A Sheikh To Capture Her Heart
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Well, she was a doctor!
‘Is he okay?’ she asked Sam.
‘Ask him yourself,’ Sam retorted, and the sea-green eyes set in that pale creamy skin turned towards him, narrowing slightly.
‘Are you?’ she demanded.
‘Hey, be nice. He’s a patient,’ Sam reminded her.
‘Yours, not mine. I just happened to be there when he strolled through reef waters without anything on his feet.’
She didn’t actually add the idiot, but the words hung in a bubble in the air between them.
But even with her contempt there for all to see, she was beautiful. He knew it was probably her colouring that he found so fascinating: the vibrant hair, the pale skin, the flashing green eyes. Things he’d noticed way back when they’d first met.
But now he sensed something deeper in her that drew him inexorably to her.
Hidden pain?
He knew all about that.
Didn’t it stab him every day when he felt the tremor in his hand as he shaved?
So grow a beard, a mocking voice within suggested, and Harry closed his eyes, against the voice and the woman.
‘I just popped in to make sure he’d made it safely up here,’ the woman said. ‘So, see you two tomorrow.’
Sam stopped her retreat with a touch on her arm.
Harry suppressed a growl that rose in his throat. It had hardly been a lover’s touch and, anyway, what business of his was it who touched her?
‘Actually, Sarah,’ Sam was saying, ‘if you could spare a few minutes, I’d like you to stay around until the drip’s finished. We were actually at a staff meeting up at the house and your phone call switched through to there. Mina’s here for the other patients, but I think Harry should be watched.’
I have to watch him?
Sarah nodded in reply to Sam’s request, telling herself it didn’t mean watch watch, just to check on him now and then.
But watching him—he’d opened his eyes briefly as Sam spoke but they were closed again—actually looking at him might be a good idea. She could start by confirming her impressions of his physical appearance and maybe that would help sort out why the man made her so uneasy.
Why he stirred responses deep inside her that she hadn’t felt for four years …
For sure he was good looking. Olive-skinned, dark-haired, strong face, with a straight nose and solid chin. The lips softened it just a little, beautifully shaped—sensual—
Get with it, Sarah!
Stop this nonsense!
‘Are you looking at me?’
Surprisingly pale eyes—grey—opened, and black eyebrows rose.
‘Not looking, just watching—that’s what I was asked to do, remember.’
‘Not much difference, I’d have thought,’ the wretch said, with the merest hint of a smile sliding across those sens—
His lips!
She turned her attention to the monitor. The blood-pressure cuff was just inflating, so at least she had something to watch.
A little high, but the pain would only just be subsiding, so that was to be expected.
‘Tell me if you feel any reaction to the antivenin,’ she told him. ‘Nausea, faintness …’
He opened one eye and raised the eyebrow above it as if to say, is that all you’ve got?
She almost smiled then realised smiling at this man might be downright dangerous, so she walked out into the main room and found a magazine that was only four years old, grabbed a chair, and returned with it to the emergency cubicle to sit as far as possible from the man as she could get in the curtained alcove and still see the monitor.
He appeared to be asleep, and she tried hard to give her full attention to an article about the various cosmetic procedures currently in vogue in the US.
And failed.
The stonefish wound was in his right foot, so it had been his right arm she’d had around her shoulder as she’d taken some of his weight to get him back to the bure.
Had she felt a tremor in it?
Looking at him now, the arm in question was lying still on the bed. Or was it gripping the bed?
Parkinson’s patients she’d encountered in the past found tremors in their arms and hands worsened when they relaxed but lessened when they held something. Would that hold true for tremors induced by encephalitis or was a different part of the brain affected?
And just why was she interested?
She sighed and tried to tell herself it was because the surgery world had been shocked to learn the results of his brush with encephalitis. Shocked that such a talented and skilful man had been lost to surgery.
But she wasn’t here to wonder about his tremor. That was his business.
She was here to watch him, not worry about his past or the problems he faced now.
She turned her attention from the monitor to the man.
His eyes were open, studying her in turn, and although she’d have liked to turn away, she knew doing so would be an admission that he disturbed her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, those strange pale eyes holding hers. ‘I had no right to throw such a petty, personal, ridiculous remark at you. All my friends tell me I’m over-sensitive about the results of my illness, but that’s no excuse.’
Now she did look instead of watching, looked and saw the apology mirrored in his eyes.
She almost weakened because the man had been through hell.
And to a certain extent hadn’t she opted out as well, heading away from home as fast as she could, taking a job that meant she didn’t have to settle in one place, make friends, get hurt by loss again?
But she hadn’t been a genius at what she did and this man had. The world needed him and people like him.
Straightening her shoulders, she met his eyes and said, ‘Well, if you’re expecting an apology from me, forget it. I meant every word I said. You must have any number of minions who could run around checking on the facilities and programmes you’ve sent up. By doing it yourself, you’re wasting such skill and talent it’s almost criminal.’
And on that note she would have departed, except she was stuck there—watching him.
Watching him raise that mobile eyebrow once again.
‘Minions?’
The humour lurking in the word raised her anger.
‘You know exactly what I mean,’ she snapped, and he nodded.
Thinking she’d got the last word, she prepared to depart, or at least back as far away as possible from him.
‘But we had met before—you’ll admit that now!’ he said.
So much for having the last word! He’d not only sneaked that one in but he’d brought back the memories—of that wonderful day at GOSH and the horror of its aftermath.
Her heart was beating so fast it was a wonder the patient couldn’t hear it, and a sob of anguish wasn’t far away. The curtain sliding back saved her from total humiliation as she burst into tears in front of this man.
Caroline Lockhart, one of the permanent nurses at the hospital, appeared, flashing such a happy smile that Sarah couldn’t not smile back at her.
‘I’m to take over,’ Caroline said quietly. ‘Sam says thanks for the hand. We were discussing how best to spend a rather large donation we’ve just received—working out what’s needed most. Since you overwhelmed us with the equipment needed for endoscopies and keyhole surgery, the theatre’s pretty well sorted. But if you have any other ideas, let someone know.’
Sarah nodded and stood up, wanting to get as far away as possible. Caroline’s words had added a further layer to her pain. Getting compensation for the accident that had taken her husband and unborn child four years after the event had been traumatic to say the least—how could money possibly replace a husband and son?—so her immediate reaction had been to get rid of it as quickly as possible.
And because it was the leisurely pace and overwhelming beauty of this magic island where she’d finally begun to put the broken pieces of herself back together again, wasn’t it right she give something back?
She made her way out of the rear of the hospital, down to the little villa where she stayed when she was here, and tapped on the door of the villa next door to remind her anaesthetist they had an early start in the morning.
Ben was clad in board shorts, his hair ruffled and a vague expression on his face.
‘Did I catch you at a bad moment?’ she asked.
‘Halfway through dismembering a body,’ he replied, and Sarah grinned.
Ben was an excellent anaesthetist and didn’t mind the travel, but apparently he was an even better writer, his sixth murder mystery hitting top-seller lists. It was only a matter of time before he was making enough money from his writing to support himself and she’d have to find a new anaesthetist willing to travel to isolated places in outback Queensland, and to Wildfire in the M’Langi group of islands.
‘We’re doing that thyroidectomy tomorrow. You all set?’ she asked.
He raised his hand in a mocking salute.
‘Ready as ever, ma’am,’ he said, the words telling her he was still lost in his book—one of his characters talking.
But lost though he was at the moment, she knew he’d be fully focussed in the morning.
‘Our patient came in this afternoon, if you want to pop over the hospital tonight to talk to her. I’d say the op will take three to four hours, depending on any complications, and she’s had some complications with her heart so we’ll have to watch her.
Ben nodded.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be right. I’ve already read up on her and checked with my old boss back in Sydney about the level of drug use. We’ll be fine.’
Ben was about to back away, obviously anxious to get back to what he considered his real work, when he paused, then reached out and touched her cheek.
‘Have you been crying?’ There was suspicion and a touch of anger in his voice, and in his eyes. ‘Did someone upset you?’
Sarah forced a smile onto her lips and fixed it there. She was only too aware of how protective Ben was of her, once taking on the boss of an outback hospital when he’d wanted her to work beyond regulation safe hours.
‘I’m fine,’ she told him, taking his hand from her cheek and giving his fingers a ‘thank you’ squeeze.
‘Well, I hope you are,’ he said, before disappearing back into his villa, from which Sarah could almost hear his computer calling to him.
But the little white lie had made her feel better, so instead of hiding away in her island home, she walked to the top of the cliffs above Sunset Beach to catch the last fiery blast of the sunset.
Except she’d missed it. The soft pinks and mauves and violets, however, were still stunningly beautiful and like a soothing balm to her aching heart.
CHAPTER TWO
KEANU DROVE HARRY back to his bure, offering to stay for a while, though Harry could see he was itching to get into the newly refurbished laboratories. As well as Harry’s team working towards clinical trials of an encephalitis vaccine, other scientists were welcome to use the facilities, and Keanu’s passion at the moment—apart from his fiancée, Caroline, and saving the island’s gold mine—was examining the properties of M’Langi tea, a project started by his father many years ago.
‘Are you getting anywhere?’ Harry asked the young doctor.
Keanu shook his head.
‘We know we have fewer encephalitis cases than other South Sea islands and the only difference as far as diet is concerned is this tea we drink.’
Harry nodded.
Keanu’s work fitted with what his team was doing, but the two strands needed to be studied separately.
Keanu pulled up outside the bure and came around to help Harry inside.
But he sat for a moment, wondering if he might not be better off going up to the lab, making himself useful.
Or would he be a nuisance to his ‘minions’, as Sarah Watson had described them?
Of course he would, limping and still in some pain as he was. Besides, meticulous research work was not his thing—he was far too impatient.
Though not in surgery …
‘Thanks, Keanu, I can hop from here,’ he said, waving away the man’s assistance, his traitorous mind thinking of the last person who’d helped him inside the building.
Maybe it was lemons, not vinegar—or something a little tarter …
Limes?
Hobbling up the two steps, his foot still in pain, he shook his head at his stupidity. Sarah had made her feelings clear when she’d let fly about his behaviour, neither could he have failed to feel the contempt in her words.
Deserved contempt?
Probably!
Forget the woman!
Easier said than done.
Women usually lingered pleasantly in his head, small, special moments of past relationships stored neatly away like boxes in a storeroom in his brain.
But this woman …
No way she’d stay in a box!
Perhaps because they hadn’t had a relationship.
They’d been nothing more than ships that had passed in the night!
She’d been pregnant. She obviously had a family—husband and child—or at least the child.
So why the job of flying surgeon?
She’d be home, what, one week in four or five? Hardly a good arrangement for family life.
And none of his business …
Sarah loved operating in the small but brilliant theatre at Wildfire. Double-glazed windows let in natural light while allowing the room to be airconditioned, and through them she could see the tangle of treetops and vines in the rainforest that ran up the hill behind the hospital.
Added to which Sam was an excellent assistant, competent in his own right to perform routine operations but unable to take time out of his busy schedule to do regular surgical work. Hettie, the head nurse, and Caroline both enjoyed theatre nursing so, with Ben, she had a great team.
The patient was sedated, breathing through an endotracheal tube, and Sarah was about to begin when she sensed, rather than saw, another person enter the room.
Sensed who it was, too.
‘Glad you felt well enough to come up,’ Sam said cheerfully to the newcomer, who was still somewhere behind Sarah as she lifted a scalpel off the tray, ready to begin. ‘It’s not often we can show off our theatre to someone who’s seen the best.’
‘Thank you for inviting me.’
The deep voice reverberated down Sarah’s spine, and she had to focus on the lines she’d drawn on the patient’s neck and breathe deeply for a moment to steady her nerves.
Sam glanced at her, the retractors in his hand, ready to begin, while Hettie shifted a little impatiently, ready to cauterise tiny blood vessels.
Sarah began, although a tiny portion of her mind was protesting that it was her theatre right now and she could ask him to leave.
When the hospital boss had invited him?
She focussed fully on the patient, cutting into the throat in a crease in the woman’s neck so the scar would be next to invisible. The parathyroid glands lay directly behind the thyroid, so at the forefront of her mind her brain was locating and isolating them so they wouldn’t be damaged.
The area was also filled with important nerves and blood vessels, not to mention the larynx, just above the gland, so it was easy to lose herself in the meticulous work, excluding all outside factors.
Three hours later the glands had been removed and Sarah was checking they’d cauterised all the blood vessels in the incision.
‘I’ll close for you if you like,’ Sam offered, and, knowing how much he enjoyed being part of the surgery, Sarah stepped back, only too happy to let him finish the job.
‘Do you want a drain in place?” he asked, and she checked the open wound again.
‘No, it’s clean,’ she said. ‘Good job, team.’
She crossed the theatre towards the washrooms, stripping off her gloves and gown and dumping them in a bin by the door. Still clad in the highly unflattering green hospital scrubs, she turned to push her way through the door, finally catching sight of the unexpected onlooker.
He’d obviously been masked as he’d stood outside the sterile area of the theatre. Now the white strip of paper hung around his neck, resting on the collar of a dark blue polo shirt that clung to a chest any athlete would be proud to display.
And just why had she been looking at his chest?
To avoid looking at his face?
Probably!
But what was it about the man that drew her eyes?
More than her eyes … Her senses.
Forget him!
She felt strongly about his opting out of the world of paediatric surgery. From all she’d seen and read, he’d been truly gifted.
And he’d made her cry!
Twice!
So why was she even thinking about him?
She stripped off her clothes, showered, and pulled on a pair of white slacks and a black and white striped tee that was old and faded but very soft and comforting. Pushing her feet into sandals, she went out the back door of the changing room and along the corridor to the rear of the hospital, heading for her villa.
Ben was in charge of their patient now, and would keep an eye on her in the recovery room. Sarah would see her in the morning.
The first thing she saw as she walked into the villa was the jug from Harry’s bure—the jug she’d carried away with her as she’d fled the man’s taunt.
Well, he was up at the hospital with Sam right now, so she’d duck down to the resort and leave it outside his door. She grabbed her hat, a large droopy-brimmed black creation, off the hook by the door.
The ducking down to his island home would have worked if he hadn’t overtaken her as she strolled down the track, admiring the beautiful, lush gardens and isolated bures.
Finding he’d lost interest in the hospital once Sarah had departed, Harry made his way across the airstrip and onto the track that led through the resort.
The figure striding ahead of him was instantly recognisable despite the floppy black hat covering her glorious hair.
Glorious hair?
He really was losing it with this woman …
This woman he’d hurt when he’d hit out at her.
Unforgiveable, really.
‘Going my way?’
She started at his voice, but perhaps because it was such a corny thing to say she also smiled and held up the jug.
‘Returning your property, but now you’re here I can give it to you.’
She turned towards him, pushing the jug into his hands, their fingers touching, time suspended.
‘Have lunch with me?’
The invitation coming out like it had startled him, and apparently was so unexpected Sarah could only peer up at him from under the hat.
What did she see?
His regret?
Or had she heard a hint of desperation in his voice? She thought for a moment then said yes.
She seemed as startled as he’d been by the acceptance, but he couldn’t hide his pleasure, smiling as he took her elbow to walk her down the track.
His foot still pained him but he tried to hide it, then wondered if was kindness because he was limping that had made her say yes and hadn’t shaken off his hand.
Probably!
Harry’s light touch on her elbow was causing Sarah’s body all the same manifestations of attraction she’d first felt as she’d helped him out of the water the previous day.
The same manifestations that had so confused her she’d ranted at the man about his life choice!
He didn’t speak until they’d reached his island home. He walked her through the room where she’d given him first aid and out to a trellis-covered deck.
He waved his hand towards a cushioned cane chair, then sat down opposite her, looking at her, studying her as she pulled off the hat and shook out her hair—studying her as if to really look at her was the sole reason he’d brought her there.
The strange part was she didn’t mind, not when it gave her time to study him—to try to work out just what was at play here.
A subliminal link from the past—back when both their lives had been so different?
Or something more basic, even earthy … Simple attraction?
Was attraction ever simple?
And not having experienced it for so long, how could she be sure that’s what it was?
‘Cold drink? Juice?’ he finally asked, and Sarah wondered if she’d imagined that brief moment of mutual interest.
‘Cold water would be great,’ she said, then sank thankfully back into the chair as he disappeared inside.
Relief washed through her but it didn’t entirely release the inner tension she was feeling—or the strange, almost magnetic force this man exerted over her.
Saying yes to lunch—sitting staring at him—this wasn’t her. Sarah Watson was practical, organised, totally self-contained, and content with the new life she’d made for herself.
He reappeared carrying a large tray, the jug she’d just returned set in the middle of it, surrounded by platters of sliced tropical fruit, curls of finely cut meat, chunks of cheese and a cane basket filled with soft rolls and bruschetta.
‘One moment,’ he said, disappearing inside again, then reappearing with plates, glasses, cutlery, napkins and a smaller tray containing little dishes of butter and relishes.
‘Wow? You did all this in a matter of minutes?’ Sarah said, looking up at him as he checked they had everything they needed.
‘Minions,’ he said briefly, placing a plate and glass in front of her. ‘The resort staff bring me a lunch this size every day, although I keep telling them there’s only one of me and I can’t possibly eat it all.’
‘So you asked me to lunch to help you out?’ Sarah teased, looking up at him.
He held her gaze for an instant then shook his head.
‘Heaven only knows why I asked you to lunch,’ he growled, a puzzled frown drawing his dark eyebrows together. ‘It just seemed to come out of me, but as both Sam and Caroline have ripped strips off me for upsetting you, maybe my conscience made the call.’
So Sam had seen her crying as she’d left the bure, and Caroline had definitely seen she’d been upset in the ER yesterday …
But tearing strips off him?
She concentrated on the lunch, forking some sliced fruit onto her plate, taking a piece of bruschetta, some cheese—
‘You obviously know my recent history, but what happened to you?’ he asked, his voice gentler now, his eyes on hers, not on the plate already filled with meat and cheese that he was holding in his hand.
She frowned at the intrusive question, selected a piece of melon, didn’t answer.
‘You don’t have to answer, of course, but I’ve obviously upset you, and I wouldn’t knowingly do that. Not for the world.’
She had to look at him now, and she saw not only concern but empathy in his eyes.
It would be so easy to tell him, to excuse her rudeness to him by revealing why remembering the night they’d first met had caused her so much pain.
Yet still she hesitated, until he moved his chair closer, lifted the plate from her hands and set it on the table, then took one of her hands in both of his and looked deep into her eyes.
‘What happened to your ambition to practise paediatric surgery, to the child you carried? What was so terrible it sent you halfway across the world to take on the itinerant work you do?’
His words were almost hesitant, so much so she knew it wasn’t curiosity but some deeper need to know.
The same need to know that she felt about him—a need to know more of this man.
Although she left her hand where it was, she couldn’t look at him, chewing at the melon when it had already dissolved to mush in her mouth.
‘I watched you today,’ he continued, genuine interest in his voice. ‘You’re a natural surgeon, the instruments are like extensions of your fingers, and your hands move almost without messages from your brain. You were so enthusiastic about paediatric surgery—’
‘So were you!’ She shot the reminder at him. ‘Stuff happens, as well you know.’
He didn’t reply, studying her again, then gave a rough shake of his head.