‘You must have some thoughts on your future with this baby,’ he said, and Mel turned, hoping to see some glimpse of what he was feeling in his face.
No luck there—the word ‘inscrutable’ might have been coined for Arun’s face right now. He had no need of veils or masks to hide his thoughts…
‘I want the best possible upbringing for the baby,’ she said, because, brain-boggled though she’d been, that was one thing she had decided. ‘Maybe because I was brought up by a grandmother, I feel deeply that he or she should have two parents.’
Surely that would bring some twitch of emotion, some sign as to whether he was considering being part of the child’s life. But, no—not so much as a shift in a facial muscle, so Mel, feeling increasingly trapped and desperate, continued with a rush of words.
‘That’s not to say you have to be one of those parents. I mean, you can if you want—if you decide you’d like to be involved—and we can work out some kind of custody arrangement, but if you don’t want to, well, that’s OK, too. We—I mean, the baby and I—won’t be alone as I have a good friend at home, Charlie, who has offered to marry me and be a good role model for the baby. I’ve said no to marriage and we haven’t agreed anything, but I can tell you now that he loves kids and he’s very well adjusted so he wouldn’t have any hang-ups about it not being his biological child and—’
‘Enough!’
She flinched not only at the harsh order but a thunderous expression on the previously blank face.
‘What is this nonsense you are spouting? Who is this Charlie you intend to give my child to? Who knew about my child before I did? How—?’
He stopped as if his indignation was choking him.
Mel thought she’d start by answering the easy part.
‘Charlie’s an old friend. He’s a great guy and has always been there for me. And I didn’t tell him—he was worried about me and worked out for himself that I was pregnant.’
‘Stop!’
Arun held up his hand this time.
‘Strange as it may seem, I am not the slightest bit interested in the behaviour of this Charlie, although now he’s entered the picture, how can you be sure it’s my child you carry, not his?’
‘Charlie’s?’
Was it a measure of her tension that for a moment the question made no sense?
‘But I’ve never been to bed with Charlie,’ she managed. ‘Charlie’s a friend.’
‘A friend, who, presumably, you will go to bed with once you’ve decided to marry him.’
Could frost form on words in warm desert climates?
Definitely!
But the coldest of frosts couldn’t cool Mel’s growing anger.
‘I told you that I said no to marriage,’ she began, but she doubted Arun was listening, for he’d given an explosive snort and was holding his head in his hands, with little regard for the neat points of his scarf.
‘Can you tell me,’ he demanded, in strangled tones, ‘how this conversation got from my baby to making a life with this obviously bloodless man called Charlie? Although, before we leave him, why, if he so adores you, has he not taken you to bed? Is the man dead below the waist?’
Stung by this insult to her second-best friend, Mel rushed in again.
‘Of course he’s not—he’s had dozens of affairs. Just not with me, because it wouldn’t have been fair of me to have an affair with him knowing I didn’t want to marry him. Besides, I’ve never wanted to have an affair with him—he’s not that kind of friend.’
But blurting that out only made her feel more confused and it obviously wasn’t helping Arun for he was shaking his head in disbelief. He spoke into some kind of two-way radio and the driver slowed down slightly. Now Arun turned, put his hands on Mel’s shoulders and peered intently into her face.
‘You will listen to me,’ he said, his voice deep and slightly raspy, as if it was only with difficulty he wasn’t shouting at her. ‘You will not marry Charlie. In fact, I do not ever want to hear his name again. It is bad enough that he knew of my child before I did, let alone that you would consider letting him take my place as the father. But there is one thing you got right in all that nonsense you have been spouting, and that’s the fact that, ideally, a child should have two parents. You are one of those parents and I am the other, right?’
Where was this going?
Unable to guess, Mel did the only thing she could think of. She answered truthfully.
‘Biologically speaking, yes,’ she said, and saw the gold braid on Arun’s gown catch the light from the bright lights outside the compound as he flung his arms into the air in sheer frustration.
‘I am not talking about biological parents,’ he growled. ‘I had a biological father, thank you very much, and a lot of good he did me! My child will have a real father. Me!’
But how? Mel thought, although she thought it best not to say it. She’d upset him quite enough for one evening…
The building they stopped at, inside the compound, was yet another house, one Mel hadn’t been inside before.
She glanced sideways at her companion, who’d been silent for the final minutes of the journey. What was he thinking? What did he mean about being a proper father to the baby?
The remote look on his face and his earlier anger suggested she’d be better off not asking.
Not right now…
‘It’s bigger than the others,’ Mel said, as she got out and looked around, smelling the scent of lemon blossom on the warm night air.
‘It was my father’s house and though neither Kam nor I have any intention of moving into it, we will use it for functions and celebrations. Celebrations especially. It deserves some joy.’
He spoke calmly—tourist guide again—the anger gone.
Or hidden?
But hearing something in his words, Mel sighed. Just as she’d steeled herself against this forceful, sometimes overbearing man, he said something like that—the house deserving joy—and she caught a glimpse of an unhappy little boy inside him and started to feel sorry for him. Not that he’d accept sympathy from her—not this proud descendant of desert princes.
She adjusted the shawl around her head, knowing full well her rebellious hair would escape anyway, and followed him up the steps. He held her arm as she slipped off her sandals, and the touch fired again all the longings she’d been feeling.
Would it hurt to revisit the affair—to enjoy the pleasure they’d shared once before?
Of course it would, her brain shrieked, but her brain wasn’t having a lot of control over her body right now, and she had doubts, if it came to an argument, as to whether her brain would win. Although going to bed with Arun wasn’t going to help sort out the baby problem…
‘This is the stateroom where visiting dignitaries from overseas are usually entertained.’
Arun led her into a room that looked like something out of an opera set. Colourful tapestries draped the walls, a long table seemed to be set with gold plate, though, when Mel looked more closely, she realised the plates were white and merely edged with gold. As were the glasses, and the vases that held displays of brilliant flowers, their colours merging with the colours of the coverings on the chairs, the curtains, the tapestries and the bright silks of the women.
‘I understand why you men wear white,’ Mel whispered, as they stood just inside the door so she could take in the scene in front of her. ‘With all the other colours, you stand out.’
Arun smiled at her, then led her forward towards one of the white-robed men. He saw them coming and stepped swiftly towards them.
‘Brother,’ he said, greeting Arun with a cheek-to-cheek embrace. Then he turned to Mel. ‘And Melissa, best friend of my Jenny, who tells me you were put to work from the moment you got up this morning and that you are caring for our Tia’s baby.’
He took Mel’s hand and bent over it, then his fingers tightened on it as he looked into her eyes.
‘The little boy? He is all right? Jenny said truncus art
eriosus, but you can operate? Is that right? Can you spare us the time to do that?’
The green eyes, so like Arun’s, looked worriedly into hers, but it was Arun who answered.
‘Unhand the woman, Kam, and give her time to speak, although when she does she’ll brush away your concern and assure you she wants nothing better to do than to hang around in Zaheer long enough to operate on Tia’s baby.’
Kam laughed.
‘I can see why you and Jenny are friends, Melissa. You think the same way. I tried to persuade Jenny we should take a honeymoon—at least a week away. Somewhere quiet we could be together, but could I get her to agree? Not when there is so much work to be done here, she tells me. She is going to be a slave-driver, that woman. This I know already.’
‘You’re talking about me?’
Mel turned to see Jenny, looking radiant in a gown of palest cream decorated with rich red embroidery. Her eyes gleamed with happiness and her skin shone with health, but it was the look she gave her husband-to-be that assured Mel her friend was really doing the right thing. These two were so in love you could warm your hands on the glowing warmth of it that shone in the air around them.
Mel glanced towards Arun, and knew he saw it, too, because although he smiled, his eyes looked sad.
He was thinking of his own wife, Mel guessed. A beautiful young woman who’d died too young, he’d said, though he’d not mentioned much more than the bare bones of the story.
‘Hey, it’s a party. Don’t look sad.’
Jenny’s teasing remark startled her out of her thoughts and she let her friend draw her further into the room where the Stapletons were standing talking to Miriam and another woman Jen introduced as the twins’ mother.
More and more people, sisters by the dozen, nieces by the score, uncles, cousins, friends and family, everyone smiling but all the time checking out the strangers in their midst. But seeing Jen move among them, hearing her utter little phrases in their own tongue, Mel knew her friend would cope. In fact, this was probably the challenge Jen needed—not only marriage, but marriage that brought with it responsibilities she could handle—a marriage that would be a true partnership as she and Kam strove to bring their country into the twenty-first century.
But would the tasks in front of them make up for their lack of children? Would Jen’s concern about not giving Kam an heir prove a tiny crack that could widen with time and spoil their bliss?
Don’t even think about it, Mel’s head warned, but it was hard not to when she was carrying a child who could be the heir Kam and Jen needed.
The thought made Mel shiver as, for the first time, she considered her baby in that way. Originally, coming here, her mission—apart from being Jenny’s bridesmaid—had been to tell Arun about the baby. And, aware from the beginning of their relationship that he hadn’t wanted children, she’d thought the telling would be the beginning and the end of it.
But now?
Suppose he was serious about being involved with the child?
Worse still, suppose he saw her pregnancy as an option that saved him from marrying—an option he’d certainly not have chosen had Jenny not had the problem she had.
In which case he’d want the child brought up here, not in Australia, and how could she fight for custody against a man with seemingly limitless financial resources?
Jane was chattering about all she’d seen that day—the souk, the desert, the winter palace—and Mel let the words wash over her, hoping they’d eventually chase away a new fear now nestling in her heart.
‘You enjoyed it?’
They were in the limousine, returning to the hospital, when Arun asked the question.
‘I did,’ Mel said, telling him the truth, for the whole affair had been so mind-boggling she’d been able to set aside most of her anxiety about Arun’s possible plans. ‘The food, the conversation, everything—you certainly know how to throw a party.’
‘Ah, but it’s the people who make it happen,’ Arun said. ‘And family can be counted on to make things lively, can they not? They can fight and argue, yet remain friends. Kam and I, brought up mainly in schools overseas, have taken longer to learn this. But especially in the past, in the times when all the people roamed the desert, family had to come first to ensure survival. So it was always the most important thing, and though members of the family might squabble among themselves, in times of trouble they would stick together.’
Mel thought about his words—yes, there’d been arguments, some quite loud and fierce, at the dinner table, but there’d been laughter, too, and gentleness, a little girl sliding from her chair to walk around the long table and climb onto the knee of her white-robed father—the look of love in the man’s eyes as he’d nestled the sleepy child on his lap wonderful to behold.
‘I had a different kind of family to most,’ Mel admitted. ‘I was brought up by my grandmother, so my family was her, although in the holidays cousins came to stay.’
Arun touched her cheek, placing his hand against it so his palm curved under her chin.
‘I could give you family,’ he said, so quietly it took Mel a moment to process what he meant.
‘You mean—’
‘Marriage,’ he said quietly.
Mel lifted her hand and rested it on top of Arun’s.
‘You can’t mean that—you’ve barely had time to think about all the repercussions of the baby. You’d be rushing into it, it’s impossible—’
‘You would consider marrying Charlie to give the baby a father, so why not marry me?’
‘Charlie’s safe.’
The words were out before she could stop them and no amount of ‘oh, dear-ing’ could take them back.
Yet Arun said nothing, his face closed against her once more, although she doubted it was the last she’d hear of the subject.
The car took them swiftly through the quiet night streets but not so swiftly that Mel missed the sight of the full moon riding high in the sky. The silvery beauty of it made her forget her concerns, her whole being caught up in the magic of the night.
‘Oh, look at it,’ she said. ‘Could we stop where we stopped to watch the sunset so I can see the desert in the moonlight?’
Was he getting soft that such an innocent appeal could make his heart hurt? Arun wondered. Especially when he was angry with her?
‘Charlie’s safe’—what did that mean? That he, Arun, was dangerous?
But he gave an order to the driver and the vehicle turned off the main road, pulling up minutes later on the top of what had once been one of the highest sand dunes in the area.
Only now it had been stabilised and housing stretched down one side, while on the other side was the desert—the red-brown sands that still sang in his blood.
Perhaps that’s why Melissa’s words had affected him.
The driver opened his door but Arun told him to stay where he was, he would help the lady out. But the lady had already moved, opening the door and standing up, holding the door for support as she slipped off her sandals.
‘You should keep them on. It’s a lookout—there could be glass or rubbish lying about,’ he told her, but she shrugged his words away.
‘No worse than the needles that can be found on beaches at home,’ she said, ‘but I still love to feel the sand between my toes. The moon’s bright, I’ll walk carefully.’
And so saying she began to pick her way down the dune, the sand sliding with her in places so she had to hold out her arms to keep her balance. In the dark gown she looked like a shadow on the earth, but as he followed, the light wind lifted her shawl and he saw the flaming hair.
She was beautiful and he wanted her, not entirely, if he was honest, because of the baby. He wanted her physically, but he wanted more than that. The challenge of her, the meeting of their minds—she’d laugh if he said that.
He looked up at the moon and sighed, for it must be that which was making him so fanciful, but then she turned to face him, the moon shining on her face.
‘It is beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘So beautiful I want to celebrate—to dance and sing out loud and, believe me, that’s not a good thing because I’m a dreadful singer. But it awes me, if you know what I mean, yet makes me feel so good.’
Her obvious delight in the world that meant so much to him filled him with a happiness he doubted he’d ever felt before. Very gently, he reached out and touched her, taking her face between the palms of his hands.
‘I will show you all the desert,’ he promised. ‘By moonlight, and at sunset, and in the early dawn when it slowly wakens, pink and rosy like a woman, from a love-filled night.’
He leant forward and kissed her, long and deep, delving into her mouth, finding her tongue and tangling with it, drawing her breath into his lungs, sharing his with her, making promises with a kiss.
‘If you will let me,’ he added, moving so their bodies touched.
And through the layers of their clothing, through his robe and her gown, he felt her body respond, her nipples harden into tight nubs, even as his own desire became evident.
She kissed him back, leaning into him, her hands slipping beneath his scarf to hold his head to hers, then the kissing stopped and she slid her hand into his.
‘Isn’t this a bit public for a sheikh?’ she whispered, the promise in the teasing words making his erection even harder.
It was too easy. They fell back into their special rhythm of love-making as if they’d never been parted. Mel felt her skin tighten in response to his touch, felt her body heat and soften for him. Felt the same heat in his skin, and in the bunching of his muscles as he lay beside her in the big bed—her big bed, not his—controlling his need until he had her almost begging to be taken.
‘I have dreamt about this for four months,’ he murmured into the sensitised hollow of her neck. ‘I am not going to hurry.’
‘Not until I beg?’ she whispered, blurring the words against his short-cropped hair.
‘I would never make you beg,’ he promised, but as his fingers worked their magic she knew she might.
Soon…
Languor crept through her, so hot and heavy she felt as if she was melting into the bed, yet all her nerve endings were alert, thrilling to the lightest brush of his fingertips or the briefest touch of his lips.
The Sheikh Surgeon's Baby Page 9