“Malek …”
He had no idea if she’d gasped his name, or if he’d felt it reverberating in her mind. He’d never realized his name was so beautiful. It was, on her lips, in her mind. Where he wanted it to be, always.
He drove a hand into the depth of that mink-soft mane, his fingers combing through it soothingly, his other one pressing her face into his neck as he murmured to her in Arabic, what she made him feel, how he wanted to comfort her.
Feeling her in his arms, her hot resilience unraveling him one nerve at a time, he knew he could stop himself from taking the comforting deeper into communion, flesh to flesh, lips to lips, as easily as he could stop breathing.
He leaned back against the wall, taking her unresisting body with him, raising her with an arm around her waist, bringing her face level with his, saw in her eyes a reflection of his fever, in her trembling lips his admission of defeat. A gentle hand behind her head urged her to close the gap, end the aching, brought the sweetness of her breath scorching him, the first touch with her lips half a gasp away. And his cellphone rang.
The single-note ring went through him like a skewer.
It had an even more spectacular effect on her. She lurched, twisted off him, gasping, scrambling away from him, ending up in a heap on the opposite collection of cushions.
They stared at each other for a suspended moment. All he wanted to do was to storm up to his feet, crush his phone beneath them, then swoop down to scoop her in his arms, claim that kiss, claim her, then sweep her back to his place.
“Will you please answer that?” Her voice wobbled as her hands shook over her hair and clothes, smoothing away the signs of their surrender to insanity. “That ringtone is drilling a hole in my head. And it seems whoever it is won’t give up.”
“They will have to. Janaan …” he started, needing to fix this, continue it more slowly, or to end it at once. He didn’t know which. Or anything.
She cut through his words. “Please—just answer it. I doubt you give your number to just anyone. This may be an emergency.”
He acknowledged her logic. And that he had lost his. Probably irrevocably.
With a last glance at her he muttered a curse, retrieved his phone from his discarded jacket. He almost punched his finger through the answer button. “W’Ullahi ya Saeed …”
And the sworn promise of retribution only froze on his lips with Saeed’s first urgent words.
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHAT IS IT?”
Jay heard the shaken question spilling from her lips. She wondered if he’d heard it, understood it. She barely could.
Even ten minutes after the phone call had interrupted her headlong plunge into his arms and insanity, she still felt Malek’s body beneath hers, every sinew and bone and muscle driving into hers, liquefying her, still felt his breath scorching her face, his warm, tough fingers in her hair, until she was certain there’d be marks singed into her skin, carved into her flesh everywhere he’d touched.
She bit her lips. The almost kiss was what burned her most. Her lips were swollen, chafing, and only abusing them seemed to lessen the throbbing, curb the mad desire to obey their screaming, go bury them into the power and hard, virile beauty of his exposed neck and chest.
It didn’t help that every now and then through his call, his eyes had fallen on her, drenching her in his simmering hunger and frustration. All her nerves jangled an all-out response that had only subsided to endurable levels when he’d torn his eyes away and progressed to the next phone call.
She’d waited for him to end the last one to ask her question. But he only gave her an absent glance and started another one. Either he hadn’t heard her, or she’d been as incoherent as she’d thought. Or he didn’t think it a priority to answer her. She didn’t understand any of his barked colloquial Damhoorian, but it was enough to see the urgency in his face and body to know that something was wrong. Dreadfully wrong.
The certainty overrode her agitation, focusing her away from her own turmoil. There was an emergency. Now, if he’d only deign to tell her what it was!
He finally snapped his phone shut, looked down at her, his face a grim mask. Then he turned on his heel and strode away.
After a stunned moment she grabbed her bag and heaved herself to her feet, found him coming back with an older man in tow.
She froze at the urgency in his eyes, melted at the solicitous-ness in his hand on her bare arm.
“Janaan, this is Adnan El-Haddad, the proprietor, and he will be honored to serve you every meal from now on, whether from his establishment or any other you desire, in-house or delivered to your doorstep. And wherever you want to go and whatever you want to do in the kingdom, I’ll leave my personal driver and my top aide at your disposal, day and night, to fulfill your every demand.” He nodded to the man, waited for him to bow to her and turn away before he added, his voice plunging to bass reaches, “I would have given anything to have more time with you, but I am forced to leave you in my men’s care to attend to urgent business.”
“Will you, please, tell me what is going on?” Her demand was out, ragged, pleading, just as a sobering thought hit her. “If it’s not personal …” Though what she’d give to be of help if it was!
His brow furrowed. “Would that it were, Janaan. No—it’s a catastrophe in progress. The torrential rain that has swept our neighbor, Ashgoon, from where I just returned this morning, has hit Mejbel, a coastal region on Damhoor’s borders. Damage is spreading and the numbers of the injured, missing or dead are rising. I have to fly there immediately to organize rescue efforts, damage control and medical relief.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, gathered her to him in a hug full of apology and assurance. “I’ll be in contact as soon as everything is under control.”
With one final glance, crowded with so many emotions that she almost grabbed his face to fathom them, he turned her away from him, relinquished his hold on her gradually, ending with his fingers sliding off hers, making her feel she’d plummet down some abyss the moment he let go. Then he turned and strode away.
She stood transfixed, watching his powerful figure receding.
Then she shook off her daze and raced after him, vaguely registering the sound of approaching thunder. Once outside, she realized what it was.
A gigantic helicopter was landing in the parking lot, at least a hundred feet in length, its white fuselage giving off an eerie glow in the fading twilight and the subdued orange streetlights, the red crescent insignia on its side proclaiming it a medical transport.
Malek’s men raced to pull the door near its tail downwards, releasing in-built steps, and he rushed towards it, unbending even in the storm of the rotors’ unabated spinning.
In seconds he’d be on board, would fly away!
“Malek.”
He swung around at her frantic cry.
His face taut, he waved his men away as she ran towards him, struggling against the buffeting wind. He shouted over the din of the helicopter, “Janaan, I can’t—”
“Take me with you,” she gasped across his protest. His face froze before closing on instant and adamant rejection. Before he articulated it, she went on, “I am an emergency doctor. Who better to have on your medical relief team?”
“La ya Janaan.” She started to protest, and he gripped her arm and led her away from the chopper. Once far enough away from the noise, he looked down at her. “From early reports, conditions there are horrendous, and they will get worse before they get better.”
“So? I don’t see that stopping you.”
“It is my duty and my responsibility.”
“Ditto. I’m a doctor here, too. Helping the injured is the job description. Or am I supposed to join humanitarian missions only if they present no danger? If such missions exist.”
“How about starting with something less dangerous?”
“Like what? A drive on a satin-smooth and empty highway in broad daylight? We found out how safe that was this morning.”
His lips twitched. The next moment they were uncompromising, however, making her doubt she’d seen that sign of unwilling humor. “You’re staying here, Janaan, and that’s final.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “And what should I do while people who need my medical skill drown and die? Stay in my hotel, preferably under my bed? With my luck, Damhoor will be hit with its first earthquake and I’ll be crushed underneath it.”
He closed his eyes, visibly wrestling with his impatience. “Janaan, I don’t have time to argue—”
“Then don’t. Let me hop inside that chopper with you and let’s go do our job.”
“Your job is with GAO. Wait for their mission.” With that he turned away, his dismissal freezing her blood.
He’d just taken a couple of strides when she called out to him. He turned to scowl at her, the lights from the restaurant casting shadows on his annoyed, unyielding, brutally handsome face.
“Just to let you know, I am joining GAO’s mission—the one I’m sure they’ll organize to the afflicted region. If they don’t, I’ll fly there on my own. I’m sure any humanitarian effort will want my services. Maybe I’ll see you there.” Then she turned and ran towards the car he’d provided for her use.
Less than a heartbeat later both her arms were clamped inexorably by his hands. He couldn’t have moved so quickly!
But he was at her back, swamping her with his heat and presence, muttering to himself, “Ya Gawwi men hadi’l aneedah.”
That she got. She guessed. He was calling on God to help him endure her stubbornness.
Sure enough, he growled, “You stubborn firebrand.” Then he marched her towards the helicopter, his body shielding her from the buffeting that had almost swept her away when she’d first approached it. He took the four steps up in one bound then bent to her, scooped her up as if she weighed nothing.
As one of his men jumped inside after them and drew up the door, her heart slammed around inside her chest.
Malek still had his arm around her when minutes ago she’d been certain she’d never see him again. The fact that he was taking her with him was too much!
Her legs wobbled as he guided her through a cargo bay with dozens of folded seats lining its sides and towering crates marked as medical and relief supplies. In the next section, she saw many closed compartments flanking a bay that contained over a dozen emergency stations.
She finally located her voice and croaked, “What’s this thing? A flying hospital?”
He only gave her an inscrutable look as he steered her forward to a four-seat pressurized passenger compartment. Four men came out of what had to be the cockpit, and from what she knew of aircrews they had to be a pilot, a copilot, a navigator, and a flight engineer. She saw the respect with which they treated Malek, knew they considered him a superior—no, far more.
She had a vague idea that Damhoor had thousands of people related to the royal family who were of incredibly varying levels of importance and power. From the men’s reaction, it seemed Malek was fairly high on the royal food chain. And she couldn’t believe it hadn’t occurred to her to ask exactly what his position was! The man she’d shared so many firsts with.
Her first time as a first responder. Her first sharing of her life story with another. Her first plunge into total loss of control. So many world-shaking experiences. Her world, that was. And she knew nothing about him beyond his name, that he was a doctor and a sheikh, and obviously an important one.
Soon he sent the crew back to the cockpit, seated her and himself, fastened their seat belts, and the chopper took off without so much as a tremor.
As they soared, she felt Malek’s eyes on her. She tore her gaze away from the breathtaking sight of the glittering city receding beneath them in the deepening night and turned to him.
“In answer to your earlier question,” he drawled, “this chopper is the next best thing to a real flying hospital—it can land in Mejbel where there’s no landing strip. It’s an Mi-26MS helicopter, a Medevac version built to my specifications. It features an OR, an ER, an IC and sixteen stretcher stations. It’s carrying its top load of seventy thousand pounds of medical and relief supplies but, once unloaded, it can hold over a hundred people in the cargo bay.”
Before she could process the staggering resources and power that had secured such a giant and its equipment and supplies, his hands clamped her shoulders, turned her to him, burning more palm prints into her flesh. “So are you happy now your ruse worked?”
“What ruse?” She gaped at him.
“So cunningly giving me a choice between you being in danger with me or without me, knowing which way I’d jump.”
“I did no such thing!” she cried indignantly. “I was just telling you I didn’t need your approval to do my job!”
His gaze went on and on, boring into her, until she felt he could read her every thought. And that he would let his accusation go unwithdrawn and her protest unacknowledged.
Then he shook his head with a half amused, half incredulous sound. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I believe you.”
“Oh, I’m just thrilled! How lovely to have a slur withdrawn by such a near insult.”
His lips twisted. “Where’s the slur in the fact that females reach their goals through manipulation? And where’s the insult in my belief in your shocking deficiency in that basic skill?”
“You’d better watch it before you have an offensiveness overdose and slip into a chauvinistic coma,” she scoffed.
He barked a laugh. “If either can assure me of some solid sleep, I’d welcome it.”
She seethed at the unfairness of it all, that one person should be endowed with all that, that he’d probably make real offensiveness and chauvinism look delicious.
He adjusted his seat backwards, sprawled in a more comfortable position. “I hope you won’t think me more of an uncouth miscreant if I sleep until we reach our destination.”
She again noticed fatigue straining his face and dulling his eyes, felt contrite that she’d been the reason he’d gone an extra twelve hours without sleep, barely stopped herself from offering her bosom, or any part of her for more comfort.
“Please, go ahead. I’ll shut up now.” But before she did … “But, uh, you do believe I wasn’t being manipulative, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t have said I did if I didn’t.” His eyelids swept down until ridiculously thick lashes brushed razor-sharp cheekbones, his voice growing thicker and even more intoxicating with impending sleep. “What you did worked nevertheless. You may soon wish it hadn’t, though. I’m keeping you within three feet of me all through our time in Mejbel. And this, Janaan, is non-negotiable.”
Before she could say anything to that, he pulled her to him, bringing her head resting on his bosom, probably frying her speech centers permanently. Before his breathing fell into the regular cadence of deep sleep he murmured into her temple, “Get some sleep, Janaan. I foresee some harrowing times ahead. We’d better stock up on stamina.”
The last things Malek remembered before he surrendered to exhaustion was soaking up Janaan’s softness and warmth, filling his lungs with her scent and feeling his every nerve humming with the pleasure of her nearness.
The very things whose absence woke him up now.
He opened his eyes to the darkened cabin, felt she wasn’t there, not even on board, even before he felt that they’d landed.
Groggy with the coma-like sleep he’d plunged into, he snatched off his seat belt, heaved himself up to his feet, an unreasoning fear riding him that she’d somehow disappeared while he’d slept, that something had happened to her under his very nose.
As wakefulness chased away doubt, he was certain she’d just disembarked when they’d landed, not wanting to disturb him. And probably showing him she wouldn’t abide by his three-feet decree. He clamped his jaw. Oh, she would abide by it.
He might have succumbed to his need to have her with him, but he was keeping her within those three feet or l
ess until the crisis was over. He was sending her back, no matter what she said, if he felt he couldn’t keep her a hundred percent safe, or if he felt her unable to deal with the reality of the situation.
He stepped out of the helicopter. He had some aides he had to blast for not waking him up as soon as they’d arrived with the crisis in progress and for letting her out of the helicopter.
Then the first thing his eyes fell on a hundred feet away was her lithe figure glowing in his helicopter’s lights, her hair blowing around her and everything drained out of him but the need to be by her side.
He exhaled remnants of anxiety, inhaled steadiness for the coming ordeals then bounded across the distance separating them.
Jay stood staring at the squadron of helicopters that was landing around theirs and wondered if she could stop being stunned at the extent of resources Malek commanded.
The area around them had been turned in part into a camp for the reception of displaced people and in part into a field hospital. She was sure everything had materialized in the two hours it had taken them to get there, at his orders.
Suddenly coin-sized drops of water splashed down on her. Before she could move, it was as if floodgates had burst and there was no point in rushing away any more—or at all. She’d probably spend the next days soaking wet anyway. To make it worse, it was clear the heatwave had broken. With a vengeance.
She shuddered, raised her eyes to the sky, and even in the darkness saw the bloated clouds that promised a ceaseless deluge, and hoped Malek had estimated the site of their relief operation correctly, that it was on high enough ground not to join the afflicted areas in their watery fate.
“What have I told you about moving about without me?”
She jumped with a yelp before she subsided against him as he wrapped her in his jacket. Another thing she’d never get used to—his stealth. How could such a big man move so quietly?
He towed her to the nearest tent. “You’re soaked, and you weren’t dressed for this to start with.”
Ultimate Heroes Collection Page 83