Falling for the Sheikh She Shouldn't

‘Readers will be delighted not only to get an insiders’

peek at the Outback, but also to be introduced to the

exotic Bali landscape. With these lush backdrops

and complex characters this is a first-rate tale.’

—RT Book Reviews on HARRY ST CLAIR: ROGUE OR DOCTOR?

About the Author

A mother to five sons, FIONA MCARTHUR is an Australian midwife who loves to write. Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance gives Fiona the scope to write about all the wonderful aspects of adventure, romance, medicine and midwifery that she feels so passionate about—as well as an excuse to travel! Now that her boys are older, Fiona and her husband Ian are off to meet new people, see new places, and have wonderful adventures. Fiona’s website is at www.fionamcarthur.com

Also by Fiona McArthur:

SURVIVAL GUIDE TO DATING YOUR BOSS

HARRY ST CLAIR: ROGUE OR DOCTOR?

MIDWIFE, MOTHER…ITALIAN’S WIFE* MIDWIFE IN THE FAMILY WAY* THE MIDWIFE AND THE MILLIONAIRE MIDWIFE IN A MILLION

* Lyrebird Lake Maternity

These books are also available in ebook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

Falling for

the Sheikh

She Shouldn’t

Fiona McArthur

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Trishabella—who makes me smile.

CHAPTER ONE

THE lift doors opened. Prince Zafar Aasim Al Zamid stepped inside and to his disgust his heart began to pound.

Someone slipped past him into the elevator and he couldn’t help the deeper breath he took as the doors shut. A drift of orange soap vividly recalled the memory of fruit-laden trees in the palace grounds as a child, and, by association, the memory soothed him.

Thoughts that calmed were an excellent idea. Life had been much less complicated then. He opened his eyes as the lift shifted under his feet.

Lately he’d been acquiring phobias like new shirts. Since the crash it had been heights, now elevators—worse every ascent—until even a closing door caused symptoms. Perhaps it was a sign the claustrophobia in his life had worsened since he’d been forced to give up his work in favour of royal duty.

He would address his inner calm with the solitude of a retreat as soon as he sorted this latest mess. The vastness of the desert always made his problems seem less significant.

For the moment he was cramped and palpitating in a lift with the painful reminder of all he’d lost. This particular enclosed space held a fragile-looking new mum with a baby in one arm, a beaming new father clutching a balloon, and thankfully the orange-scented woman as well, dispensing an aura of tranquillity.

The metallic ‘It’s A Boy’ helium balloon bobbed towards him and Zafar leant closer to the wall and regretted his decision to stay at this hotel. A baby hotel. The last place he needed to be. The image he carried of his tiny son’s body flickered in his mind and he forced it away. Such happy families were constant reminders he could have done without but the stakes were high.

He had hoped to find Fadia, his estranged cousin, prior to the birth but time was against him. He’d discovered she planned to convalesce here instead of hospital if he arrived too late to find her beforehand.

The lift jerked and his pulse thundered in his ears.

The balloon wielder tugged on the string as the proud new dad hailed the woman. ‘Carmen! We didn’t get a chance to thank you.’ He grabbed the woman’s hand and shook it vigorously. ‘You were amazing.’

The woman retrieved her hand and smiled at the young mother. ‘Hello, again, Lisa, Jock. Lisa was the amazing one.’

Her voice soothed like a cool hand to his forehead and, infinitesimally, a little more of his agitation drained away as the phobia receded. Thankfully. It would be useful if his psyche finally accepted the obscenity of irrational fears.

‘It was a beautiful birth.’ She cast Zafar a swift apologetic look for their exclusive conversation, and the unexpected impact of her one glance collided with his, as if that ridiculous balloon had bumped him, before she turned back to the father.

Medical background, he concluded, and dismissed the stab of frustration the loss of his career left him with. Midwife probably. He’d met women like her before—those natural soothers who could create a rapport with strangers without effort.

He lifted his head and glanced over her. Anything was good to take his mind off the ascent through the lift well.

Thankfully his phobia retreated by the second as he studied her. She had thick black hair coiled on her head like rope. An Irish accent. Carmen seemed more Spanish than Irish yet she suited her name.

He watched her mouth as she said, ‘How is young Brody?’

Jock laughed, loudly, and Zafar winced as the noise jarred his ears. ‘He’s a bruiser.’ The father’s pride resonated within the four walls as the lift stopped at the fifth floor with an extra jolt. The cage floor fell six inches and bounced before it came back to the level. Everyone laughed nervously, except Zafar. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

There was rustling and movement as the lift emptied and the father’s voice, a little further away now. ‘We’ll see you soon, then.’

‘I’ll be down as soon as I have handover report from the morning midwife.’ So Carmen was still in the lift. He opened his eyes as she waved at the couple.

‘That’s great. We’ll see you then.’ Zafar noted the relief in the father’s face and his mind clutched at the distraction of wondering about this trend of moving postnatal women from the hospital into hotels to recover from birth.

Not something he was familiar with but it made sense when he thought about it. A place of quiet comfort, fewer germs, useful for the hospital to have quick turnover and quite appropriate if your health fund covered it.

The lift doors closed silently, though the cage remained stationary, and he returned to contemplate the lights on the panel above the door despite the insidious desire to study the woman called Carmen more closely.

She stepped back and seemed to lean into the wall.

He knew she was tall because her head came above his shoulders and her knot of hair had been near his nose as she’d drifted orange blossom his way. The lift still didn’t move. Seconds to go and he would be able to breathe properly again.

He glanced at her from under his lashes and saw her eyes were shut. He frowned. Not a usual occurrence when he shared space with a woman. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been ignored. In repose she appeared weary. Too weary?

His concern increased. ‘Are you unwell?’

Her eyes flew open and she straightened. ‘Good grief.’ She blinked at him and then focussed. ‘A micro-sleep. Sorry. I’ve been on night shift. It’s been a busy week.’

Suddenly he felt empathetic to a perfect stranger because he could remember that weariness from a string of busy days and nights during his internship. Lack of sleep he’d grumbled about, but now the choice was no longer his, he’d love to suffer from that inconvenience again.

That was the problem with returning to Sydney. It reminded him that he wasn’t living the life he’d once loved. Made him feel frustration he shouldn’t feel towards his duty to Zandorro.

The elevator jerked, ground upwards for a few inches. The sooner the better, he thought, then the lift bounced suddenly as the cable stopped.

His breath caught as he waited. The doors didn’t open and the light sat on neither five nor six. Midway between floors. Stopped.

This was not good. He felt his heart rate shift gear, double before his next breath, his chest tightened, and air jammed in his lungs.

‘I am so not in the mood for this.’ Zafar heard her in the distance as he tried to loosen his throat. He sank down onto his haunches and put one hand on the wall to give himself more blood to his head. With his other he loosened his collar.

The lift was suddenly the cabin of the private jet. His family would plunge in a few spiralling seconds and there was not a thing he could do about it. So now it was his destiny to die. It was almost a relief. And he’d complained about being in line for the throne.

Distantly he realised she’d picked up the phone and spoken to the operator. When he heard her re-seat the instrument she bent down to him. ‘You okay?’

He didn’t refocus his eyes off the floor until he felt her hand on his arm—warm, firm, comfort personified—and not letting go. He had the bizarre idea he couldn’t fall anywhere while she held him. Yet all she did was share touch without moving. He breathed with difficulty through his nose and inhaled drifts of orange. Incredibly steadying, like a shot of Valium through his bloodstream.

He sucked air through clenched teeth and the light-headedness faded a little. This was ridiculous. Irrational. Acutely embarrassing. He forced himself to look into her face. She had dark golden eyes, like burnt twisted treacle, calm and wise and filled with compassion. Mesmerising up close. ‘You’re a nurse?’

Her eyes crinkled and his chest eased a little more. ‘Sort of. I’m a midwife. Do you need some deep breathing?’

‘I’m not in labour.’ But this was hard work. He shut his eyes again. ‘Possibly.’

‘Do you have a phobia?’ The same gentle conversational voice as if she’d asked if he needed sugar in his tea.

The demons from the past battered against him. He strove to keep his voice level. ‘So it seems.’

She sank down. He heard the rustle of fabric and felt the slight brush of her leg as she settled herself beside him on the floor. Her hand rested still on his arm, not moving, as if to transfer energy and calmness from her to him. It seemed to be working. ‘What’s your name?

He had many. ‘Zafar.’

She paused and he felt her appraisal until he opened his eyes again. Her golden interest captured his. ‘Well, Zafar. I’m Carmen. I’ve been stuck in this lift three times this week. Big, deep breaths should help.’

Deep breaths might be difficult. ‘It is a battle with small ones.’

Coaxing. ‘You can do a couple.’

He wasn’t sure but the fact that she’d lived through this three times did help. He was feeling faint again. ‘A rule of threes?’

‘In through your nose…’

Intolerably bossy woman. ‘Out through my mouth. Yes, I know.’

Her voice firmed. Like his mother’s from the distant past. The time of orange trees. ‘Then do it.’

He humoured her. And felt better. Actually, quite a lot better so he did it again. With her sitting below him he had a delightful view down the valley between her breasts. He glanced away politely but could feel himself improve every second with the picture in his mind. Surely a harmless medicinal remedy.

Imagine if the lift had still been full. He mentally shuddered. There was just her to see this weakness. Thankfully he’d sent his bodyguard and secretary to the suite. In future the stairs would be good for his fitness. Once free, he’d never see this woman again. A good thing, and a shame.

At least it seemed his brain had accepted death was unlikely.

And she had the most incredible breasts but he wasn’t going to look again—his gaze travelled back to her face—and a delightful mouth. Those lips… His body stirred. A mouth designed by angels and plump for surrender if he was willing to risk life and limb for it. She may be calm but she looked very capable of protecting herself despite the weariness. His lips twitched.

‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Much.’ Better than she knew. He watched with some amusement as she slowly recognised the direction of his fascination until she stared straight back at him and raised her brows.

She removed her hand from his arm and she shook her head. ‘Tsk tsk.’

The lift jerked and resumed its ascent. Zafar shut his eyes briefly but the panic had gone.

It seemed she was good at her job. He straightened until he stood with his feet firm beneath him, reached down and took her hand to help her up. Such a lovely hand, but workworn. She rose fluidly into his space, as he’d intended.

For that moment as their glances met he forgot the lift, the heights, the strain his life was, all except this unexpected awareness between them that swept away their surroundings, so enmeshed in this unexpected connection that when he said, ‘Thank you,’ the words hung in the air between them like mist.

An imp of mischief drew his head closer. He expected her to pull away. ‘You’re very kind… and incredibly beautiful.’ He stroked her cheek, his gaze drawn once more to her ripe and luscious mouth.

She did the unpredicted. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’ He heard it in her voice, a note of sympathy that horrified him. Pity?

He recoiled. He needed no one’s compassion.

The elevator jolted and the doors opened on seven. They’d missed six altogether. She turned away from him with a frown on her entrancing face.

There was some consolation in the way she compressed her lips together as if to hide the way they’d plumped and reddened in anticipation… of what? The almost brush of his lips on hers? So she had felt something too?

‘You certainly look better.’ Her comment made him smile again, the dryness hiding undertones he couldn’t identify, but there was a subtle flush of colour to her cheeks and her wide eyes searched his face as if seeking a hint of what had passed between them during the last few frozen moments.

Despite his urge to throw himself out of the lift to safety, Zafar stretched his hand across the doors to allow her to precede him. ‘My apologies for my weakness earlier.’

She assessed him with a clinical scrutiny he wasn’t used to getting from a woman and strangled back a half-laugh. ‘I doubt you’re a weak man so I’m sure you’ve good reason.’

He inclined his head.

She glanced around. ‘And I should have got out at level six.’ She turned swiftly out to the left of the lift and pulled open the door of the fire escape to go down a flight before he was fully out of the lift himself.

He started to hum. The day was not as bad as it had started out.

Carmen moved quickly to reach the door to the stairwell but she could almost feel the eyes of the man in the lift on her back.

What had just happened? Her lips tingled as if still waiting and she could detect the unusual spicy aftershave from his skin so close to hers. And what a mouth! Sinful was too tame a word. She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t been tempted.

Not the sort of encounter she’d expected today and she wasn’t entirely sure she’d behaved properly. Hopefully she wouldn’t see him again.

When the fire-escape door shut with an echoing clang she breathed a sigh of relief as she leant back against it. Cold metal against her back was lovely to counter the heat everywhere else in her body. She glanced around.

Appropriate name. Fire escape.

She definitely felt a bit singed on the edges—like a ragged sleeve too close to a candle—ragged and breathless. She touched her lips. Burnt and hot without even touching him.

She glanced around again, reassured in a dark stairwell with unpainted concrete stairs and the echo of empty walls, but there was no doubt she was glad of the sanctuary afforded her.

One would have thought she’d learnt her lesson from her ex-husband about smooth-talking men in expensive suits who seduced you and then destroyed your life.

Still. One almost slip didn’t make a disaster. She hoped.

Eighteen hours later Carmen O’Shannessy admired the gifts Mother Nature had bestowed on her at five that morning with a soft smile. She knew there was a reason she loved night duty, apart from the fact it allowed her to do two jobs.

Twins. Dark-haired cherubs with skin like dusky rosebuds. Her patient, Fadia Smith, rested back in the armchair like Madonna with her sons poking out under her arms like tiny bundled wings. It had taken a little juggling, a few attempts, and almost an hour of patience, but with both boys feeding well this moment was a very satisfying end to a drama-filled morning.

It had been a long time since Carmen had seen twins born with so little fuss but, then, Fadia hadn’t left them with much choice. Her cumbersome arrival alone and a bare five minutes before her first son appeared had left Carmen literally catching the baby. By the time the obstetrician and his entourage had arrived, number two had also decided to greet the outside world and Dr Bennett had waved her on with an incredulous smile.

To continue their no-fuss arrival, both wee boys had cried and then settled on their mother’s skin. While they appeared small, there were no signs of prematurity or respiratory distress.

That would be unlike the breathless-from-running neonatal staff, who’d drifted back to their unit unneeded shortly afterwards. Carmen still smiled over their shock when she’d rung for help.

Two hours later Carmen should’ve been feeling ready to hand Fadia over to the day staff and go home. ‘You sure I can’t phone someone for you?’ Something niggled.

Fadia seemed very sad. On cue with the question, Fadia jumped in the chair and the two babies stopped their sucking with startled eyes before resettling to their feed.

Their mother forced herself to relax. ‘No, no. My babies are fine. I really don’t have anyone else to call. I’m a widow and there’s just a friend of my husband who’s been helping me until my relatives arrive.’

Fadia seemed determined nothing was wrong and hurried on. ‘We’re all safe.’ It seemed a strange thing to say.

‘Well, your boys weren’t waiting for anyone.’ She leaned over and stroked a tiny hand that rested on his mother’s neck. ‘You’re amazing, Fadia. Congratulations. Tilly will be looking after you today. I have to go home to my bed, and I’ll see you when you move to the baby hotel in a day or two. Have you decided on names?’

‘Harrison and Bailey. My husband’s names.’

‘Lovely. I’m sure he would have loved that.’

‘He didn’t even know I was pregnant when he was killed.’

Was killed? Not died. How horrible but not the time to ask. ‘I’m sorry. But I’m sure, somewhere, he knows. Do try and get some sleep as soon as they do.’

‘Thanks, Carmen. You’ve given me so much strength in all of this. It means so much that you weren’t cross with me for leaving it so late.’

‘You were always strong, Fadia. So amazing. And we know babies come when they want.’ Carmen grinned. ‘You must have a guardian angel. And that makes sense. Thank you for a lovely end to my night.’ She waved and almost bumped into Tilly, the day midwife, passing the door.

‘Finally going home?’ Tilly glanced at her watch.

Carmen knew she was nearly an hour late getting away already. ‘At last.’

‘You working this afternoon as well?’

‘Doing the one p.m. at the hotel till seven. I get to sleep in my bed tonight.’

Tilly shook her head. ‘Don’t know how you do it. I’d be dead doing those hours as well as night duty.’

‘I get around four hours’ sleep.’ Carmen shrugged. ‘It’s short term. But I’m starting to come down from the night’s euphoria. But I am tired now.’ She did not want to talk about this or the reason she was almost killing herself. She’d never taken help from anyone and she wasn’t going to start now.

Thankfully Tilly wasn’t slow on nuances because she changed the subject back to Fadia. ‘Well done, you, with this morning. Lucky duck. Catching twins is hard to do without a cast of thousands trying to help these days.’

‘And your Marcus didn’t push me out of the way.’

Tilly’s cheeks went pink and Carmen felt a tug of wistfulness at her friend’s happiness. A fleeting picture of the man in the lift intruded again before she pushed him away.

She hadn’t given him a thought for hours. Been far too busy. Which was a good thing. ‘It must be great to have everything in your life going well.’

Tilly said, ‘I’m fostering Marcus’s faith in midwives. I think it’s working.’ They smiled at each other.

‘And Fadia was lucky.’ Carmen’s smile dropped. ‘Her friend’s coming in at lunchtime. She’s very quiet but, then, she did lose her husband fairly recently. There’s no one else listed under “Next of kin” from her booking. Look after her, Till. We need to make sure she has somewhere to go after she’s discharged.’

‘Yes, Mother Carmen.’ Tilly’s answer was light but the look they exchanged reassured her that her friend would be extra vigilant. Tilly would be just as determined as Carmen to be there for any mother, let alone one with twins who had twice as many reasons for moments of unusual interest.

After too few hours’ sleep it was time for Carmen to dress for work again. This time she would be providing postnatal midwifery in the baby hotel, a pet name the medical profession used for the five-star beach resort that catered for a few privately insured postnatal mothers. It was another warm and fuzzy part of her job and the women she supported often existed on less sleep than she’d had so a few yawns between friends was quite acceptable.

It was even better if she’d been with the women in labour and could follow their progress until they went home.

As she pressed the lift button in the car park she couldn’t help thinking of the man on level seven. Zafar. Mysterious name. And what would have happened to him if she hadn’t been in the lift that extra floor? The memory of their close encounter burned brightest.

She screwed up her face. ‘Go away.’ The words hung quietly between her and the closed lift door and she twisted her head uneasily to make sure nobody had heard.

There’d been something incredibly vulnerable about such a virile and powerful-looking man sweating over a stalled lift. Which maybe explained a little why she hadn’t backed off more quickly.

There had been nothing vulnerable in the way he’d crowded her after, though. Or the way she’d almost dared him to kiss her. She couldn’t help the curve of her lips at the return of that memory and thought ruefully that he’d never want to see her again.

Which was fine. Her husband’s underhand conniving had taken her home, undermined her self-respect—though she supposed she should thank him because she was tougher than ever now—and taught her to reserve judgement for a long while yet.

But Zafar’s face seemed indelibly stamped in her memory. Dark, tortured eyes under black brows and a firm yet wickedly sexy mouth that captured her attention with such assurance—a mouth that looked used to command. Everywhere. She felt the re-kindling of awareness low and hot in her belly. Outrageous. She shook her head. She wasn’t going there.

The guy embodied everything she hated about men. Power and prestige. She knew he had it despite his aversion to a stalled lift, and she had no doubt he could be as cynically ruthless as he looked.

He had to have extreme wealth, of course. The very expensive watch and the suit that shrieked of a tailor her ex would have killed to find were dead giveaways. Though why he was out in the beach fringes of eastern Sydney was a mystery.

She really needed to stop thinking about him, but once inside the lift she could picture him across from her easily, too easily, in fact, for someone she’d met for five minutes twenty-four hours ago.

The lift stopped on six and she stepped out onto the main baby floor and made her way to the midwives’ room. To work, woman!

As she discussed her patients with the morning shift midwife she was surprised to hear that Fadia had already been moved to the hotel. Occasionally a very well woman with her second or subsequent baby would move across after four hours but for a first-time mum with twins it was very unusual.