A desert seduction
After years of freedom, the last thing Prince Dakan Al Rahal wants is to return home to remodel his kingdom’s healthcare system. But his sense of duty prevails, and he’s rewarded with sultry Nira Hathaway—the architect overseeing the project!
British-born Nira is not what the doctor prince expects. Her every word speaks of defiance—which proves even more satisfying than the capitulation he’s used to! Nira is in Mamlakat Almas to trace her past, but suddenly Dakan is determined to show her why he should be her future...
Desert Prince Docs
Doctors, brothers...sheikhs!
When not exercising their expert talents in A&E, princes Zahir and Dakan Al Rahal are renowned throughout their kingdom for their honor, integrity and dazzling good looks! Their focus is on their work—until they encounter two unexpected distractions...
Now sweet, funny nurse Adele Jenson and feisty temptress Nira Hathaway are about to prove to these royal docs that commanding a kingdom is easier than conquering their desires!
Find out what happens in:
Zahir & Adele’s story
Seduced by the Sheikh Surgeon
by Carol Marinelli
and
Dakan & Nira’s story
Challenging the Doctor Sheikh
by Amalie Berlin
Available now!
Dear Reader,
First, I have to say that it was a massive thrill for me to get to work with Carol Marinelli for this duet. I’ve loved Carol’s books for years, and actually the first two Medical Romances I ever read were by Carol Marinelli and Sarah Morgan...so to say that I was excited is the understatement of the year. And Carol was as lovely and amazing to work with as you’d expect her to be!
Despite my excitement, this was one of my harder books to write, and I have to wonder if it’s because I’m in the process of reinventing myself—again. I’ve done this a couple times in my life, and I think of it as the kind of growth of character that makes growing pains worth the effort—even if it makes some things momentarily harder!
My current process is probably why the idea of figuring out who you are and who you want to be is so fascinating to me, and it’s a theme I’ll probably come back to in future books. Dakan and Nira are each trying to come to grips with who they are, how they got to be that way and figuring out who they want to be—while falling in love and helping each other along the path.
I hope you enjoy their story, and if you haven’t picked up Carol’s—Seduced by the Sheikh Surgeon—for Zahir and Adele’s story, you should. It’s really fabulous—not that I’m biased or anything...
Amalie xx
CHALLENGING THE DOCTOR SHEIKH
Amalie Berlin
Books by Amalie Berlin
Harlequin Medical Romance
The Hollywood Hills Clinic
Taming Hollywood’s Ultimate Playboy
New York City Docs
Surgeons, Rivals...Lovers
Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc
Uncovering Her Secrets
Return of Dr. Irresistible
Breaking Her No-Dating Rule
Falling for Her Reluctant Sheikh
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
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Dedicated to Mr. John Bradbury, one of my junior-high teachers, for his support and encouragement, and for the awesomeness of having a reading nook with a big comfy lounging pillow in the corner of his classroom.
Also really hoping he doesn’t read past the dedication page... The idea of it gives me a wiggins...
Praise for Amalie Berlin
“Falling for Her Reluctant Sheikh by author Amalie Berlin blew my mind away! This story is definitely worth re-reading and fans are in for a medical treat!”
—Goodreads
“Amalie Berlin has proved she’s one of the best medical authors of today, and her stories will forever have a place on my reading shelf!”
—Contemporary Romance Reviews on Return of Dr. Irresistible
“A sexy, sensual, romantic, heartwarming and purely emotional, romantic, bliss-filled read. I very much look forward to this author’s next book and being transported to a world of pure romance brilliance!”
—Goodreads on Craving Her Rough Diamond Doc
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
THE HEAT PRINCE DAKAN AL RAHAL had been used to in his youth blistered the back of his neck as he prowled away from the new high-rise apartment building in the heart of his kingdom’s capital. Only a few days as ruler-in-residence since the king had flown to England to attend the impromptu wedding of his eldest son, and already Dakan couldn’t remember ever having a worse mood.
It also made him aware of just how practical the traditional white robes would’ve been to wear, not that practicality would change his mind about wearing them. He liked the clean lines of his dark suits, he just liked them better on soggy winter days in England. What he wouldn’t give for a brittle autumn wind right now. For just one overcast gray afternoon, he might even be convinced to wear the sword tradition dictated for the ruler in residence.
But until either the King or Dakan’s elder brother Zahir—the true heir—deigned to return to Mamlakat Almas, he was stuck.
And if he was stuck, the architect Zahir had hired would damned well be stuck too—right in the flat where she was supposed to be working.
Planning the new hospital as part of the overhaul to finally bring their medical system into the twenty-first century was the one bright spot on his calendar for the foreseeable future, made bearable all the bureaucratic nonsense he had put up with every other hour of the day so far. The hospital was the only thing he could get excited about. But the day he’d finally gotten time to come and plan with her, she’d gone sightseeing.
Typical.
Traffic stopped at the light, and Dakan took off, as fast as he could weave through the waiting cars and trucks, counting on the three royal guards behind him to keep up. Back on the walkway, his feet ate up the decorative tile expanse separating him from the bazaar blocks away.
At least something had changed since his last time on foot in the capital. The cobblestones were gone. The highly trafficked pedestrian walkways had transitioned to decorative tiles in different shades of sand—something he might’ve appreciated if he’d only been seeing it in a photo. But here every time his foot touched the walk his frustration increased. Even his fingernails felt tense as he dug them into his palms.
It wasn’t just having to fetch the person he’d come to meet that had him wanting to ring one of the jets to go somewhere twenty degrees cooler, it was that he was there at all.
England could be cold in the winter, but at this time of year it was downright pleasant. Additionally, he went where he wanted, never had guards trailing after him, dated whomever struc
k his fancy, and he drove. He had everything there, most important of all freedom.
Since his residency had ended and he’d earned his license, Dakan had snagged a sweet ride, a flat that made panties hit the floor, and had started shopping around established practices to decide where he’d like to begin the career he’d worked years for. That’s what doctors did when their education was finished—opened or joined a practice—but before he’d gotten to see even a single patient he could call his own he’d been summoned home.
All damned fine reasons to wake up irritated.
Another block and the decorative tile walk opened up to a wide lane lined with stalls on either side, sprawling out from one of the oldest buildings in the city—a holdout built by imported Byzantine craftsman. It had been made entirely too well to do the sensible thing and fall in to make way for a new era, an era that required more than a single clogged lane for people doing their daily shopping like that which faced him now.
It would be just as crowded inside—merchants waited years to get to move into the old building. Even with it practically butting up against the impressive modern towers built in the last decade—luxury dwellings, businesses, and prosperity on display two short blocks away—people still had to crowd through open-air shops to buy their groceries and necessities.
As much as Dakan loved his father, when it came to the way he ruled, the way he kept things always the same—as if it’d been so much better back then—made Dakan want to shake him. Or lead a revolt and then leave Zahir to rule, thus freeing Dakan to return to England.
Just find her and make sure to get her number so he could just call her next time she skipped out as if she was here on a tourist visa. Then maybe make a note to have the clerk write her a stuffy memo about the dossiers of royal contractors out there waiting to take her place should they need to.
What did she even look like?
She was British, so fair probably. Maybe dark hair but pale skin. Look for the tourists.
Scratch that. Look for the guard sent to accompany her. Or ring the guard. By all that was holy, he was losing his mind.
“Figure out who her escort is and call him,” he said to his men, leaving them to it and moving into the crowd. He stood taller than most and that helped. It also helped that as people caught sight of him they moved as much as they could to give him room to pass.
But none of these people were the ones he was looking for. A sea of bodies, and none bearing royal colors.
By the time he reached the large arch leading inside, he’d started to sweat.
“They’re in the third arcade, Your Highness,” said a voice at his shoulder and Dakan nodded, yanking off his dark glasses and stashing them so he could see in the much lower lighting as he picked up the pace.
By the time he’d entered the ancient third arcade, he’d caught sight of the colors he’d been looking for. From there, he looked to the side for the woman.
There was a woman on his left, a simple green scarf covering her head. Was that her? Some tourists and those who worked in the country covered their heads out of deference to their customs...
Whatever, she was British so the same rules didn’t apply.
He reached for her elbow to turn her toward him. Wide and startled pale green eyes fixed on him, a boost of the exotic amid the warm tan skin that greeted him. Exotic, but not.
This wasn’t her.
He might get away with touching a foreign woman, but he’d never put his hands on a female citizen unbidden. And this woman was definitely a citizen. Damn.
* * *
Nira Hathaway stared up at broad shoulders and tousled black hair framing the most startlingly attractive male face she’d ever seen. When she’d zeroed in on his dark brown eyes a weird heaviness had hit her chest and her knees had given the sort of twinge no doubt designed to remind her they could bend in the middle. And that they might do so whether she wanted them to or not.
The man snatched his hand back and bowed, his Arabic flowing like music to her ears. “Forgive me, I thought you were someone else.” When he straightened he started to frown and she hadn’t even said anything yet.
“It’s all right, sir. Though I must ask, who did you think I was?” Her Arabic, though better than it’d been a few weeks ago when she’d really started to pour on the effort, still sounded mechanical and sloppy even to her amateur ear, but it was good enough to muddle by.
Since her arrival in Mamlakat Almas, very few people had spoken to her, the only thing she was actually ready for. She’d been learning Arabic for months because she’d wanted to learn it since childhood, but that didn’t mean she spoke to anyone outside of her instructors, who were expecting her to sound somewhat silly. Starting the program as a working adult also meant she didn’t give it as much time as she would’ve liked to. Or hadn’t until the last few weeks.
Normally she’d never have asked Mr. Universe for clarification, but he’d thought she was someone else. That meant she looked like someone he’d expected to find, someone who belonged.
The dark brown eyes with thick black lashes she could’ve been convinced to murder for drifted back to her from her escort, eyes sharpening in focus.
Clearly there was something going on she didn’t get. Something other than her having a possible backside doppelganger roaming the city.
“Are you Nira Hathaway?” the beautiful man asked, switching to English.
She nodded and switched too. She wasn’t going to flirt with the regrettably handsome man. Flirting would be a dumb idea for a number of reasons, not the least of which being her cluelessness about how it’d be looked upon in this country. Women probably didn’t just date in Mamlakat Almas or pick up random men at the market.
“I am. You are...?”
“Dakan Al Rahal,” he said, dark brows pinching together to make a slash across his forehead.
Her stomach soured.
As soon as she heard his name, the resemblance to Zahir came into focus. Same height, same jaw, hair color...she should’ve recognized him. What kind of respectable professional woman became stupid just because a man was...exceedingly handsome?
Though Dakan had a roguish quality to his appearance that probably instilled this reaction in everyone who saw him. And he was a doctor too, like his brother, that much she knew. Doctor. Prince. Adonis in a superbly cut charcoal suit.
There were probably words he expected her to say now.
Think of words. Any words. English words even.
I’m Nira and I like long walks on the beach and...
Not those words.
“I didn’t know we were meeting today, Prince Dakan.” There. Words. Should she have said “Your Highness?” That probably was one of the things she should’ve learned when preparing for the trip, but Zahir had just gone by his name, never once using his title. But here among the magnificent ogival arches and vaulted ceilings? It felt wrong to call this man Dakan, and Mr. Al Rahal wasn’t any better than Mr. Universe.
But his collar, with two buttons open, displayed the kind of wide muscled neck that let you know his shoulders and chest would have the same definition... Mr. Universe probably suited him.
“I suppose it was incorrect to expect you’d be waiting there for me to get round to meeting you. Aren’t you on the clock, Ms. Hathaway?” Unconcealed exasperation rang in his tone, even here among the now unnervingly quiet area of the arcade. It helped clear her fuzzy head. Being falsely accused was so rarely a turn-on.
“Oh, no. I’m not on the clock. I’d never charge a client billable hours without working. My firm only charges billable hours, not days, and only when someone is actively working on a project. The first days I was here I organized the workspace and all the equipment, got everything set up within the system to make sure the backups happened, but today I ran out of things to do. I’ve done some light sketch
ing out of ideas, but—”
“Let’s go back to the flat where we can speak without stopping commerce,” he cut in, bidding Nira to look around them with a simple glance. Practically everyone in the arcade stood watching them, a sea of wide eyes, alert to the point of horror. Which explained the quietness.
They might not understand what was being said—she honestly had no idea how many everyday citizens in Mamlakat Almas would know enough English to translate this conversation—but tone was universally understood. She’d angered the Prince. Nothing good ever came from angering a prince in his own country. Never mind how wrong it felt to be anything even resembling rude or disrespectful. She’d be horrified on her behalf too if she weren’t already horrified.
“Of course, yes, I’m sorry. You’re right.” She gestured for him to go as he wished, shifted her bag of purchases to her other shoulder and fell into step behind him as he wound through the opening crowds.
Some combination of height, shoulders, and royalty was what made him imposing. These were his subjects, that’s why everyone moved. And he was possibly her employer while the project continued, so that explained why she felt a bit...off now too.
It had nothing to do with the expanse of his shoulders. Besides, no way were they that wide anyway, the suit jacket only made them seem so formidable and square that it added to all the other authority rolling off the man.
They stepped out into the sunshine and the thick scent of spices and incense dispersed with the normal city smells and another low odor she couldn’t put her finger on. She’d been smelling it since she’d arrived, something earthy and warm. It wasn’t the sea, though she smelled the fresh salt air too. Mamlakat Almas was a coastal city ringed by rugged desert and mountainous terrain. Maybe it was the desert. Did sand have a smell?
She tried to keep her eyes down as they hurried back to her lavish—and temporary—penthouse flat. Not because she didn’t want to look around, really there was little Nira wanted more than to look around. And not because she felt intimidated, although having her possible new boss angry with her didn’t make her feel like singing.
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