He was bewitched!
Incapable of doing anything more than sit in dumb silence, watching as she ate another one then offered the next to him.
He had to get real here, to take control. He was the host!
‘More?’ Sarah asked softly, and he ignored the innuendo in her words and placed the platter of oysters on the table between them.
And to show he was in control, he lifted one on his fork and offered it to her, his senses on overdrive as she opened her slightly kiss-roughened lips and sucked it from the fork.
So dinner became a prelude—a long, teasing period of foreplay—as they ate the oysters, crayfish and salad, then fed each other some kind of coconut mousse, as delightful as any dessert he’d ever tasted.
Or was it the company that made it so special?
She was leaning back in her chair, this red-headed woman he’d kind of pursued across the world, looking rosily replete and so damned beddable he had to keep reminding himself not to rush things.
‘So?’ she said finally, and although she managed a very small smile he could almost feel her tension across the table.
He rose and took her hand, leading her back to the divan.
‘We could just chat for a while then say goodnight, and I’d drive you up to your villa...’
‘Or?’
Her smile was a little stronger this time, and her green eyes glittered in the candlelit room.
‘Or I could kiss you like this,’ he responded, sitting down beside her and demonstrating gently.
‘Or like this!’
The kiss deepened, and now she was kissing him back, inviting him into her coconut-sweet mouth, her tongue teasing at his, her hands sliding underneath the back of his shirt, touching his skin so lightly he was almost sure he moaned.
Or someone had.
His body was so aroused it was only a matter of time before their movement on the narrow divan made her fully aware of it.
‘Bed?’ he whispered into her mouth.
‘Bed!’ she responded, firmly enough to excite him even further.
He quelled a mad urge to lift her into his arms and make a dash for the bedroom.
Except he’d probably drop her! He might think he was fighting fit, but, as Luke had warned, it could take years before he fully regained the strength and mobility he’d lost in the fight for his life.
He drew her close again, and somehow, still kissing, they made a less dramatic move into the bedroom.
Where she stiffened in his arms and he realised just how big a step this was for her. He’d lost a bit of strength and the ability to do the one job he’d excelled at, the job he’d loved, while she’d lost the man she loved and a child she’d have been expecting to welcome into their family.
He eased away and took her face between the palms of his hands, looking into her eyes, at her reddened, swollen lips, remembering the taste. No, this was about her.
‘We can stop right here if you like,’ he told her.
And for a moment she hesitated. Then the glowing smile returned.
‘And miss a night of our very short fling?’ The smile widened, and he found himself wanting to watch that smile forever.
As if!
* * *
Sarah pressed her body against his, feeling his reaction to her teasing, hearing his growl as he plundered her mouth once again, backing her towards the bed while his hands roved at will over her body.
And her body responded to every move he made, so by the time he’d manoeuvred her onto the bed and was slowly undoing the buttons on her shirt she was trembling and helpless, her fingers touching his face, his hair, his chest, almost begging him to take her but lacking the words after so long a time.
And probably because he wasn’t David?
A new love, even for a brief affair, needed new words, new language—language she hadn’t yet learned.
Then, suddenly, words were not required. Instinct and need and want and desire all took over and although the first time was too frantic, too mind-blowing in its intensity, the second time, when their bodies had lain close and probably spoken a secret language to each other, was slow, and languorous, and so intensely fulfilling she clung to Harry, like a limpet to a rock, remembering the pleasure of maleness—the strength and sinewy toughness that differentiated men from women.
‘Tomorrow?’ he murmured in her ear, as they lay, spent and sweaty, once again. ‘If you like, we could take the resort boat out and snorkel along the edge of the reef. It’s another world of beauty out there.’
‘Tomorrow,’ she whispered back, ‘I have a day of extremely unromantic and unbeautiful endoscopies to do, and the day after that, if I remember rightly, a double hernia op and a breast lumpectomy.’
‘Ouch!’
He shuddered as she nipped her fingers on his nipple, although earlier it had excited him.
‘It’s a holiday romance without the holiday part, remember?’ she said, easing away from the enticing maleness in the bed, knowing she had to get back up to the villa for the little that remained of the night. ‘But I’m here to work, so daytime canoodling is out.’
‘Canoodling—what a great word. Is that what we’ve been doing?’
‘It is indeed,’ she said quietly, standing up now, searching around for clothes.
It had been David’s word and although she felt no guilt, the memory somehow brought him closer.
‘Do you have to go?’
He was sitting on the bed, this Sheikh Rahman al-Taraq, his lower body covered by a rumpled sheet, his chest bare and smooth, slightly muscled beneath the skin, the smile that had accompanied his question so beguiling she almost slid back in beside him.
Almost!
‘And wander back home at dawn with the eyes of the entire island on me?’ she asked. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then I’ll drive you back.’
He was out of bed in one lithe movement and she almost gasped at her body’s reaction to this naked male—this magnificent naked male.
‘You d-don’t have to drive me.’ She stuttered out the words, aware that one touch or, worse, a goodnight kiss would have her back in bed with him in less time than it took for a single drumbeat, let alone a chorus of them.
* * *
He had things to do!
He’d told himself, when he’d made this mad dash across the world to a very small Pacific island to see again the woman with the red hair, that with the marvels of the internet he could work from anywhere.
But that had been before just one night with that same woman had blown his mind.
Now every time he closed his eyes he saw an image of her milk-white skin, the teasing smile, and long, slim arms and legs, and full breasts, and—
Open your eyes and do some work!
But although the voice he used with himself was stern, himself wasn’t obeying, seeing Sarah now even when his eyes were open.
He’d go for a walk, clear his head, or go up to the research station to see what was happening there.
Or he could take the resort helicopter over to one of the uninhabited islands and gather some of the bark and leaves Sam needed for his research into M’Langi tea.
Or just take a long, cold, shower...
* * *
Sarah worked slowly and carefully, aware that any deviation in her concentration could have, well, not fatal but nasty results.
And there were so many new tracks to follow in her head that a deviation would be easy.
So she concentrated even more than usual, calling out results to Caroline, who was note-taking, although the new machine she’d bought for Wildfire computed the results.
Somehow, seeing them on paper made diagnosis easier for Sarah, and her assurances to patients that all was clear were far more hea
rtfelt and meaningful.
Another patient was wheeled out to the top ward, today being used as a recovery room. Hettie held sway in there, keeping an eye on all the patients as they woke from their mild anaesthesia, helping them dress, then offering juice or cups of tea. Vailea, the hospital housekeeper, made sure there was a steady supply of both, and plenty of sandwiches for people who’d been nil by mouth for at least twelve hours.
The day wore on, finally finishing, and Sarah stripped off in the washroom and turned the shower to very hot. That way, if Hettie or Caroline happened to come in while she was dressing, they might think the red marks left on her body by the adventures of the previous night were from the water, nothing else.
Not that either of them came in, so Sarah dressed in the clothes she’d hastily pulled on that morning—for some reason all black—and headed to the small office to write up her notes.
The sun was almost setting, and she wasn’t on the beach. They’d made no arrangements, she and Harry, but would he look for her there?
Think she was avoiding him?
She shook her head and sighed.
Fancy complicating her life like this, even if it was only a holiday romance.
But would she not have done it to avoid complication?
No way!
Her body tingled in secret places even as she sat in Sam’s chair and pulled up the information she needed from the computer.
Tingled even more when she heard his voice.
His voice!
‘Anyone need a hand, someone to stand in while someone takes a break?’ he was saying.
A gust of laughter from Keanu confirmed what they both already knew—jungle drums!
‘You don’t need an excuse to see our Sarah,’ Keanu said. ‘She’s in the boss’s office, writing up her notes. But before you interrupt her, will you take a look at an X-ray we’ve just done? For some reason the pictures aren’t coming through from the machine as clearly as we’d like—we’ve an expert coming out next week to fix it. It’s a little boy with an injured arm, and Sam and I both think greenstick fracture, but another pair of eyes on it would be good.’
Aware in every nerve in her body that they’d have to walk past Sam’s office to get to X-Ray, Sarah held her breath, though obviously the X-ray had been taken to Harry, wherever he was out the front—maybe outside—as the murmur of their voices had grown softer.
A brief affair, she reminded herself, but her ears strained to hear his voice again, and her body continued to misbehave.
* * *
Much as he’d have loved to spend more time with her, Harry realised that a woman as dedicated as Sarah wasn’t going allow herself to be distracted from her work. So he’d learned to live with her absence during the day.
He would drift up to the hospital most days, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, hear her voice, accepting the inevitable on the majority of days when it was nothing more than exercise and a time to chat with the other staff.
But late afternoons and evenings were theirs. They’d meet on the beach at sunset, swim together in the placid waters of the lagoon, then, now that the tides were kinder in the late afternoons, walk around the rock fall to his bure.
There, they’d shower, where the simple action of soaping her back had become an erotic pleasure that invariably led further. Then they’d dress and sip their juice on the deck outside until the stars were out and their dinner had been delivered.
The second night, they hadn’t eaten until midnight, when hunger had forced them out of bed.
But today was the last day—the final evening of their time together lay ahead.
The thought of never seeing her again, except perhaps occasionally if their visits to Wildfire coincided, made his gut ache, but he was a man with his life in tatters; a man with family responsibilities tugging at him; a man who could see no fixed future even for himself, let alone for anyone else.
And Sarah deserved someone better. She would never be over the losses in her life, but now that she was moving on, she deserved the best.
‘Are you all right? When you didn’t arrive on the beach, I—’
But he could see what she’d thought. She was breathless, her skin sheened with perspiration. She’d run from the beach to the bure thinking what? That he’d collapsed? That the encephalitis that had done so much damage to him had returned?
Not that it did, but he did suffer periodic weakness and he remembered confessing that to her.
He held out his arms and she came into them.
‘I hadn’t realised it was so late,’ he said. ‘I was thinking how much I didn’t want to say goodbye.’
She pulled him closer and held him tightly.
‘A fling,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s been fun and so very good for me I cannot thank you enough, but we’ve still got tonight.’
‘We’ve still got tonight,’ he echoed, but as he began to unbutton her shirt he heard the helicopter take off, and a sense of foreboding made his fingers shake more than normal...
* * *
They were out on the deck, swinging lazily in a double hammock, bodies tangled together, and suddenly she wanted to know more about him and about the land where even the fountains were rose-scented.
‘Tell me about your home.’
Had the fact that it was their last night together prompted the question?
Who knew? But now he was talking, his voice deep with the love he obviously felt for his homeland.
‘At night in the desert the stars seem so close you could reach out and pluck a handful of them from the sky to keep in your pocket for a dark night, or to lay at the feet of a woman as homage to her beauty.’
Would you gather stars for me? Sarah wanted to ask, then reminded herself it was a holiday romance and the holiday ended tonight.
‘And the sand stretches as far as the eyes can see, right up to the red and gold mountains, waving dunes of it, tempting the unwary to cross just one more hill. It is a barren beauty but I can imagine nothing more beautiful.’
Sarah moved closer, snuggling up to him.
‘More,’ she demanded. ‘The sand, tell me about the sand.’
She felt his smile against her cheek.
‘It is soft and fine, and runs through the fingers like the most expensive silk. Warm to the touch—well, too hot to touch at times, but in the shadows it will warm you, provide a bed for you, and weave itself into your life.’
And she would never see this beauty, feel the fineness of this sand—what lay between them would be memories, and on her part gratitude for his help in moving on in her life.
But was that enough?
Was that all it could be?
Of course it was, it had to be. A fling with Harry was one thing, but Sheikh Rahman al-Taraq had responsibilities to his family, to a tradition that stretched, she’d realised from snippets of conversation, back almost to the beginning of time itself.
And he also had, she remembered, a woman pledged to marry him—a woman chosen, he’d said one night, by his family—his mother. It was the way things were always done.
He was easing away from her, as if aware of her thoughts, but apparently it was hunger driving him.
‘Food has yet again miraculously appeared,’ he told her, holding the hammock steady as he climbed off it. ‘My traditional food tonight, but little bits and pieces of it, like Spanish tapas. Do you want to sit at the table out here to eat it?’
Sarah swallowed the lump of melancholy that had formed in her throat and agreed that sitting at a table to eat was probably more sensible than handling food of any kind in a hammock.
He helped her out, held her to steady her—or perhaps just to hold her—then took her hand and led her to the small table where a platter of delicacies had miraculously appeared.
A rou
nd silver tray held myriad little dishes while a second platter had a variety of flatbreads, some thick and crusty, some wafer thin.
‘Sit and taste!’ Harry told her. ‘The smaller, inner dishes are sauces of various kinds. You can try them by dipping bread in them, or perhaps pick up a kibbeh...’ he lifted a small, round ball in his fingers ‘...and dip it in here like this.’
And he held it to her lips, his fingers trembling slightly—but, then, so were her lips and all of the rest of her body.
Whatever it was, it was delicious, a crusty outside protecting something soft and delicious—
‘Eggplant?’
Harry nodded, then chose a piece of flatbread, dipping it into a steaming dish of...who knew?
‘This is one of my favourites. It is mujadara with meat and pine nuts.’
He offered her a bite and a host of flavours she could only guess at hit her tastebuds.
‘Wow!’
Harry smiled.
‘Now you know how to eat our food, you must help yourself. Fingers and bread are our cutlery.’
How could the sound of a man’s voice speaking about cutlery make her bones melt?
To distract herself, Sarah leaned forward and selected a small red pepper stuffed with who knew what.
‘Shrimp!’ she said, as once again an explosion of taste filled her mouth.
It was a culinary exploration, and with Harry’s thigh tight against hers as she tried the different delights, braving all the sauces eventually, it became again a kind of foreplay.
‘There are sweets,’ he said, when she finally sank back, replete, against the back of the divan.
Sarah shook her head.
‘If I eat again this week I’ll be a pig,’ she complained.
‘So, we walk it off? A walk on my beach instead of yours? A short walk!’
He was prolonging this, their last night together, and Sarah understood, even agreed.
So they walked together past the long infinity pool at the edge of the resort gardens and onto the private beach.
‘Your stars can’t be much brighter than these,’ Sarah told him, waving her arms towards a heaven alight with brightness.
A Sheikh to Capture Her Heart Page 6