The Sheikh's Convenient Mistress: What he needed from her went well beyond the call of duty... (The Henderson Sister Series Book 2)

by Clare Connelly

  She shrugged. “Of course.”

  And Ra’if understood. Olivia, gentle, kind Olivia, who had talked and laughed and teased him back to health, had lost her heart to Zamir.

  “We were talking about you, anyway, and when you’ll leave here,” she said after she’d recovered from his direct line of questioning.

  “There is no talk of my discharge yet.”

  “No, but they’ve given you so much more freedom lately. Surely it’s on the cards.”

  Ra’if nodded. “Perhaps.”

  “Tell me what you miss about home,” she prompted, wondering if it might inspire a desire to return to his land.

  “Nothing.” He laughed. “And everything. I miss the smell of the air after a sandstorm. I miss the food. You would love our food. It is rich and spiced, slow-cooked and designed to be shared, so at each meal there are many flavours. Curries and pastries and rice dishes, dips and breads.

  “Sounds delicious,” she agreed.

  “Our sunsets are almost always blood red. They glow like flames in the sky, sending shards of crimson across the horizon. They’re spectacular. I miss those. And I miss the singing of the Fiestral birds, at the cusp of dawn and the brink of dusk.”

  “You miss home,” she said with a nod.

  “Do you miss your home?” He turned the question back on her.

  Olivia tilted her head to the side and contemplated the question. “I miss my sisters.” Almost as much as she missed Zamir. “But I came to America to have an adventure, and I don’t think I’m done yet.”

  “Why America?”

  She flicked her glasses back up on top of her head. “That’s easy. My mother was from here. So I have a passport. And I guess I wanted to spend some time in her culture. To see what her life was like.”

  “And?”

  She shrugged. “Like I said, I’m not done exploring yet.” Her eyes landed on a bird in the distance, teasing something from the grass with his bright yellow beak. “That’s the thing about the future. It’s all a mystery. I don’t know what’s in store. Later today, tomorrow, next week or next year. Nor do you. But you can’t hide out forever, Ra’if. At some point, you have to roll up your sleeves and plunge into it, regardless of what dangers await. That’s the nature of life. You have to live it, even without a safety net.”

  * * *

  “Ra’if is doing well, father. It will soon be time for him to return.”

  Faisal grunted. “He should have been here all along.”

  Zamir scanned the immaculately maintained quince grove beyond his father’s window. “The facility in Nevada is the best of its kind.”

  “Then we should build better,” he swore gruffly. “He is too far from us.”

  “Yes, but he has been left to recover without the curiosity of our people. There has been no risk of photographers making money from his story. He has been a private citizen. You know, as well as I, what that must have meant to him.”

  “Yes,” Faisal waved a shaking hand in the air. His fingers were long and lean, like Zamir’s.

  “You can imagine how it would have played in the press. You in hospital, and Ra’if in rehab.” Zamir grimaced. “You are the one who always says we must maintain the appearance of strength even when we are weakened by life.”

  The first time Zamir had heard that advice had been the day after losing his mother. The words had been said repeatedly, whenever he felt tears at the ready. Only Ra’if had encouraged them to fall, and held Zamir until the sadness ebbed.

  “I have heard from my cousin in Marosin,” Faisal said, reaching for his tumbler of water. His fingers were shaking and he knocked it. He swore as water spilled everywhere.

  “Don’t worry,” Zamir murmured patiently. “It is only water.” He pressed a button beside the bed and then stripped the wet blankets off his father’s slender frame.

  “My cousin Neir has invited you to visit.”

  Zamir bundled the blankets into a ball and dropped them onto a nearby chair. “Are your clothes wet?”

  “No.”

  “Can you move to this seat so the sheets can be changed?”

  “Damn it, Zamir, stop fussing and answer my question.”

  Zamir’s amber eyes glinted in his head as he gazed at his father. “Did you ask one?”

  Faisal, once more, was impressed by his younger son’s strength. There had been a time when Zamir had seemed timid and easily intimidated. Not anymore. “With my health as it is, and Ra’if indisposed, you will feel more pressure than ever before to marry. To choose a wife who will bear children for our Kingdom to look to for the future.”

  “I am the future,” Zamir said stiffly.

  “You are the present,” Faisal said with a shake of his head. “And I am the past. An anachronism now. Two generations ago, I would be dead, and you would be Sultan already. But I am not. And so you must humour me for a little longer.”

  Zamir crossed his arms. “I am humouring you,” he said with shortness of temper.

  Faisal’s laugh was a throaty sound. “You are barely keeping your tongue in check. I can tell.” His dark grey eyes locked with his son’s. “This is because of the American woman.”

  Zamir was careful not to react, though inside, his stomach felt like he’d dipped off a roller coaster.

  “Which American woman?”

  “The one who was in your bed every night,” Faisal responded quickly. There was no judgement in his tone, just fact.

  Zamir arched a brow. He maintained his silence, though it cost him great personal effort.

  “Marook told me of her,” Faisal finished.

  “Marook.” Zamir’s laugh was one of disbelief. “He is a gossip.”

  “He is loyal,” Faisal corrected, “And he loves you like a son of his own.”

  “The American woman was nothing,” Zamir said with a coldness to his tone, if not his heart.

  “Marook tells me she is very beautiful.”

  “What is beauty? Many women are beautiful.”

  But Faisal wasn’t convinced. “But you do not spend night after night with many women. Do you?”

  “No.” He rubbed a hand across his jaw. “You do not need to worry about Olivia. She was a welcome distraction, but that was in Vegas. She is nothing to do with my life here.”

  He waited until his father’s servants had changed the bed linen and freshened his clothes, and then he left. With every fibre of his being, he avoided thinking about Olivia. She was in the past. She was in Vegas. For all he knew, she’d moved on to someone else by now.

  No, that thought was too unpalatable to contemplate. He pushed it aside, and instead, thought of Ra’if.

  Once he’d reached his desk, he lifted the phone from its cradle and dialled the number for the clinic by heart. Unlike most calls he made, which he routed through his switchboard to save the effort of dialling, he made this call himself. It was yet another step he had taken to protect his brother’s privacy.

  When a man answered at the other end, Zamir spoke, switching easily back to English. “Doctor Swan.”

  “Who may I say is calling?”

  “Zamir Fayez,” he murmured, scanning a letter that had been dropped on his desk earlier that day. It detailed the funding of schools in the southern province and he knew it would require his urgent attention.

  “Doctor Swan speaking.”

  Zamir ran a hand across the back of his strong neck. “Doctor. How is my brother?”

  “Good evening, sir.”

  The pleasantry frustrated Zamir. He didn’t want to pass moments engaged in idle chit chat.

  “Ra’if is doing remarkably. If you could see him now, you would not recognise him as the same man who walked through our doors two months ago.”

  “Excellent.”

  “He’s really turned a corner in his recovery. He’s coming to every group session we have scheduled, and mentoring some of our newer patients. In all my years practicing, I’m not sure I’ve seen a more promising recovery.”

/>   Zamir exhaled a breath of relief. “Do you feel he would be well enough to return to Dashan soon?”

  “Definitely. I’d like to meet a physician first, who could oversee his progress once home. I think it’s important to keep some continuity of care going. Do you have someone in mind?”

  “Yes.” Zamir had interviewed specialists and found the foremost expert in the country. “I can arrange for Doctor Hibi to come to you. Is my brother there now? I would like to speak to him.”

  “Hmm,” Doctor Swan could be heard clicking into his computer. “They checked out into the garden about an hour ago. And they’re usually gone for several hours. I can have him call you upon his return?”

  “Fine.” He was about to disconnect the call when he thought better of it. “You said ‘They’re’, doctor?” He repeated.

  “Yes, the woman who comes to see him.”

  Zamir felt a rush of panic. What if the press had found Ra’if after all? What if a reporter was visiting him? Or worse, someone from his past life?

  “Who is it? Who is this woman?”

  The doctor’s voice was instantly defensive. “We check everyone before they come into the facility, sir. There’s no chance she’s bringing him anything banned.”

  “Who is she?”

  More tapping on Doctor Swan’s computer screen. “A Miss Olivia Henderson.”

  Zamir felt as though he’d been sucker-punched. He sat down in his chair and squeezed his eyes shut. “How often does she visit?”

  And though it wasn’t physically possible, he thought he could hear the kindly smile on Doctor Swan’s portly features. “Every day, sir. She’s very devoted to him.”

  Envy, fury and a foul odour of betrayal fogged Zamir.

  “Thank you, doctor. I’ll be in touch.”

  He disconnected the call and stood jerkily from his seat. Olivia Henderson was visiting his brother, and Zamir would not rest until he found out why.

  * * *

  “I’m sure you’re cheating,” she laughed, handing over the deed card for the most prestigious property on the board.

  “I do not cheat,” he responded with mock gravity. “I win, though. And I win often.”

  “Oh! The pain! The shame! What would my sisters say?” She clutched her hands to her chest in an exaggerated gesture of having been wounded.

  “They would urge you to be wiser than to wage war against a master such as me,” he grinned. “How is Ava? Have you heard any more?”

  “No,” Olivia shook her head. “Only that Cristiano is there now.” She sipped her hot chocolate and then folded her legs onto the seat. Her clothes were too baggy on her slim frame. Though she wore black leggings, the sweater was enormous. She looked very young, and very innocent.

  “You are sitting like a school child,” he pointed out.

  “And I am drinking hot cocoa. Which must make me about ten years old.”

  He nodded gravely. “If only. Would it not be great to slip back in time, just for a little while?”

  “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. She stifled yet another yawn. It was late in the afternoon, and she’d hardly slept all week, owing to the new upstairs neighbours and their yapping puppy. “I’m not a believer in looking back.”

  Ra’if placed the dice back on the board so that he could concentrate on her face. “Liv, has anyone ever told you that you are truly unique?”

  She felt her heart squeeze in her chest. Not because Ra’if’s words had set off an emotional response in her, but because they reminded her of the sweet things Zamir hadn’t said to her. The sweet compliments he’d never paid her, because he hadn’t felt them.

  More and more, Olivia had convinced herself that she’d fabricated the strength of her feelings for the foreign prince. How could she not believe herself to be a little bit in love with him? He was everything a fairy tale hero should be. Tall, dark, handsome; mysterious, sexy and rich, funny and smart. She could not have avoided falling in love with him for anything. Or at least, believing she had.

  “Come on. You’re just trying to throw me off my game.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You are also truly dreadful at taking praise.”

  A knock sounded at the door. “Are you expecting someone?”

  “It’s probably that horrible nurse coming to ask you more about the outback,” he did his best impersonation of an American accent and Olivia burst out laughing.

  “That’s not kind,” she whispered, but she was still giggling when the door pushed inwards.

  The amusement became a choke in her throat. The most beautiful amber eyes in the world, set in a face that radiated barely contained rage, were sweeping from Olivia to Ra’if.

  “Zami,” Ra’if stood, apparently surprised but not affected at all by his brother’s arrival. “I wasn’t expecting you. I didn’t even know you were back in America.”

  Zamir looked beyond his sibling, to the figure of Olivia Henderson, and his temper spiked. She was stricken to see him, and he knew he recognised guilt on her features. And he understood why. The cosy scene he’d interrupted was awkward, at best, to be observed by her former lover.

  “So it is true?” He spoke in English, for her benefit.

  “What is true?” Ra’if responded in kind. The smile on his face slipped a little.

  “You and him?” He was speaking to Olivia. He pushed past Ra’if and stood over her, his hands in his pockets, his eyes burning into hers. He watched as she swallowed and her neck knotted visibly.

  “Zamir,” Ra’if came up behind him, his voice holding a note of warning. “What is going on?”

  A muscle in Zamir’s jaw clenched. “That is what I came here to ascertain.”

  After the initial shock of seeing him, Olivia felt resentment take its place. “What’s the problem, Zamir? You seem angry, and yet you’ve no right to be.”

  “No right?” He repeated incredulously. “You are here with my brother, and you think I have no right to be angry?”

  “Absolutely,” she repeated, standing to her feet and glaring back at him. Zamir noticed then, for the first time, how much she’d changed. How slim she’d become, and her pale her skin was. Even her hair seemed to have lost its usual lustre.

  Zamir spun around, his eyes encompassing his brother. “You know I have a history with this woman.”

  Ra’if flicked his gaze to Olivia. The pain he saw in her eyes spawned compassion in his soul. “Olivia has been too discreet to discuss such things with me.” Ra’if moved to stand beside her, and his very presence was reassuring. “What I do know is that I care for her, and that I do not want you here if you have come only to upset and insult her.”

  Zamir clenched his lips together. “You have actually moved on to my brother? Why? Was I wrong about you, Olivia? Are you just a woman who seeks a wealthy, powerful man in her bed?”

  Tears sparkled in her eyes, but they were tears of anger. She took the two steps that were necessary to close the distance between them and then slapped him hard on the cheek. He lifted a palm and covered the stinging red mark. Olivia turned to Ra’if, her expression bleak.

  “Do you mind if we take a raincheck on the game?”

  “Of course not.” His expression was loaded with concern for this woman. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “No.” She sent him an apologetic grimace. “I just want to get out of here.”

  He nodded. He understood. “I’ll see you soon.” And Ra’if hoped, rather than knew, this would be the case. He wouldn’t blame her if she decided she wanted nothing more to do with the pair of them.

  It was cold in the evening air, and Olivia fumbled the key in the ignition of the car. It dropped from the position and fell to the floor. “Damn it,” she groaned, cranking her door open and sending a panicked look back to the facility. All was quiet. She crouched down on the gravelled ground and felt around for the key. It was under the brake pedal. She pulled it out and stood, but banged her head hard against the steering wheel.

  “Damn
it!” She repeated, and took a deep breath as she rubbed the already-present egg on her skull. “Get a grip,” she muttered, the incantation reminding her of her mother, who had said it often.

  She was still rubbing her head when he arrived.

  Olivia knew he was there without even turning around.

  “Give me the key.” His voice was husky. His words were accented. She felt a swirling of remembered affection. She ignored it.

  “No.”

  His laugh was a thick sound from the base of his throat. “It is not a request.” He held his hand out and she turned now, her eyes sparking with the depth of her feelings.

  “How dare you?”

  “Exactly my thoughts.” He took the key from between her fingers, and she was so afraid of touching him, that she let him slip it from her grip. “But I would prefer to discuss this with you privately.”

  “I don’t want to discuss anything with you at all.”

  He sent her a look of derisive impatience and stalked away. Olivia belatedly galvanised her legs into action. “Hey! Give me back that key.” But Zamir was handing it to one of his servants, waiting in a black SUV on the other side of the drive.

  “He will drive the car back to town. You will travel with me.”

  “Like hell I will.”

  “You could, of course, go back to my brother.”

  Nausea rolled in her gut. However much his accusations hurt, that he believed them hurt worse. She knew that she’d never trust him again, but she wanted him to know how wrong he was. “Fine,” she agreed stonily. “You can drive me home.”

  He held the door open for her and Olivia climbed in. There were no servants in the car. Nor was there a Marook. It was just her and Zamir.

  He took the seat behind the wheel and flicked the engine to life.

  “Can you even drive?” She demanded, rubbing the egg and wincing.

  He saw the action and thought of asking if she was okay.

  Only he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t admit to himself that he cared for her.

  In response, he pointed the car down the drive and floored the accelerator. She gripped the handle of her door. “Okay, fine. Point made.”

  He slowed down and concentrated on setting the car towards the city. It was a long drive, and he intended to use it to his advantage. “So you are in love with him now?”