The Sheik's Dangerous Temptation

by Mary Jo Springer

  She gulped a large breath of air, hoping for resolution. Instead, a multitude of troubling questions swirled in her brain. Why was he so insistent about her name? Did he think she was pretending? That she had some sinister reason for acting like she didn’t know who she was? What if she never regained her memory? What if she had a husband, a family out there that was searching for her? Her eyes flew to her left hand, seeking a ring. Not even a white ring line marred her tanned finger. So she probably wasn’t married. Besides, she was positive she wouldn’t forget something as monumental as having a husband. Scattered like pieces of a puzzle on a table, nothing showed signs of gelling. And then, the worse thought of all wormed its way into her overtaxed brain. What if she never recovered her identity?

  Seeming to notice her panic, he stood and moved to the end of her bed, withdrawing a penlight from the pocket of his lab coat. Aiming the light into her eyes, he studied her, that oh-so-sexy-smile of his making butterflies take flight in her belly.

  “Look at a point just over my shoulder,” he instructed as he moved closer. She stared all right, but it was at his aristocratic face, his lips. Their alluring shape captivated her. His lower lip was thick and sensual, while his upper lip was thin—the combination an irresistible carnal invitation. Her heartbeat skyrocketed. Unaware of her movements, she gravitated toward him, trapped in his enchanting spell. His low, captivating voice interrupted her thoughts, bringing her back to reality.

  “Um . . . I need you to focus your gaze over my shoulder, if you please.”

  Wave after wave of heat raced up her body, incinerating the apples of her cheeks. They sizzled with embarrassment. He chuckled at her dismay, a robust, ultra-masculine sound, sending her into sensory overload. Those cute little butterflies in her gut turned into fire-breathing dragons. She restrained herself from placing her hand across her stomach to still the action.

  The door swished open, breaking the sensual connection. A man dressed in a dark suit stood at the back of the room. She’d expected her visitor to be dressed in the robes of the desert, but instead he wore business attire that reminded her of the hand-made executive clothing suits of Savile Row. Was Baharah a traditional Arab country, or ultramodern, resembling a Western nation? When she got the chance, she’d ask the doctor for more details about his country.

  “Excuse me for one moment.” Shoving his penlight back into his pocket, the doctor straightened. She immediately sensed the loss of his soothing presence. Soothing? A few minutes ago, sparks of heat flew between them.

  “Nazem.”

  The man showed his obeisance by bowing, “Your Highness.”

  Your Highness? What? Had she heard the man correctly? She might not know her own name, but her hearing was still intact. He’d definitely addressed the doctor as Your Highness.

  Doctor Hajjah, or whoever he was, waved the man closer. “You have something for me?”

  The man called Nazem reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a round gold disk. Even from across the room, she heard the doctor gasp. Nazem dropped the item into Doctor Hajjah’s outstretched hand. His fingers closed around the object for a long moment before bringing his fist up to his heart. Except for the modulation of the medical machines, an eerie silence filled the room. For a long moment, he stood there with his hand at his heart and his head bowed.

  “Your Highness?” Nazem questioned.

  “Where did you find this?” The tone of his voice altered, dropping into a sedate octave . . . mournful.

  Nazem’s fierce gaze burrowed into her. “In her shoe, my lord,” he pronounced, tilting his head in her direction. “Taped inside.”

  Malik’s gaze flashed to her.

  “My shoe?” she objected, her anxiety rising. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

  Now both men glared at her. Doctor Hajjah started toward her, his nostrils flaring. Trapped, tied to the machines, she had nowhere to run. She tried to hitch herself up using the bed rails, but the excruciating pain knocked the breath from her lungs, sending her flopping back down against the pillows. He loomed closer, bringing his face within inches of hers, his feral stare sending the heart machine into chaos. This couldn’t be good. She’d unknowingly done something wrong. Something so bad, it altered the comforting doctor into an intense predator. He scared her.

  She swallowed hard as she instinctively pushed herself to the far end of the bed. Whatever they suspected she’d done, she had no knowledge of her crime.

  “Where did you get this?” his terse voice lashed her.

  She glanced up, disoriented.

  Not two inches away from her, he opened his palm. She stared at the heart-shaped gold medallion with a large sapphire in the center. It was a beautiful piece of jewelry, an amulet of some kind. She did recognize it. A recollection of it dangled just out of her reach. It triggered something hard and malicious within her. Why? A shiver racked her body.

  Heat flew into her cheeks. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before,” she lied. Until she had some answers, it was better to deny she’d ever seen the damn thing.

  A strangled breath escaped his lips, setting off alarms that made her palms sweat. He didn’t believe her. He knew she was lying.

  He cocked his dark head to one side. “Look at it again, study it. I want to know exactly where you got this.” Hostility edged his diction, every word broken down into single, intense syllables.

  Glancing away, she racked her brain, praying it would jump-start some sort of recollection. Nothing fell into place. And then like a nuclear blast . . . it hit her. She’d seen that particular medallion swaying back and forth in front of her face. Not just once, but many times. She recalled a man’s voice uttering something like a chant, a hypnotic chant, but the memories were scattered and nonsensical. Alarm bells the size of Big Ben tolled.

  “Please do me the courtesy of looking at me when I’m addressing you.” He leaned in even closer, so close his hot breath ruffled the wisps of hair around her face, mingling with the hairs rising on the back of her neck. He placed a finger under her chin, forcing it up so that their eyes met.

  “What exactly are you accusing me of?” she questioned, rebelliously twisting her chin out of his touch.

  He smiled at her antics, as if amused by the notion that she’d challenge him.

  “No one is accusing you of anything. We simply want to know how this came to be into your possession.”

  “Why are you grilling me like this? You know I can’t even remember my name, yet you expect me to know everything about a piece of jewelry I’ve never seen before? Don’t you think I’d tell you what you want to know if I could? After all you’ve done for me . . . If I knew the answers, I would give them to you.”

  Those lips she thought so sexy only moments ago thinned with anger. “Would you?” he replied, sharply. “Or do you have some nefarious reason for lying to my face?”

  His accusation cut into her like a scalpel. “For what purpose?” she countered, her hands clutching the rails of the bed in a white-knuckled grip.

  His brows furrowed. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

  All her thoughts about him being handsome and kind went down the drain. This man who stood before her now was a man with a goal. He demanded answers and, judging by the determined look in his eyes, he’d do anything to get them. He’d been playing with her from the moment she awakened. She wasn’t his patient. She was his prisoner.

  His voice sank into a threatening whisper, “I want an answer. Now!”

  She grabbed the glass in front of her and sipped down the cold water, hating that her hands trembled. “You will have to give me time to recover my memory. Surely you can give me a few days?”

  “Impossible!” He spat between clenched teeth.

  A vein pulsed at his temple as he leaned in even closer, his fa
ce mere inches from hers. “Unfortunately, we are out of time.”

  She shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t understand. Why?”

  He waved her question off. “Because the last time I saw this medallion, it was hanging around my sister’s neck. It was my present to her for her sixteenth birthday.”

  “Well, now you can return it to her. I don’t want it.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t,” he growled.

  “Why?”

  “She’s dead, killed by an assassin’s bomb along with the rest of my family, their helicopter blown out of the sky for the great sin of being members of the royal family.”

  She gasped, horrified by his revelation.

  “And now, mystery lady, I tire of playing this little game. I want answers!”

  She jumped when his fist slammed against the bed rail, knocking the cup of ice chips to the floor. Tears blurred her vision as Nazem stepped forward, placing a warning hand on the doctor’s shoulder. The foggy memories sluicing through her overtaxed brain could be just a figment of an overactive imagination. She didn’t know fact from fantasy at this point. She had to keep her musings to herself before she found herself in even bigger trouble.

  Malik shrugged off Nazem’s hand.

  Pressing her lips together, she fired back, “I certainly didn’t steal it, if that’s what you think.”

  His hand tore through his hair and removed the surgical cap, crushing it in his fingers. “How do you know if you have no recollection of how it came into your possession?”

  “I would never steal anything.”

  His lips lifted into an unpleasant smile. “Again, how do you know that?”

  He was badgering her. What exactly was he accusing her of doing? Murder? Deep in her soul, she knew she wasn’t capable of that. Not her. Never. At least . . .

  Nazem’s calming voice broke into the inquisition. “Your Highness, maybe we should let the lady recover a little more. Perhaps then some of the facts will become clearer.”

  Doctor Hajjah straightened to the towering height of well over six feet. With a disgusted huff, he turned and strode into the far corner of the room. Leaning a shoulder into the wall, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Anything you can tell us, Miss, would be helpful,” Nazem prompted.

  Malik’s arms fell to his sides, “She has amnesia, Nazem, so we may never find the answers to our questions. Pardon me if I’m having a hard time accepting that. After all, it is my entire family that is dead!”

  She tasted salt as tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I wish I could help ease your pain.”

  “Ease my pain?” he ground out, “Believe me, Miss, nothing can do that.”

  Nazem shot him a concerned look, but Doctor Hajjah waved him off. “I’m fine, you can go. Keep me posted on anything else you find out about the incident.”

  But when he turned to leave, the doctor’s anguished voice spun him back around. “Nazem . . . thank you for getting this back to me. I’ll cherish it.” He opened his fist, staring once again at the medallion. He’d gripped it so tightly that the inside of his palm bore its imprint. A wave of vulnerability flooded his face; he must have loved his family a great deal. In that moment, her heart shattered for the arrogant doctor.

  “You’re welcome, Your Highness.” Nazem reached the door, opened it, and was gone, leaving her alone with him.

  “Well, it’s time for you to get some rest.” He also moved toward the door, his movements slow, tortured. Her heart sank in her chest. She wished she could help him. If there was anything she could do to calm his distress she would, but until her memories became clearer, she didn’t know how that would be possible.

  She didn’t want him to leave, she realized. His was the only face she knew, her only connection with reality.

  “So, Your Highness, you are the ruler of this country?”

  Again he ran a trembling hand through his hair as he turned to face her. “I am Sheik Malik el Hajjah, king of Baharah.”

  Confusion furrowed her facial features. “And you’re a doctor?”

  He tilted his head toward her, strain compressing his lips into a taut line. “Yes, I’m a doctor. Harvard trained. I know who I am . . . The question is, who the hell are you?”

  The suspicion in his ice-blue eyes bore into her, all tenderness obliterated. Spinning away from her, he stormed to the door. In the hallway, Nazem was waiting for him.

  She stared as an intense argument erupted between the two men. Pointing a finger at Nazem, the sheik shook it several times before stomping away, letting the door slide shut behind him. Seconds later, the door whooshed back open, and Nazem walked to her bedside. Her breath caught and held. The grim expression on his face signaled she was in trouble.

  He blew out an exaggerated breath, his shoulders dropping. “You must excuse His Highness. He’s been through a lot this past year, and sometimes he is not himself.”

  About the same age as the sheik, Nazem had an intense, searching gaze. His dark eyes delved into her, making her want to tell him everything she knew. Which of course was nothing.

  “It’s understandable under the circumstances,” she replied.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, watching her intently, making her slightly uncomfortable.

  “Have you known him long?” She shifted her weight, fighting to find a comfortable position in an uncomfortable bed. Nazem picked up the control box dangling from the side of her bed, pushing one of the buttons, and the bed slowly rose to a more satisfactory position, bringing her almost eye-to-eye with him. He waited for her nod before returning the box to its original position.

  “Since childhood. We have been best friends for a long time.” He leaned against the wall next to her bed. “He’s made great strides in bringing this country into the twenty-first century. He’s fulfilled his father’s dream. Modelling our country after Dubai, where everyone is considered an equal. We are not only an international business hub but also cultural as well because of his endless work. A playground for the rich and famous that brings in commerce dollars that builds schools, universities, hospitals, and his favorite vocation . . . the orphanage. There are a lot of people who hate him for putting Baharah on the map for everything from international tourism, to oil production, to manufacturing plants. His Highness walks a tightrope between two worlds. On one side is the traditional lifestyle of the nomads of the desert, and on the other side is the modern and demanding world where women walk the streets in western clothing. It is not always easy being caught between these two worlds.”

  “You seemed to have a calming effect on his explosive temper.”

  He gave a little huff of laughter, shaking his head. “Believe me when I say that no one has that effect on him. No one.”

  “I think I’m already well aware of that.”

  He laughed, a strong masculine chuckle, and she began to relax, instantly liking him.

  “You’ll warm toward him once you get to know him. You must remember that the wounds of losing his family are still very raw. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t yearn to hear their voices.”

  “It must be awful for him to live with that.”

  When his facial features dropped, she could tell he shared this sorrow; the two men really were close friends.

  “He is still coming to grips with their deaths.”

  “He’s lucky to have such a great friend.”

  “I’m the lucky one.” His espresso-colored eyes bored into her.

  She hitched the sheet up closer to her chin. “You’d do anything for him?” She’d only known this man for a few minutes, yet she trusted him.

  “Yes, I’d march into hell for him. He saved my mother from cancer two years ago, so I’m forever in his debt.”
His tone harbored all the intensity of a lightning strike. She had no reason to doubt his sincerity.

  “When you get to know him better, you’ll see he has an extremely charitable side. In fact, he champions the orphans of this country. His medical salary pays for their education, housing, and for modern computer labs so when they are grown, they will be able to compete in any arena. He donates his medical services at the hospital and regional clinics when he’s able. He throws himself into around-the-clock work to forget the pain, as if saving lives can somehow bring his family back. He needs to relax more, before the demands of his office kill him.”

  Both of them were silent for a long moment, and then he said, “I need to ask you some questions about how you wound up in the desert with those men.”

  She let out an exaggerated sigh, which snapped his concerned gaze to her.

  “Do you feel up to answering my questions? I know His Highness said you were suffering from temporary amnesia, but if you can tell me anything that will help me in this investigation, it would be appreciated.”

  She shook her head, flushing with disappointment. “Don’t you understand? I have no recollection of anything that happened before I woke up in the hospital.”

  “Please try to think,” he coaxed, patting her hand like a father would a child. “The men who killed the sheik’s family are still at large. Since that fateful day, there have been three attempts on the sheik’s life. These perpetrators won’t stop until they kill him. Until we have them in custody, I must do everything in my power to protect him. So you can understand the urgency of my investigation.”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

  He tried again. “How did the amulet get into your shoe? Can we start with that?”

  “As I’ve already said, I don’t know.” She wrung her hands as a rising tide of anxiety overtook her. Flashbacks of the swinging medallion continued to haunt her.