Sheikh Surgeon

by Meredith Webber

  ‘Get out of here!’ Nell ordered, clinging desperately to the last vestiges of control. ‘Now!’

  She should go after him—try to explain—but she was so exhausted, both from work and the debilitating effect of the fierce confrontation, that Nell sank down onto the lounge amidst the parcels Yasmeen had brought, and buried her face in her hands.

  The worst thing about it was he was right. She had known how he felt about family. She had known that if she’d told him, he’d have returned in an instant and insisted on marrying her.

  But what would that have meant to his family? Just how badly would they have taken it, and what damage would it have done to Kal’s position within it, when family meant so much to him? Family and honour! Honour was a word not often used in her life but to Kal it was the backbone of his existence. And Nell had known that Kal not marrying the woman to whom he had been betrothed would have brought dishonour both on the woman and on his family…

  She heard the sound of a key in the door and raised her head.

  He was back.

  ‘And your parents? Are they still in the same place?’

  Nell struggled to her feet.

  ‘Why? What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m sending someone to get my son.’

  Fear for Patrick propelled Nell across the room. She grasped Kal’s arm.

  ‘You’d kidnap him?’

  He shook off her hands

  ‘Don’t be so melodramatic. I’ll merely send a plane and some of my people to take care of him on the journey. You’ll phone your family to let them know what’s happening.’

  Nell couldn’t believe she was hearing this.

  ‘You can’t do that. You can’t just fly into a country and take a child out of it.’

  ‘If he’s my son, he’s hardly a child.’

  Nell gasped at the implication of his words, but she didn’t have time to protest. She had too much to explain.

  ‘Kal, we need to sit down and talk rationally about this. There’s so much you don’t know—so much to explain—but I can’t talk to you when you’re in this mood.’

  ‘Then don’t talk to me. The time to talk was fourteen years ago, Nell. You’ve left it too late.’

  He saw the pain of his words etching lines down her cheeks, deep as acid burns, but the rage within him was too hot and strong to prevent him hurting her.

  ‘Kal?’

  She touched his arm again and for a moment, hearing his name on her lips, feeling her fingers on his arm, he almost weakened, then he remembered this woman had denied him his son for thirteen years.

  He could never weaken.

  He walked away instead—out of her apartment. She hadn’t answered his question but the hospital would have records of Nell’s address, and the boy would be there. The plane was always on standby. One phone call and it would be ready to roll by the time his staff reached the airport. The new jet would make good time, and with the time difference they’d arrive late afternoon in Australia. The Spanish burns team was due to start work at the hospital in the morning so he’d have time to go to the airport and meet the boy.

  He’d take Nell—there’d be awkwardness and he’d need her to smooth things over on this first meeting…

  He lifted the phone to call the airport then heard the knock on the door. He knew it was Nell and hesitated, then put down the receiver and crossed the room.

  Nell looked around. The apartment looked very similar to the one she was using, except that books were stacked on the low coffee-table and on the end tables beside the couch. Stacked, too, on the kitchen divider—the books the only sign someone used the place.

  She looked at Kal, wanting to ask why he needed so many books in what had to be a place he used only occasionally, but what Kal did or didn’t need in his apartment wasn’t her concern.

  And he’d always had books—always been reading—not only about medicine, but about anything and everything.

  It was a trait Patrick had inherited…

  Thinking of Patrick steeled her for the confrontation. She studied Kal’s face desperately seeking some kind of softening, but it remained implacably set against her, granite hard, while his eyes still burned with anger.

  She took a deep breath and rushed the words towards him.

  ‘Patrick has cancer. He’s in remission right now, but he needs constant monitoring.’

  Just saying it brought back the nightmare of the last eighteen months—the initial diagnosis, then the treatment, the joy of the first remission so soon after treatment and then the devastation of the relapse. She could feel her heart beating erratically and a hard lump growing in her throat, but if she showed weakness for one second, Kal would pounce.

  He watched her swallow and wondered what it had cost her to say those words. Pain was squeezing his rib cage and he didn’t know the boy.

  ‘He has cancer and even then you didn’t think to contact me?’ he asked, the pain confusing him because it seemed to be dampening his anger, and he needed his anger to handle this situation. ‘What kind of cancer?’

  ‘Leukaemia. T-cell ALL. He’s in remission at the moment, but it’s the second remission and if it fails he’ll need—’

  And suddenly it all became clear.

  ‘A bone-marrow transplant! You keep a son from me for thirteen years and now you’re here to beg me to help him?’

  He flung the accusation at her then frowned.

  ‘But parents are no good—you need a sibling for a match.’

  His eyes narrowed.

  ‘Are you telling me you want another child? A child of mine? You’ve come here for, what, a month, hoping to get me to father another child which you’ll then take away from me. And is this fair to this child—?’

  Nell stopped him, which was probably just as well. His head was all over the place and he had no idea how he felt about any of this.

  ‘It’s not about another child, Kal. I didn’t even think of that. Anyway, there’s only a thirty to thirty-five per cent chance of a sibling being a perfect match. But the procedures are much better for mismatched bone-marrow transplants these days. Parents usually have a three out of six HLA match—the human leukocyte antigens that are the genetic markers on the white blood cells—and that’s really not enough. Not yet, although if we can’t do better, the specialists are willing to go with a parent’s bone marrow. The problem is, although he’s on a register for donors, he has some HLA antigens in his blood that aren’t found in Australia. Apparently…’

  She stopped, as if she found the rest of the bizarre explanation impossible to continue. Well, he wasn’t going to help her, not one little bit. The more she talked, the more his gut twisted at the thought of this son he didn’t know suffering so much. T-cell ALL—acute lymphoblastic leukaemia with involvement of the T-cells. His mind was recalling all he knew of it, considering the damage it did, and the worse damage the treatment could cause.

  ‘Apparently these antigens are found more frequently in a specific ethnic group and though he might not need bone marrow—this remission might last, he might be cured—I couldn’t take the risk, Kal. I had to find out if you had a bone-marrow donor programme over here, and if maybe someone on it…Maybe you or someone in your family even…’

  Kal stared at her, seeing the strain in her pale exhausted face, hating her yet wanting to hold and comfort her.

  Dangerous thoughts, dismissed immediately.

  ‘Don’t expect me to feel sorry for you,’ he snapped. ‘There was no need at all for you to have gone through this on your own. And where’s Mr Warren? Where does he fit in? If you are married, why are you still living with your parents?’

  He stepped towards her because anger had returned a thousandfold, though this time it was a different kind of anger—jealous anger—so unexpected it drove him beyond all bounds of decency and common sense.

  ‘Have you left him, too? And why’s that, Nell? Did he not kiss you like this?’

  He seized her by the shoulders and drag
ged her towards his body, bending his head and capturing her lips in a hard, possessive kiss.

  Tasting Nell again! He didn’t drink but could there be more intoxication in alcohol than there was in kissing Nell?

  Her lips parted, perhaps in protest, but he refused to release her, feeling her body soften, then slump against him, feeling her lips respond and a faint puff of air as she murmured his name.

  One hand moved from her shoulders, his finger trailing downwards to the soft mound of a breast, teasing at the nipple through the clothing she wore, his mind gloating as he heard her sudden intake of breath.

  ‘Did he not make you whimper when he touched you, Nell? Is that it?’

  She broke away so suddenly it shocked him back to some measure of sanity, but regret at his behaviour was all mixed up with regret that the kiss had ended. Until he saw her face—saw disappointment etched into it and deep shadows of sadness in her lovely eyes.

  ‘Nell!’

  She turned away from him and walked towards the door, and though he followed and caught up, he didn’t dare touch her to stop her leaving, for fear he’d need to hold her close again.

  ‘Let me know if you think you can help.’

  She threw the words over her shoulder, but he heard the thickness of tears in them and his heart ached for her—yearned to comfort her—but how?

  ‘Nell?’

  She turned now and he saw the tears, not streaming down her cheeks—oh, no, she was far too strong for that. But they were pooled in her eyes, valiantly held back, and fear joined anger in his heart.

  Had his rash words and harsh behaviour ruined any chance they might have had of being friends again?

  You don’t want her for a friend but for a lover!

  This idea spun him even further out of his orbit, and Nell was standing there, looking at him. Waiting for what he had to say?

  For an apology?

  She’s the one who should be apologising.

  ‘We have a fledgling donor programme but I can look into expanding it. And of course I’ll have the test,’ he said, aware how lame the words sounded, and knowing it wasn’t what he wanted to say.

  Or not all of it.

  Nell nodded, then turned away, continuing on to her apartment. She knew her back was straight but inside she felt as if her bones were crumbling and all the soft parts of her melting.

  With anger and desire.

  How dared Kal kiss her like that? That was the anger talking.

  But why had she been so stupid as to pull away? That was desire. A desire so fierce and strong, so easily rekindled even after fourteen years, that she had very nearly whimpered in his arms. How could she have been so weak? This wasn’t about her, and physical gratification. This was about Patrick.

  ‘But there’ll be some conditions!’

  She was halfway through the door when she heard this rider, and she spun around, aware he was close—probably too close—but needing to see his face, to see if he could possibly mean he’d attach provisos to an act that could save his son’s life.

  His eyes, their colour still a fascination to her—pale brown like good brandy—challenged her to defy his statement, challenged her to ask what kind of conditions. But she’d had enough of Kal and the emotion-entangling games he was playing.

  ‘Whatever!’ she said, and shrugged carelessly, although her heart was breaking. This man wasn’t the Kal she’d loved and whose memory had shone so brightly in her life for the last fourteen years, but there was no way she’d let him witness her distress.

  ‘Marriage!’ he growled as she turned away once again. ‘We’ll legitimise my son!’

  This time she couldn’t face him. Here was an offer she’d fantasised about so often over the years, although now it felt repugnant.

  ‘As your second wife?’ she snapped, angry because with that one word he’d killed the dreams she’d had. ‘Or would it be third? Or fourth, perhaps? Changed your mind about monogamy since your idealistic youth?’

  She continued walking into the apartment as she spoke, but heard his footsteps on the carpet behind her so when he put his hand—just one hand this time—on her shoulder and spun her around, she wasn’t as startled by his touch as she’d been earlier.

  ‘My only wife,’ he snapped right back at her. ‘My other wife and I divorced. Our marriage never worked out. All I did was make her unhappy—too unhappy even to conceive a child. I blamed myself—I blamed that destructive, intangible, idiotic concept you westerners call love—for the whole debacle. Remember love, Nell?’

  ‘Yes, I do remember love!’ she retorted. ‘And it’s not some destructive, intangible or idiotic concept, but emotion, Kal. Real emotion! Remember emotion?’

  ‘Emotion?’ he queried, stepping closer. Dangerously close. ‘Emotion, Nell, or sex?’

  And once again he put both hands on her shoulders, only this time he didn’t drag her closer, but stepped to narrow the gap between them, so that their bodies were all but touching, so close Nell could feel the desire between them, like static electricity arcing in dry air.

  She knew he was going to kiss her again even before she saw his head bend towards her, and although his hands were non-restraining on her shoulders, she couldn’t move.

  If he kisses you again you’re gone, her head yelled at her, but her body burned for a touch it should have forgotten long ago, and her breasts ached for his hands to hold them.

  He kissed her again.

  This time he’d seduce her, Kal decided. He gentled his lips so they tempted and teased, the harsh demands of the earlier kiss hidden behind this provocative flirtation. He drew her closer, feeling her body melt against his, fitting his contours as if they’d been designed as one then split apart into male and female.

  Her lips seemed to swell in lushness, her tongue touched his, timidly at first, then teasing and enticing. He knew his arousal would be hard against her belly—knew she’d be aware he wanted her—his desire matched in intensity by hers, if the small gasping noises she was making were any indication.

  Then she whispered his name and whatever restraint he might have been clinging to gave way altogether. He swept her into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom, tossing her on the bed, then pulling off her shoes and throwing them aside, running his hands up her legs until he came to the waistband of her slacks, un-fastening, unzipping, reefing the long trousers off her.

  ‘Kal!’

  If it was a protest it was a half-hearted one, not strong enough to stop his calm, deliberate task of undressing her.

  ‘It is our custom for the bride to be in layers of clothing—a wedding gown, a cap and breastplate of gold, then black robes, covering all her clothes, and veils covering her face. We unwrap our brides as we do a very special parcel.’

  The words penetrated the fog of desire that had wrapped around Nell like the veils he spoke of.

  ‘But I am not your bride!’ she answered. ‘And neither—’

  He stopped the words with another kiss, stealing her breath and making a lie of her attempts to stop this unbelievable seduction.

  But now that she was sitting, it was easier for him to peel off her T-shirt. Still kissing her to stifle further protests, he unfastened her bra, releasing her breasts. Nell knew she could stop him with a couple of well-chosen words. Although maybe she couldn’t! She would have been able to stop the old Kal but this man, intent now on undressing himself, coldly preparing to make love to her—this was a man she didn’t know.

  So why not stop him?

  Shame forced her to admit it was because she wanted him. She wanted to lose herself in him—to forget the last few years with the strain of Patrick’s illness, and to escape, if only momentarily, the horror of the fire and the pain and mutilation of the patients she must tend.

  Kal was naked, his body hard and lean. He sat beside her on the bed then turned, his eyes unreadable, his lips set in a thin line.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  It was such a bizarre question she couldn
’t answer it. She frowned up at him, but then he put his hand flat on her stomach and her heart lurched at the touch. His hand moved lower, his fingers tangling in her pubic hair, seeking out the aching centre of her womanhood, while his head bent so his tongue could tease her breast.

  His fingers explored, his lips nuzzled and sensation transported Nell to a place where thought was impossible, her body a quivering mass of nerve endings, responding to Kal’s as if hard-wired to it all those years ago. Electricity tingled in her toes, and her head buzzed with sensation as he drew her with unrelenting mastery to a gasping, shattering climax. Then he entered her, driving deep into the hot, hungry centre of her being, again and again until the waves of orgasm broke once more, swamping her so she had to cling to him, whispering his name into the smooth skin of his shoulder, feeling his own tension build to a final release.

  His body relaxed and she wanted to hold him, to feel his weight on top of her, to keep the closeness for ever, but he rolled away, once again sitting up on the side of the bed, his back towards her.

  ‘There’ll be papers to sign, of course, to formalise things, but we’re married, you understand.’

  It was a statement, not a question, and so coldly uttered Nell shivered, then gathered her scattered wits and sat up herself.

  ‘Married! Don’t be ridiculous, Kal. We had sex, nothing more. Two people hungry for each other. Seeking satisfaction and release. Marriage? The very idea of it is ridiculous.’

  He turned towards her, his face all hard planes and angles, no sign of post-coital softness despite the shuddering climaxes they’d shared.

  ‘Why did you marry this Warren man if not for sex? Did you love him? Did he leave you? I’m assuming you’re not still married to him. You couldn’t have changed so much you’d cheat on your husband, and you could have stopped me at any time during that little performance.’

  That little performance? Was that all it had been? A performance to show how easily he could dominate her? Of how easily he could manipulate her feelings?

  Well, two could play that game! She could be just as cool and detached as he could. It didn’t matter that her insides were aglow with satisfaction and her body all but twitching with the hope that it could happen again.