by Kim Lawrence
‘He’s out of surgery now?’
Tariq and the doctor had spoken briefly, and though she had caught most of it she wanted to be sure she had the essential details correct.
Tariq nodded. ‘Yes, and things went very well.’
‘But they won’t know for sure until he regains consciousness?’
Tariq nodded again, his eyes on Beatrice’s face.
‘Can I see him?’
‘My father is with him at the moment. I will come and get you presently.’
It was half an hour later when Tariq returned. Beatrice, who had spent most of the interval pacing up and down, had just taken a seat when the tall, commanding figure walked in.
Tariq’s brows lifted as she leapt to her feet. The woman was wound tighter than a spring. He met her wide, anxious eyes and responded to her unspoken questions in the same tone he used to soothe stressed horses.
‘Nothing has changed.’
She relaxed slightly, but still regarded him warily. ‘You’re telling me the truth?’
A week earlier he would have been deeply affronted to have his truthfulness questioned, and Tariq stiffened. But he had almost grown to expect casual insults from Beatrice. As he read the genuine anxiety in her face, he relaxed, ‘Don’t go paranoid on me, Beatrice Devlin. Do you want to see Khalid or not?’
She nodded, and flashed him a smile of gratitude as she walked past him into the glass-walled corridor. There was a visible heavy security presence in the ultra-modern hospital that Beatrice assumed was because a high-ranking royal was a patient.
Outside Khalid’s room, Tariq paused, his hand across the entrance to prevent her entering.
‘There are tubes and bandages. Do not be alarmed by them.’
Beatrice was glad of the warning. Khalid, lying there with his head swathed in bandages and his face bruised, was a truly shocking sight. As she gazed at her un conscious friend, her face soft with compassion, another face superimposed itself momentarily over his…that of her mother. That last time Beatrice had seen Laura Devlin her body had been worn down by the disease that was killing her, and had barely been recognisable to her daughter.
Beatrice struggled to clear the image from her past, as that was not the way she liked to remember her mother. In the end it was the sound of Tariq’s rough velvet voice that enabled her to push aside the bad memory.
‘Are you all right, Beatrice?’
Aware of the comforting weight of his hand on her arm, she turned her head. She felt his fingers tighten on her arm as their glances connected, and Beatrice felt a strong compulsion to lean into him. She didn’t know if she actually swayed, or if it just felt as if she had, but she felt she was being drawn by some external magnetic force towards him.
‘I’m fine.’ She forced the husky words from her constricted throat, wondering what he’d do if she laid her head on his shoulder. Would his arms close around her? Would he push his fingers into her hair?
He’d probably call out to the guards outside the door to rescue him. Not that he had seemed to want rescuing earlier…
Tariq searched her face and looked palpably un convinced, but he did lift his hand from her arm—a move Beatrice found herself worryingly ambivalent about.
She paused a moment longer to compose herself before walking to the bed.
Across the room, Tariq watched her bend over the bed, pinning the sweet-scented swathe of her hair back with her one hand as she pressed a tender kiss to his brother’s cheek.
A nerve clenched in his lean cheek before he turned and without a word walked away.
To feel jealous of his brother at any time would be appalling, but to feel jealous when that brother was fighting for his life…His face darkened with self-revulsion. Under such cir cum stances it was utterly inexcusable.
He was the one who preached duty to his brother, and yet he was the one who had come perilously close to forgetting his duty and his honour because of an over whelming need…a mindless hunger to possess a woman. Desire flowed hotly in his veins every time he looked at her. Not even in his adolescence had he felt so little control.
Beatrice sat by the bed alone but for the doctors and nurses who appeared at intervals. She watched Khalid, willing his eyes to open, but they didn’t. Instead, after hours of vigil, while she wrestled with the twin dilemmas facing her, her own eyes closed.
It was after midnight when Tariq, the desert sand still clinging to his clothes, returned to the hospital. A doctor was emerging from his brother’s room as he approached.
The man stopped when he saw Tariq, and bowed his head in polite acknowledgment. Tariq dismissed the courtesy with an impatient movement of his hand.
‘How is my brother?’
‘We would have contacted you if there had been any change, sir.’
Tariq’s face tightened in frustration as he struggled not to take his anger out on this man who, along with his staff, was working around the clock to help Khalid.
‘Can you do nothing?’
The other man gave an apologetic grimace and shook his head. ‘All we can do is wait.’
‘This hospital has every piece of advanced medical technology known to man, and the best-qualified people on the planet, and all we can do is wait?’
‘All the indications are good,’ the doctor murmured soothingly.
‘I do not want to be placated, Doctor, I want—’ He stopped and took a deep, steadying breath as the other man visibly recoiled from him.
Chastising himself for intimidating the man, he sucked in air through his flared nostrils and lifted the corners of his mouth into a stiff smile. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor,’ he said in a milder voice. ‘I know that you are doing your best. I am just not good at sitting around doing nothing.’
Beatrice had called him a control freak, and maybe she wasn’t so far out. He certainly did not enjoy the feeling of impotence.
The doctor, looking relieved, hastened to assure him that he under stood totally.
‘I will sit with my brother.’
‘Of course.’ As Tariq reached for the door, the other man cleared his throat to gain his attention. ‘You might like to keep the noi—’ He stopped and looked uncomfortable, his eyes dropping from Tariq’s as he muttered something indistinguishable under his breath.
‘I might like to what, Doctor?’
‘Well, I just thought…the young lady…she is asleep.’
Tariq was startled. It had been six hours since he had left. ‘Beatrice…Miss Devlin is still here?’
‘She hasn’t left your brother’s side. Such devotion…and such beauty…’ The older man shook his head in wordless ad mi ration.
‘Just so, Doctor.’
The medic flushed under the hard look his future king gave him, and hastily excused himself.
Tariq went quietly into the room that was illuminated by the spot light above his brother’s bed.
Khalid looked very much as he had done when he had last seen him—maybe worse. His right eye was so swollen it distorted his features. Numerous tubes still protruded from his brother’s left hand, and his right hand lay on top of the white sheet. His fingers, stained with the remnants of blood still engrained into the skin, were entwined with paler, slender fingers curled over them.
Beatrice, seated in the chair pulled up to the bedside, was lying half-slumped over the bed, her face pressed into the sheet. Her lips slightly parted, she murmured restlessly in her sleep.
As Tariq stared, she turned her head on the sheet to reveal her profile to him.
Just looking at her sleeping face made him feel as though a hand had plunged into his chest and grabbed his heart; the purity of her beauty touched something deep inside him. The fierce wave of protectiveness that rose up inside him was like a tidal wave, swamping every vestige of logic and good sense.
She cried out in her sleep, thrashing out with the hand that was not clinging to Khalid, as if to ward off the nameless monsters that filled her troubled dreams.
Was he one of the
monsters? It would be more surprising, he reflected grimly, if he wasn’t.
She cried out again, a lost little sound that stabbed into his heart like a blade. Of its own volition his hand went to her shoulder, closing over delicate bone and soft flesh.
‘Hush, it’s all right.’
Bea’s eyes blinked open, and they were filled with fear and confusion and a total lack of recognition as she looked up at him. Gradually the glazed expression in the emerald depths cleared, and he saw the exact moment she remembered where she was and why she was there.
‘Oh, I fell asleep.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t know how that happened. I’m sorry…’
Tariq’s hand fell away as she pulled herself upright, wincing as her stiff muscles complained. He watched as she care fully unpeeled her fingers from those of his brother.
‘There was someone here to take you home when you were ready.’
‘I wanted to stay, and it isn’t my home,’ Beatrice reminded him as she reached for the jacket she had folded over the back of the chair earlier. She slipped her arms into it and lifted a hand to her face, feeling the creases imprinted on her cheek.
She knew it was really shallow to care at such a moment about how she looked, but Tariq looked so damned in credible…even though his face and clothes were covered in a fine layer of reddish dust.
‘Where have you been?’ she blurted, unable to keep the note of censure from her voice as she added, ‘I was alone.’
Mortified, Beatrice wanted the floor to open up and swallow her the second the words left her lips—like I haven’t been alone and doing fine all my life, thank you very much!
She steeled herself. Because there was no way he would resist the opportunity to deliver a withering retort. And while she would normally not duck a fight or even a slanging match, Beatrice didn’t feel very emotionally robust at that moment.
But the retort did not come. Instead, when she looked at him through the shield of her lashes, Tariq looked almost defensive—which struck her as extremely peculiar. ‘Riding.’ Running away, more like, the critical voice in his head chided. ‘When I have things to think about I find it easier to clear my mind in the desert.’
Beatrice found it easy to see him on a horse, riding through the desert. The mental image had such a pull, the fantasy figure in desert robes was so real, that she almost didn’t catch his addition.
‘The hospital could have contacted me if there was an emergency. I had my satellite phone.’
‘The doctors and nurses have been in and out, but they won’t tell me anything.’
He gave a fierce look and demanded, ‘Were they rude?’
The question and his in explicable manner confused her further. She could see that he might have put hostilities on hold for the duration, but surely that didn’t extend to him being protective of her?
Beatrice had never brought out the protective instinct in men—she had never wanted to—but now for the first time she could see that maybe there were some occasions when it might not be entirely unpleasant to feel feminine and in need of male protection. Temporarily at least.
‘Were they meant to be?’ He didn’t smile back, neither did his fierce expression soften, so she added, ‘No, not rude—just busy.’
‘I saw the consultant on the way in.’
‘Did he say anything…?’
‘No change, apparently,’ he said, seeing the flare of fear in her eyes.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, only just registering the darkness outside. Up until that point she had been busy registering Tariq, and every detail of his appearance down to the way his hair curled on his nape. She knew that the sharp visual image she had in her mind would never lose its clarity; he was burned into her mind for ever.
‘Past midnight. You should go and get some rest.’
She shook her head. His dark gaze made her uneasy, restless and uncomfortably aware, and yet she knew the moment he left the room she would be waiting for the moment he came back.
Which made about as much sense as wanting to put your fingers into a live socket! She just couldn’t make any sense of her complex feelings—but then she’d never met the living, breathing embodiment of her dark fantasies before.
One of these days, when she was far away from here, she might try and work out why he exerted this strange but compel ling fascination for her. She was working on the theory that there was something in the spicy, humid air.
‘I’ve had some rest,’ she reminded him, nodding to the imprint of her head on the smooth hospital bed clothes.
‘Is this display of devotion meant to impress me?’
Anger surged through Beatrice. This was what came of relaxing her guard around this man.
Before she could respond he added, ‘If so, relax; I’m already impressed.’
In the middle of sweeping her tangled hair back from her face, Beatrice froze, her anger morphing into wariness. ‘You are?’
‘I can see now that you have genuine feelings for my brother.’
She stared, struggling to interpret the odd note in his voice and to under stand the strained expression on his lean face.
‘I will speak to my father. But that will be, I am sure, a mere technicality.’
‘I don’t under stand? You’ll speak to him? Speak to him about what?’
‘I will not stand in the way of your marriage. I give my blessing to your marriage to Khalid.’
Beatrice’s jaw dropped. ‘Blessing…?’ she echoed, thinking, This cannot be happening.
He inclined his head in a curt nod. Beside his mouth a nerve jumped.
Her plan hadn’t just back fired, it had gone super nova on her face! ‘But you think I’ll pollute the gene pool…’
The comment caused dull bands of colour to appear across the slashing angle of his cheek bones.
‘I did not say that,’ he protested stiffly. ‘Or even think it.’
Beatrice got to her feet, pushing her fiery hair from her face with both hands. ‘Why are you saying this?’ she asked, a hint of desperation in her voice.
‘A situation like this…’ His dark eyes flickered briefly to the silent bandage-swathed figure lying in the hospital bed. ‘It reminds a person of what is truly important in life.’
Of all the times for him to get human and discover what was important in life it had to be now…Beatrice stifled an inner groan.
She didn’t flinch or try to pull back as he reached out and took her chin in his long fingers, tilting her face up to his. She looked him in the eyes and felt herself drowning in the deep-silver star-speckled depths.
The searing strength of the emotions inside her as she looked at him rolled over her like a giant wave. The ache of longing, the need to be with him, to give herself without boundary or condition, went bone-deep.
It went soul-deep.
Then it hit her in a shocking rush of comprehension. Emotion thickened in her throat as a tiny shocked gasp escaped her frozen vocal cords. She suddenly knew without any doubt that she was looking at the man who was the love of her life.
She’d always considered unrequited love a little pathetic. Now she knew it hurt like hell and was totally illogical.
‘You are not constrained by moral mill stones—’
If only that were true!
‘—but that does not make you a bad person. You have spirit and strength and beauty…’
He thinks I’m beautiful.
‘And, yes, you are the most un suitable bride ever born.’ The tender quirk of his lips firmed as he added, ‘But you love my brother.’ He swallowed, the muscles in brown throat working as he said, ‘And he loves you. Perhaps your marriage will work, perhaps not,’ he admitted harshly. ‘But one brother a slave to duty and tradition in a family is enough.’
The acrid edge of bitterness in his voice made Beatrice wonder if he hadn’t at some point in his life sacrificed his own happiness for what he perceived to be his duty.
‘You might think differently about this tomorrow…’<
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‘My feelings on this subject are not about to change.’
‘But—’
‘Are you two arguing?’
Beatrice and Tariq turned in unison to the figure in the bed.
‘My head aches.’
‘Khalid!’ Beatrice cried, running to the bed.
Tariq went to the door and spoke to the men standing outside. In response to his words one went running down the corridor.
‘He’s asleep again, I think,’ Beatrice said when Tariq joined her. ‘But this means he’s going to be all right, doesn’t it?’
Tariq stood at the bottom of the bed, his dark face split into a grin. ‘It looks like it.’
Their glances locked, and with a cry of sheer undiluted joy and relief Beatrice ran into the arms he held open. Tariq swung her off the ground as though she weighed nothing and twirled her around. Still laughing, Beatrice tilted her face to his as he set her back down. His head bent to hers and she leaned up to press her lips to his, the gesture a spontaneous expression of relief and joy.
Their lips had barely touched before she realised what she was doing, and drew back with a small gasp of alarm.
She tried to pull away, but as Tariq’s fingers, splayed at the small of her back, tightened she stopped.
Their gazes meshed, and everything except her heart beat seemed to slow. A raw whimper was torn from her throat. His dark eyes glowed with a need that made her insides disintegrate.
He lifted a hand and ran a finger along the curve of her mouth, as though fascinated by the cushiony softness. ‘You’re shaking.’
‘So are you.’ Beatrice could feel the tremors running through his lean body.
‘You’re beautiful.’ The febrile predatory glitter in his heavy-lidded eyes made her dizzy. Anticipation made her stomach muscles quiver.
‘So are you. I think…’
‘Don’t,’ he slurred, fitting his mouth to hers.
He kissed her deeply, drawing her body up and into his, fitting her soft curves into his hard angles as he plundered the sweet inner softness of her mouth. Beatrice moaned into his mouth as she speared her fingers into his dark hair to pull him closer.