by Leslie North
A shiver chased down his spine.
He could imagine the disaster—both for him and this lovely woman—if the headlines had been “Tess Angel Dies in Zahkim Crash.” Instead, they would read, “Tess Angel Rescued by Zahkim Royalty.” Now that was a headline to help his country, which could definitely use a boost.
Leaning back in his seat—he would have to do something about his main hospital having such uncomfortable chairs—he turned on his tablet. If he was going to skip the Public Services Council meeting to sit here watching his very important rescue, he might as well attempt some productivity. But he couldn't keep his attention on the spreadsheet sent to him by his chief economic advisor—one of his many cousins who helped him run the country.
How could numbers compare to Tess Angel?
An angel will fall…
The words came back as if to haunt him.
He had forgotten the old woman's words. Now, however, he could hear her raspy voice as if she were speaking into his ear. He shook off the memory. It meant nothing. Just an odd coincidence. He was an educated man; superstitions were rot. No foreigner would save his country. That was his job. He forced his eyes back to the screen. Too much red. Much too much red ink on that spreadsheet. There had to be a way to boost Zahkim's economy, end the strikes, and restore order. Perhaps he really did need an angel.
He glanced back at Tess Angel, the woman who had turned a music career into a multimillion-dollar brand with endorsements, a line of jewelry, and her own production company. Now this was a woman to reckon with.
As if sensing his stare on her, she woke with a groan and a jerk of her hand. She blinked her eyes open—lovely eyes in a vivid jade with a hint of gold around the huge, dark pupils—and muttered, "Hippo…"
Tarek narrowed his eyes. The medics with the rescue squad had said she had a minor concussion. Could that still affect her mind?
She cleared her throat. "Where am I?"
Ah, that was better. He hoped her husky voice didn’t come only from her parching trek through the desert—he could listen to her recite the dictionary with that voice. Leaning forward, he put a hand on her wrist. Her pulse jumped slightly under his touch, and he smiled.
"You're in the hospital in Al Resab, Zahkim. I am Sheikh Tarek Rahim, but please, call me Tarek."
"Zahkim?" She pulled her hand away and frowned at the IV attached to her arm. "That's somewhere near the Red Sea, right?"
He nodded, pleased she at least knew Zahkim existed. His country was little more than a rising city, some oil wells, and a few ruins beyond the Amin oasis, and many had never heard of it.
"You were overheated and quite dehydrated when I found you. The nurses have been pumping you full of fluids since you arrived here."
"That explains why I need to pee so badly."
Tarek's mouth twitched in amusement. His advisors would die of shock if they saw such a thing. In truth, he could not recall the last time he had smiled.
"I'll summon someone who can help you." He stepped out of the room and raised his hand, and seconds later a nurse slipped into Tess's room. He told an orderly to get her some food.
After the nurse's departure, he stepped back into the room. Tess now sat upright in bed, her arms crossed—as much as the IV would allow. He found himself almost mesmerized by those green eyes of hers.
"Tell me someone found Phil, my pilot. Is he all right? And when can I get out of here? Did my phone drown? I'll need to schedule a flight out. I was heading to Mumbai, and I have to be back in New York next week. Is it still Tuesday?" A line formed between her arching eyebrows. She kept her stare on him but picked at the tape holding her IV in place.
"The rescue crew found your pilot. He's down the hall. The doctors said you suffered a concussion and they advise rest. And your pilot has a broken leg that will keep him in the hospital for more than a few days. I'm also sorry to say we have no commercial flights available for the foreseeable future due to some labor disputes at our airports. I will see about your phone."
Her shoulders slumped. She stopped picking at the IV and settled her head against the pillow. The look in her eyes made him want to go to her side, to take her in his arms. But he had no such rights. "Miss Angel—"
"You recognized me?" She wrinkled her nose, and her mouth pulled down in a grimace. "I thought I might be spared that."
"How could I not know your face…and your name, which I found in your backpack? You are Tess Angel, owner of Angel Productions, and you head up the Coalition for Women in Entertainment. Thank you, by the way, for not leaving your empty water bottles strewn across my desert. I will see that all your needs are met, Miss Angel."
Her cheeks pinked even more. She lifted a hand. "Please call me Tess. And you…what? Are the owner of a desert?"
Tarek laughed. "No one can really own a desert. It owns itself. I just try to take care of it—and keep anyone from dying in it."
"You've had a successful day then."
She smiled. The warmth in her eyes made him forget to breathe. For a moment, he could only see the golden spark that lit her eyes. He wanted to step to her side, lean in, and capture that lush mouth with his own. Something about her…he couldn’t name it, but it called to him.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he looked away. This was not like him. He was a rational man. He had spreadsheets to review for the economy, striking workers who needed to be forced back to work, and protesting women in Al Resab's main park to disperse. He must focus on solving those problems and get over his fascination with this woman.
A knock on the door provided the interruption he craved. He called for the person to enter in Arabic, while Tess did the same in English. Surprised, he glanced at her. He was not accustomed to others giving orders in front of him. She stared back at him, eyebrows lifted high, as if she, too, was used to being the one in charge.
The door opened revealing a veritable parade. An orderly carried in a tray of food, while Dr. Al Din stood aside for an elderly woman in a traditional black robe and headscarf, along with three other women also dressed in black, while four uniformed palace guards took up posts outside the room. Tarek bit back a groan. Of course his grandmother would arrive with a full entourage. If a beetle crossed the country's border at the far edge of the desert, Sheikha Amal Rahim of Al Resab would know about it.
The orderly set the tray on Tess's rolling bed table and departed as soon as he could. Dr. Al Din gave a discreet bow and hovered in the background, along with the other women.
Sheikha Amal stepped up to Tess's bed at once dominating the room. Tall and slender, Amal wore unrelieved black as if she had been widowed a month ago, not decades before. Her black eyes glittered with intelligence and the strong nose and chin marked her as a woman not to be crossed. She took Tess's hand. "I'm so glad you've woken, my dear. We are delighted to have you in our country. I only wish the circumstances had been less traumatic for you, so you had a better first impression. You are quite the heroine, though. You must stay and allow us to suitably honor you."
Tess's mouth fell open, and she blinked several times.
Tarek stepped up next to his grandmother and took Tess's hand from hers. "Grandmother, may I present Tess Angel. Tess, this is Sheikha Amal Rahim. Grandmother, Tess was about to eat. Perhaps conversation would be best delayed until she has regained some strength. And we must allow the doctor to see to his patient." He gave Tess's hand a squeeze and hoped that would do as an apology for having so much of the palace descend upon her.
Letting go, he turned to his grandmother. She met his stare, her mouth set, her chin lifted. She knew better than to argue—she wanted more than anything, he knew, to make a good impression on Tess. After giving Tess a brilliant smile and a few more courteous words, Sheikha Amal swept from the room. Tarek followed, resisting the urge to glance back at Tess for one more glimpse of her stunning beauty.
In the lounge at the end of the hall, his grandmother stopped and faced him. Her ladies kept their distance, with the palace guard h
overing a few steps behind them. Amal lowered her voice. "We will make her stay as long as possible, Tarek. She must be your angel from the prophecy. Even her name fits."
He wanted to kick Arif for ever telling his grandmother about that old woman's nattering back in Oxford. Amal had listened to the story as if it came straight from God. She had been waiting for years for it to be proven true. He sighed.
"Grandmother, that wasn't a prophecy. It was the babbling of a homeless old woman who knew we'd give her money to make her go away. Tess has said she needs to continue her travels. She—like myself—has duties to attend to. She will stay only until she and her pilot are well enough to leave."
Sheikha Amal gave a snort. "You cannot say it is mere coincidence she falls into your lap just as Zahkim is having its worst crisis ever. Tarek, she will save you."
He shook his head. "From what, Grandmother? Myself? Is that not what you keep saying I need? Well, I can look after myself, and Zahkim has a long history. The country will go on. And Tess Angel's staying or leaving won't change a thing. I forbid you to speak a word of this nonsense to her. The state of our country is not her concern."
His grandmother patted his arm. "Tarek, you are very capable. You know I support you. But Allah is merciful, Allah is kind. Is it not possible that Allah sent her here to help you? Do you not feel it in your bones that she is the one meant for you?"
Tarek bit the inside of his cheek and counted backwards from five in Arabic, then English. "I think God, if he even exists, has much better things to do than arrange a plane crash, complete with injuries and a desert rescue."
Before Amal could respond, Dr. Al Din stepped from Tess's room and strode toward them. Tarek waved the guards aside and walked to meet the man.
The doctor gave Sheikha Amal a nervous glance but turned to Tarek. "Your Majesty, I have spoken with your guest. Rest is most important. She may leave, but I would prefer to keep her pilot for a week, possibly two. His leg will require surgery once the swelling is down."
"But Tess…Miss Angel…she is well?"
Sheikha Amal stepped forward. "We will provide her a room and care at the palace." She gave Tarek a defiant stare.
Dr. Al Din glanced from Tarek to Sheikha Amal and then nodded. "That would be excellent. Be alert for headaches, nausea, dizzy spells, or any confusion. Monitoring for the next two days is advised. The potential still exists for bleeds in the brain. If you will excuse me, I will authorize her discharge."
Tarek glanced at his grandmother. In truth, he had no objection to Tess coming to the palace, as long as his grandmother didn’t fill her head with rubbish about fate and prophecies. He gave her a warning look then headed back to Tess's room.
He found her sitting on the edge of her bed, her IV removed, and her bare legs visible. Those legs stopped him in the doorway. Smooth, tanned, and long, those legs left his mouth dry and his heart beating fast. He could only stare, caught by the sight of so much bare skin, as stunned as if he'd been hit by lightning.
Tess sat up straighter and tugged at the hem of her hospital gown. That simple motion freed Tarek's gaze. "The doctor said I could leave, but I want to see Phil before I go. Can you recommend a hotel?"
He blinked and had to pull his mind from the image of having those legs wrapped around his waist. "We will not hear of you going to a hotel. My grandmother is right that you deserve the respect due to a woman who has survived a near tragedy. You saved your and your pilot's lives. I insist you do me the honor of accepting my hospitality."
She wiggled her feet. That had him staring again. She did not paint her nails, and she had shapely, elegant feet. "I don't want to impose…"
Dragging his gaze back up to her face, he forced a smile. His hand tightened on the doorknob. He would keep himself in control. She was his guest. "It will be no imposition at all, I assure you. And the doctor says you need care for a few days. I will also enable visits to see how your pilot fares. So you see, you must come."
Smiling, she tipped her head to one side. Her hair swung down slightly, the red highlights flashing. She had a dimple in her left cheek. "To your desert?"
"I do have an actual house. Although 'house' might not be the most precise word for it. I will have clothes sent to you at once—yours are somewhat the worse for wear. Then a wheelchair and a visit to your friend before we go."
She pushed off the bed and stood. "I need to move and make sure all the sand is out of my joints. I'm not using a wheelchair."
Tarek crossed his arms. She was almost as stubborn as he was. "You will use a wheelchair. It is hospital policy. Or you will not see your friend. Nor will you leave here."
She locked stares with him, her green eyes sparking with challenge. Her chin rose, and for an instant, he was reminded of how his grandmother had stared at him. He was not about to yield, however. He was not only ruler of his country—he was not a man to cross.
At last, she gave a nod. "Yeah, okay. You're probably right. I've got a feeling I'd get two feet down the hall and keel over. I'll be good. I promise."
Chapter Three
Tess would never admit it, but she was hurting. Everywhere. From her hair to her toes. She'd already discovered the bruises on her chest from the harness straps—and she was really hoping Tarek had not been around for her change from clothing to hospital gown. Heat spread up her neck at the thought of him.
Okay, so he was more than cute. Tall, dark, and with that way-too-sexy beard of his that made her think about how it would feel for him to rub his chin over her skin. She'd never been with a guy with a beard before, and she could only wonder what it'd feel like. The current hipster lumberjack trend turned her off, but Tarek's well-trimmed facial hair might change things. If it ever went that far. And maybe it would. She shivered and tried to focus on getting into the clothes provided.
Loose white trousers, tunic, robe, and some kind of headscarf. The fabric was soft—cotton probably—the cut pretty much one size fits everyone, and it left her feeling exotic. It was better than a hospital gown, for sure. She glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror and pulled a face.
She'd always lived by the walk-it-off philosophy of dealing with injury or illness. It had served her well up to now. For the moment, however, it was going to be more about creaking around. A faint headache lurked behind her temples. She had the dry taste of sand still in her mouth. How much of her stuff had been salvaged from the plane's wreckage? Clothes maybe. Perhaps the gifts she'd brought for Riya and her team in Mumbai.
Her birth control pills.
Her face flamed, and the corner of her mouth curled up. Okay, thinking way too much about Sheikh Tarek.
Did they even have birth control here? The Middle East wasn't known for its progressive values. She hit the nurse-call button and finished dressing. The nurse, a skinny woman with dark brown hair piled high and scrubs too big for her, arrived in less than thirty seconds. Tess wondered if she and Phil were the only patients or if being a sheikh gave Tarek enough clout to keep the staff hopping.
With a smile and accented English, the nurse asked, "How may I help?"
"Do you know if my belongings were brought to the hospital? I have a…prescription I take. If it was lost, I was hoping I could get a supply."
"I understand your luggage was retrieved from the plane. All should be waiting for you at the palace."
"Palace? Guess it's good to be a sheikh." She brushed off the nurse's words. Tarek probably had some kind of villa or large house. The nurse left and came back with a wheelchair.
Tess rolled her eyes, but sat down and said, "I need to see Phil." And if the nurse didn't take her to Phil's room, she was going to stand up and find it on her own.
“Of course, miss.”
The nurse wheeled her into a room down the hall where she found Phil hooked up to more monitors and tubing than Tess liked to see. He opened his eyes and smiled, and Tess figured those pupils of his meant he was feeling no pain.
"How you doing?" she asked.
Phil wa
ved a hand. "The doc's talking surgery. Seems they're trying to get a specialist here but they want the swelling to go down first."
Wheeling herself closer, Tess gripped his hand. "Don't worry. I'm not going to abandon you here."
He frowned. "What about Mumbai and New York?"
"They can wait. You've been on every tour with me. I'm not bailing on you here. Acquisition meeting or not, it's all on hold until we can both travel again."
Phil nodded and closed his eyes.
With a sigh, Tess patted Phil's hand. "Hang in there. We'll make it home." She started to turn the wheelchair, got it caught, and had to have the nurse back her out. That left her irritated, wishing she were on her feet and Phil wasn't waiting for surgery.
In the hall, she found Tarek and the older woman he'd introduced as his grandmother waiting for her.
The woman was tall, but she looked far smaller standing next to Tarek. Why did the guy have to be so dang tall? Tess had always had a thing for guys who could beat her own five-foot-eight. The woman wore the same kind of robe and scarf that had been given to Tess. Somehow, she managed to make the black look stylish, even without any jewelry or ornamentation. Her face was a topographic map of wrinkles, but her dark eyes glittered with intelligence—and was that a little mischief? Tess couldn’t be sure. She found herself warming to the woman.
Amal stepped up and smiled. "I'm delighted to hear you'll be staying with us, my dear. The doctor said you should wait at least a week or two before you travel, and your companion may need a month of recovery."
Tess shifted and tugged at her robes. "I'm a fast healer. So's Phil. As long as I can keep up with my people. I have meetings in India I'll have to reschedule as well as colleagues and friends who need to know what happened."
She was aware of Tarek staring at her, those amber eyes of his intent and focused. She'd never met a man like him. She was used to stares, to fan adoration, but Tarek—there was something about him that tugged at her, and she wasn't sure what it was. Maybe it came from having been rescued by him.