by Dana Marton
His son.
The two short words were suddenly full of meaning. He looked at Isabelle, wanting to know if she understood what an utter miracle this was, truly felt the significance of it. Her blue eyes swam with tears as they met his.
“Textbook perfect,” the doctor was saying. “You’re pretty close. From now on, I’d like to see you every day if you can come in.”
“I will. I’m ready for this. Carrying this little peanut is backbreaking work. Not that I’m complaining.” She turned to smile at the screen, blinking hard a couple of times. “But he can come whenever he wants. Thank you, Dr. Szunoman.”
“I’ll let you get dressed. See you tomorrow then. Same time would be good for me. I’ll be on call for the next two days.” The doctor wiped off her belly, then congratulated Amir on his way out, but Amir’s eyes were still on the monitor.
“That’s my son.”
Isabelle tugged her shirt down and sat up, rolling her eyes, blinking away her tears. “Our son. I think I had a little something to do with this pregnancy.”
He caught her up in a hug and swung her around, unable to stop grinning. “My son and my wife.” He sure hadn’t expected that when he’d come back to Wyoming. He wasn’t sure if he deserved being so richly blessed.
“Amir.” Her tone held as much warning as a Wild West gunslinger’s as she pushed against him with determination. “No.”
He set her down but kept his arms around her. “Give me one good reason why not. You can trust me. I will take care of you,” he said before he could stop himself, knowing immediately that he’d said the wrong thing. It was the taking care of part that she hated and feared the most. “Or I’ll ignore you,” he offered. “I promise to be too busy taking care of the country to take care of you properly.”
She ignored that last bit, not even bothering to point out how badly he was faking. “You can’t take care of me. Nobody can take care of me. I have to take care of myself. I’m not going to end up like my mother.”
He stepped away from her, his own frustration rising. She was carrying his child. He wanted to marry her. Why was she resisting? “What does this have to do with your mother? What did your father do to her?”
“It wasn’t my father.” She walked out of the room and down the hallway. “My mother went from, well, trailer trash to one of the first women golf champions, always trying to get someone to take care of her on the way. First my father…” Her voice faltered. “Marrying a doctor at eighteen was a big deal to her. Like a prize or something. He was another one of her trophies.”
He stopped her, turned her to him, then reached out to push a few stray locks of hair back from her beautiful face. “Marrying a doctor is not a crime, Isabelle. In fact, a lot of women out there wouldn’t mind being married to a sheik, either.”
She swatted his hand away. “She wasn’t happy with him for long. After I was born, she moved on to her manager. Then her sponsor. She was always looking for the next more powerful man who could take her even higher. They used her, then cast her aside. Then… Never mind. We should be going.” She looked away and began walking toward the elevators.
Sounded like her mother had been taken advantage of sexually by these powerful men in her life. And now Isabelle didn’t trust men in power. His hands fisted as he followed her. “Then?”
“She started drinking and doing performance-enhancing drugs and her career disappeared. Her liver gave out at the end.”
They stopped in front of the elevators.
He took her hand and wouldn’t let her pull away. “You’re not your mother.”
“No.” She gave a sour laugh. “She used people and allowed them to use her. I try so hard not to be like her that I make even worse mistakes.”
He lifted her chin so he could look into her amazing blue eyes. Her soft black hair framed her face. He had known his share of beautiful women. She was the most beautiful of all. Of course, he could be biased. But even if she wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, she certainly was the one from whom he couldn’t look away. “This is not a mistake.”
“I don’t let anyone close, for fear of starting to depend on them too much. I work too hard at the hospital to ensure I’ll never have to depend on anyone. The first man I let near me in years was a complete stranger at a masquerade ball, a man whose name I didn’t ask to make sure there could be no possible entanglements. And now here we are.” She tugged her hand out of his.
She went on. “I don’t regret being pregnant. But I wasn’t looking for commitment. I wasn’t looking for any of this. We used protection.”
And this time he let her go. “I see.”
She viewed a relationship with him as some sort of prison. The thought brought a strange tightness to his chest. As a very eligible prince, he hadn’t experienced too much rejection. His usual response to failure was to try harder, but pushing her now didn’t seem the right thing. If she didn’t want him, he couldn’t force himself on her. He did care about her happiness. He would not be the source of her misery. “We’ll talk about this some more at another time.”
“I’ve been talking.” She stepped onto the elevator. “I can talk all I want, but will you listen?”
That she was right stung. He hadn’t been listening very well until now. He hadn’t realized how strongly she felt about her independence until he’d heard her mother’s story. “I will,” he promised as the metal doors closed behind them.
She shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. “You have no idea how wretched saying that made you look.”
“Sheiks don’t look wretched. Noble. Aristocratic. Devilishly handsome. Those are the usual adjectives, I believe.” He wanted to make her laugh.
She rolled her eyes, the smile growing a little. “Whatever.”
Why was it so hard for them to make each other understand? “The strange thing is, even though I’m a sheik, you…make me feel like an ordinary man.” She’d said she wanted an ordinary man, if any. Maybe they were going in the right direction.
She tilted her head. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Probably not. I suppose it’s a learning experience. I’m not always certain what to do with the way you respond to me.”
“You mean you don’t know how to handle it when your every word isn’t taken as a command?”
He flashed her a dark glare.
“I’m guessing you would know better how to react if I just fell at your feet and told you to do with me as you wish.”
He brightened up instantly. They were on the same page at last. “Yes.”
“Fat chance.” She sneered.
He went back to glaring, but not really feeling it. “You’ve been mocking me again.”
“Is that a hanging offense in Jamala? If it is, I better not go there.”
“It should be,” he said, but he was laughing under his breath. She really was amazing, could frustrate and make him laugh at the same time. She had a talent for reaching his emotions on multiple levels.
“Yes, O powerful sheik.” Her smile now bloomed wide on her full lips. Obviously, she was enjoying making fun of him. Seeing him unsettled seemed to give her pleasure. Heaven help him.
He wished for only one pleasure himself—the pleasure of kissing that mocking smile off her lips, the pleasure of seeing her in his bed. Soon, he promised himself. “We will discuss the matter of our relationship seriously. We will have time when we’re safe at the resort.”
She watched him for a long moment. “You want serious? All right, answer a single question honestly. Did you come to Wyoming with the intent of marrying me? Or did you have me tracked down for another roll in the hay?” She looked him squarely in the eyes, her smile gone.
“Back then—”
“Yes or no,” she demanded.
“No.”
“Which means you only want to marry me now because of the baby. We don’t do that here. Women can support themselves.”
“The baby and you are my responsibility. I admit, I have n
ot been the most responsible person all my life.” In fact, he’d been known for some wild partying and reckless behavior. “But once I do take responsibility for something, I honor my commitments.”
“That’s just it, don’t you see?” she said softly. “I don’t want to be another responsibility that has been foisted upon you. I don’t want to be the woman you grow to resent little by little for putting you in chains. It would kill the soul right out of us if we had to live like that, together for all the wrong reasons, day after day.”
There was a communication gap between them. Making her understand him was vital. He needed to figure out how to convince her, and in order to do that, he needed to spend more time with her.
“Will you come to the resort with me? The rest of the royals are there with whatever trustworthy security we have left. I wish to see you safe. You’ve been seen with me a number of times. Your car has been seen. They have your license-plate number. By now they know where you work, where you live.”
Still, she thought about it way too long. Then, at last, her hand came to rest on her belly. “All right. I’ll stay at the resort until it’s time for me to have the baby.”
Good. An excellent first step.
They exited the elevator in silence. He kept in front of her while he looked around. Nothing suspicious in the underground parking garage that he could see, and he did peer hard into every shadowed corner. Neon lights flickered above, in a neat row in the middle.
“What will your family think of this? I mean about the baby,” she asked out of the blue. “I know absolutely nothing about your family. What will your parents say? You said before that you had a sister and a half brother.” She drew her delicate eyebrows together. “That would have been a good time to mention that you were all royalty.”
“Not all, technically. My half brother lives right around here.” Finding him had been the reason for his first trip to Wyoming all those months ago. “Our parents are gone now. My father had a secret indiscretion many years ago. Wade was never formally acknowledged. My sister Saida doesn’t even know about him.” He wanted to talk to Wade again and bring the family together at last. As soon as Isabelle was safe.
“You mean royal families aren’t perfect, either?”
“Don’t you read tabloids?”
“If I ever get a chance to sit down at the hospital, I’m lucky to get through the contents page of the New England Journal of Medicine. People vastly overestimate the amount of time most doctors have for leisure activities.”
He took her hand as they walked through the deserted, exhaust-smelling lot. He had chosen the lower, emptier level on purpose. His picture had been on the news. He didn’t want anyone to recognize him. He had a feeling Isabelle’s doctor had, but she had a longtime friendship with the man through the hospital, so Amir didn’t think he had anything to worry about from that corner.
They were about halfway to Isabelle’s car when the first shot rang out. And he couldn’t knock Isabelle to the ground and throw himself on top of her, for fear of hurting her or the baby.
He rushed her into the cover of a cement support post instead, positioning her between the post and himself to make sure she was protected from two sides. Not enough, but something. His hands went to his waist, where he often wore a holstered weapon when he thought he might be entering a dangerous situation. But this time, of course, he had nothing.
The enemy’s gun fell silent. The man was probably moving closer, trying to find a more vulnerable angle. He wasn’t going to have too difficult a time. They were sitting ducks here.
The distraction of another car pulling into the parking area would have been welcome, but the place was quiet, nobody coming. Somebody would, sooner or later, but they didn’t have too long to wait. The second the shooter found them, the game would be over.
“Who are these people?” Desperation thickened Isabelle’s voice.
“I don’t know. But when I find out, I promise you, there’ll be hell to pay.” He searched for a weapon, spotted a fire extinguisher on the far wall, impossible to reach.
Isabelle was searching, too, her gaze darting from car to car. “Where do we hide?”
His muscles tightened. He wanted to reassure her, but he had little good news to give. “No place to hide here. I’m sorry.”
Her SUV was in a clear line of sight, most of the way protected by the emergency staircase. “We will run for it,” he told her. “Zigzag. Between here and there, take every available cover. No matter what anyone says or does, no matter what happens to me, you just keep going. I need you to promise me that.”
“It’s impossible.” She looked pale and worried, her eyes large in her face.
“Not nearly. Reminds me of running with the bulls in Spain.” He made his tone lighter for her sake, wanting to erase the fear from her eyes. “I’ll tell you about the good old days when we get out of here.”
“You didn’t run with the bulls.”
“Seven times,” he told her proudly. “Now!”
They dashed forward, stopping in the cover of an enormous pickup truck. He normally sneered at giant American monstrosities, but now he was grateful for the size. Cars in his country were much smaller; the roads narrower. The original road system had been built for donkey-cart traffic.
“What about security?” Isabelle was asking him in a low whisper.
“I don’t know if I can trust my security,” he told her morosely.
“I mean in Spain. How could they let you risk your life like that?”
Either she was the coolest person under pressure, or she was trying to distract herself from the threat of imminent death so she could function.
“I left my security at the hotel. Nobody knew who I was.”
They dashed another ten yards, then stopped by the next support column and crouched at its base. Too slow. Only luck saved them. He was still too damned weak. A week from now, he could probably take on the bastard. Take him on and rip his heart out for putting Isabelle in danger.
As it was, if he wasn’t careful, he wasn’t going to live to see next week.
“I thought sheiks were supposed to be responsible and all that. What was that embracing responsibility speech you gave me before? The whole ‘being the father of your nation’ thing?”
“I haven’t run with the bulls since I took the throne.” Not that anybody appreciated that or any of the other sacrifices he’d made. Everybody took his complete lifestyle change for granted.
And his life was about to change again. Completely. Yet, this time, he didn’t feel a single spark of resentment. He was looking forward to this twist. Then do what you have to so you live that long, he told himself as he inspected their surroundings.
They had only another five yards separating them from Isabelle’s car, but they would have to come out into the open to close that distance. He scanned the area again, looking for another alternative and not finding any.
“Get your keys out.”
She did so immediately.
“I’ll distract them. You run to the car and drive out of here as fast as you can. Without looking back, without a moment of hesitation. They’re after me. They will leave you alone. Don’t stop until you’re someplace safe.”
Her chin came up, and he knew what was coming before she said the words. There was something tragically heroic about her, in the fire in her blue eyes.
“I’m not leaving you in here with some armed madman. I don’t care if you’ve run with the bulls, wild elephants or a yeti.”
He didn’t have time to argue with her. He raked his brain for a compromise, aware that with every second they wasted hesitating, the shooter was creeping closer and closer to them.
“You can’t move as fast as I can,” he pointed out. “I’ll run for the elevators and keep in cover. I’ll meet you at the front entrance of the hospital. We’ll be safe there. There’s security in the lobby.”
“What if they catch you?”
“They won’t. It’s not the first
tight spot I’ve been in in my life, Isabelle. I know what to do. I’ll be fine.”
“You’re still recovering.”
“I only have to make it to the elevators. It’s a very short sprint.”
She looked like she was going to argue with him, but in the end, she didn’t.
“Be safe,” she told him, then ran for it, keys in one hand, the other resting protectively over her belly.
He sprung up at the same time, drawing attention to himself.
A third of the way there.
A shot rang out, the bullet hitting the tailgate of the pickup in front of him.
Halfway there.
The next bullet hit the cement at his feet.
Almost there.
But before his finger reached the call button, the third bullet mercilessly slammed into him, knocking him to the ground, searing his body with pain.
Chapter Seven
Amir was hit.
Isabelle saw him jerk as his body absorbed the impact of the bullet. Then she could no longer see him as he fell. The shooter knew he had him and stepped out into the open, moving in for the kill.
“Stop!” She yanked her black mini-umbrella from her purse and angled her body to keep her shaky hands in the shadow, hoping like hell she looked armed and dangerous.
She had no idea what on earth she was doing. All she knew was that she couldn’t let Amir die here.
“Stop right there, or I’ll shoot,” she ordered in her toughest tone, the one she normally reserved for dressing down unruly residents at the hospital. Or patients she caught eating double cheeseburgers the night before surgery.
Then two things happened at the same time: the man turned his back to Amir and moved toward her, and a car entered the parking lot, its headlights hitting the umbrella, ending the illusion that she was holding a gun.