahead—after your shower and cup of tea—I’ll let them know.’

  He lifted a cell phone out his pocket and spoke words Sarah didn’t understand. Soft, strange words that touched her heart, while her eyes were on the man himself, on the hand that held the phone and the fingers that had brought her body such pleasure, on the lips she’d kissed, the neck—

  ‘They’ll be ready. I didn’t know what tea so they’ll make a selection and you can choose.’

  CH
APTER SIX

  THE HOSPITAL WAS UNBELIEVABLE, reasonably new and laid out in spacious, beautifully maintained gardens. The buildings were white, two and three stories high.

  ‘Each unit is complete,’ Harry told her, as the limo pulled up at a portico entrance, ‘ER, Outpatients, Radiography, Theatre and wards. There’s a central pathology lab that does all the blood and culture work. This is the children’s block. You can see it’s built around a central courtyard. Even after generations of urbanisation, we still like to be close to the outdoors. Many family members of hospitalised children will sleep in the portico outside their relative’s room.’

  ‘So the hospital was built to accommodate families?’ Sarah asked, looking around in wonder at the beautiful interior—the entrance was like that of a five-star hotel.

  ‘Family is important to us,’ Harry said, although she realised it was Rahman talking, and Harry only when he touched her lightly on the arm and added, ‘I am sorry. Talk of family must be painful.’

  She turned towards him, wanting to look at him, to make sure it was Harry under the unfamiliar clothing.

  ‘I only lost part of my family. The rest of them helped me through, kept me going, until I ran away from their kindness because I knew I had to do it myself—to put myself back together again, possibly in a way that was different from their expectations. Do you understand that?”

  She need not have asked, because the understanding was there in his eyes and in the little extra pressure of the hand that rested on her arm.

  * * *

  He had to stop touching her, had to take his hand off her arm, yet how could he? A friendly touch like this was all the contact he would be able to make with her, surrounded as he was by the ever-present interest of the people of his country.

  He’d been away so long he attracted extra interest wherever he went and he knew the gossip would be rife.

  Was he here to stay this time?

  Would he take over from his father, as had been ordained by his lineage?

  Had he come home to be married?

  It was time he produced an heir...

  He guided Sarah towards the theatre area of the building and handed her over to a young woman who was hovering near the tea room.

  ‘Would you show Dr Watson the bathrooms when she finishes her tea?’ he said, then weakened. ‘No, don’t worry, I’ll have tea with her. We can talk about the operation, then I’ll show her the way to the showers.’

  ‘How weak am I?’ he said gruffly, aware his annoyance was with himself. ‘Wanting just a few more minutes alone with you, but not in the way I’d like to be alone.’

  Sarah turned her green eyes on him, her pain clear to see.

  ‘Harry, we have to put what happened between us in the past. You have duties to your family here, a woman expecting to marry you. We’ll do the op then I’ll be gone. Why torture ourselves needlessly when we know this can’t go anywhere?’

  The shock was like a knife going into his chest.

  ‘But you have to see the sand—my sand—and meet Rajah. I have so much to show you—’

  She lifted her hand in front of her, an obvious stop signal, and shook her head to emphasise the point.

  ‘No, Harry,’ she said softly. ‘I cannot do anything with you. With a guide, perhaps, but not with you. You know as well as I do the attraction is still there and being alone together would be stupid. You have—’

  Now he stopped her.

  ‘A duty. I’m sorry, that was stupid, but...’

  She poured a cup of tea, and sipped at it.

  ‘There are too many buts, Harry. Too many ifs and buts and whys and maybes. We had fun together, shared passion for a while, but now it’s back to real life for both of us.’

  He felt anger flare, and wanted to rage at her, or more probably at himself. She was just too calm, talking about passion without a hint of it in her face or voice.

  And hadn’t it been more than that?

  She finished her tea and stood up, collecting the small bag he’d carried off the plane and set beside their chairs.

  ‘Bathroom?’ she asked, and now she smiled and he was back on Wildfire, soaping her long, white back, counting down the vertebrae with his fingertips, inciting them both to—

  Passion!

  ‘This way.’

  He spoke abruptly and led her out of the room, pushing open the door to the women’s dressing room, calling to someone inside to show Dr Watson where everything was kept.

  ‘See you in Theatre?’ Sarah asked, and he heard anxiety in her voice.

  Instead of calmly and quietly discussing what lay ahead of them, he’d been fuming over her withdrawal from him—a withdrawal he deserved. After all, he was the one with commitments.

  He nodded a reply then calmed himself down before seeking out Miryam, wanting to speak to her, reassure her, before he had to change for Theatre.

  His youngest sister was in the theatre waiting room, together with his mother, two other sisters and a horde of aunts and cousins crammed into what he’d always thought a reasonably sized room.

  His mother seized him first.

  And right at the back of the crowded room, his father, sitting in an armchair, two grandchildren on his knee, quietly watching over his family.

  ‘She’s here, the doctor?’ his mother demanded, and Harry assured not only her but all the clamouring relations that Dr Watson had indeed arrived and would be in Theatre within minutes.

  He took Miryam’s hands in his.

  ‘I know it’s hard to think so young a baby, your baby, has to have an operation, but it is simple and Dr Watson is an excellent surgeon. I will stand behind her and tell her what to do. She will be my hands, so your baby’s life will be in my hands, as you wished.’

  He kissed her cheek then held her close for a moment, though inwardly aware that it was his sister’s insistence he operate that had brought him and Sarah together again.

  Having done the same operation with Sarah once, he had known this was the safest way to proceed. Other paediatric surgeons would have their own ways of working and would not want him hovering over them. But while having Sarah close again when he’d been trying to convince himself it was all over was bad enough, having her close and untouchable was even worse.

  He had to stop thinking about their relationship—or lack of it—and direct all his thoughts to what lay ahead.

  Focus on his sister’s baby—his nephew. This was family.

  All his attention must be focussed on the baby.

  He could do this, he reminded himself as he introduced Sarah to the team already in place, then stood beside her but a little behind her, to keep out of the way of people operating instruments.

  He could do this, although as he spoke and her hands moved, he felt as if they were not two people but two parts of a whole, working in tandem, the feel of her body close to his so familiar it was like part of him, her fingers on the scalpel his as well as hers.

  It was a slow and careful process. So tiny an infant had a lot of very necessary paraphernalia tucked into his little body, all of which must be kept intact.

  But Sarah never lagged, never slumped or hesitated, her hands sure and steady as he told them what to do.

  And when the job was done, the baby taken to Recovery, he touched Sarah on the shoulder. Her hair was hidden by the theatre cap, her face pale from the strain of the work she’d done, but to him she was as beautiful as he had ever seen her.

  He couldn’t let it end.

  Not the way it had, and not now, with hard words between them.

  Yes, it had been a fling, but there’d been something deeper between them, something he was sure Sarah felt as keenly as he did. It was up to him to give them more time together—time to look past the passion that they’d shared and maybe just
a little way into the future.

  Time...

  ‘I have a few things to do,’ he said, ‘the family to see. Will you wait for me in the tea room?’

  She looked at him as if trying to assess his reasoning, but in the end smiled and nodded.

  ‘I could be a while,’ he added.

  She simply said, ‘I’ll wait.’

  Right! Family first—reassurances for Miryam, then a quiet word with his mother. She would know the best way to go about things, and, though undoubtedly she’d be disappointed in his decision, she’d understand it was the right thing to do.

  Probably!

  * * *

  Sarah waited in the tea room, nibbling at the delicate pastries that were brought to her, chatting to other staff who’d been in Theatre with her as they stopped for tea or coffee before heading back to whatever jobs they had to do.

  They came and went through an inner door, so when the outer door opened she turned, expecting it to be Harry, feeling disappointment when she saw the traditionally dressed woman, a long black cloak covering whatever she was wearing underneath, a headscarf wrapped in some mysterious fashion around her hair.

  Miryam, the baby’s mother!

  She moved on soundless feet across the room, sinking down beside Sarah, taking her hand.

  ‘I must thank you for what you did today, for saving my baby. I know Rahman feels the loss of his profession very keenly, and he must have great trust in you to ask you to do it.’

  Sarah, embarrassed by the praise, tried to brush it away.

  ‘It was nothing—anyone would have done it—’

  ‘No, not anyone. Only someone who has lost a child would understand my terror. Rahman told me of your accident. It makes your action today even braver.’

  Tears were sliding down Miryam’s face, and Sarah put her arm around the woman, blinking away her own tears.

  ‘There, he’ll be all right now and I would think he’ll be out of Recovery very soon. You’ll want to be with him, I know.’