The Sheik's Dangerous Temptation

by Mary Jo Springer

  “Do you remember seeing it anywhere before your accident?”

  For just a second, a memory of the sheik’s face struck her. But it wasn’t from just a few moments ago. It was a glossy image, like a photo.

  The sudden glimmer of memory rattled her, and Nazem immediately picked up on her discomfort.

  “Are you remembering something?”

  She raised her eyes to his. “For just a brief moment, I saw a picture of the sheik in my mind, but it was like one of those portfolio photos models take with them on an audition. It was the strangest thing.”

  His brows knitted together in concern. “My lord’s image appears in many magazines around the world, maybe you are remembering one of those pictures.”

  “No,” she objected. “This one just showed his head. A headshot.”

  “Can you give me any morsel of information about what happened to you? No matter how small it is, it might give me direction.”

  “Believe me, Mr. Nazem, if I had any information to give, I would gladly reveal it to you.”

  He rose from his chair. “I know you would.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a business card, handing it to her. “You can reach me at this number, day or night, if you remember anything.”

  Chapter 3

  The whip whizzed past his ear before striking the naked back of the shackled man, shaving off a piece of flesh when it landed. Blood exploded from the wound, running in rivulets down the landscape of his spine. The man’s tortured scream, the howl of a wounded animal, pierced the air. The torturer tightened his hood and adjusted the mask on his face, then inched closer to his target.

  The prisoner dangled above the stone floor, his hands chained to the dungeon wall of the ancient fortress. Flecks of dust, suspended in a shaft of light a hundred feet above the man’s head, inched their way to the ground. All around the hooded man, rodents scurried and gnawed restlessly in the filth accrued by decades of abandonment, and the sound was sweet music to his ears. The wail of a sandstorm outside shrieked so loudly it reminded him of a screeching woman. He smiled. The bound man would pay with his life. He deserved his fate.

  Moving closer, he gripped the screaming man by his sweat-soaked hair, jerking his head back.

  “Two times you have failed me, you spineless parasite!” he hissed into the man’s face, his upper lip curling into a sneer.

  “No . . . Your Excellency,” the man cried, his tears mingling with the blood on his face.

  “Stop your sniveling, or I’ll cut your head off and feed it to my dogs.”

  He slapped the prisoner hard across his face again, the force snapping his head back and sending several of his teeth pinging against the stone wall. The hooded man smiled. “Do you take me for a fool? Do you have any idea the trouble I went through to get this girl? How I studied the sheik’s likes and dislikes until I came up with the perfect dangerous temptation?”

  The wounded man whelped in agony. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I meant no disrespect,” he said, clearly fearing more retaliation. An army of men in dark robes lined the walls around them.

  The dark phantom ignored his pleas. “Who would have thought the doctor would be the hardest one to kill?” he sneered. “He’s soft, nothing like his father. He’s nothing but a young whelp playing at being a ruler.” The owner of the dark dungeon paced, his black robes flapping around him, stirring up centuries of dust. “He signed his own death warrant with his modern ideas. Hospitals, educating women, letting women dress as westerners, caring for orphans and the less fortunate, what kind of leader changes the ancient ways of our people without calling a tribal council?” Raising his fist toward heaven, he shook it. “Does he think himself above our traditions? He’s an American-trained doctor. He has no idea how to rule this land. He must die!”

  Striding over to the wall, he bent down, cupped his hands, and filled them with some of the putrid water trickling down the mossy walls. He threw the contents into the moaning man’s face, forcing him to snap back into consciousness as he continued his rant.

  “His father was a mighty warrior before he married and became soft. His father ruled the desert, and he knew how to mix tradition with progress. Malik strives to force us all into the twenty-first century even if we prefer the old ways. He is but a spoiled pup, yet the idiots I send to complete this simple job continue to fail me miserably.”

  “Your Excellency, if you will just give me another chance,” the bound man begged, his emasculated voice breathy and anguished.

  “Another chance! Ba! After your mistake placed her in Malik’s hands?” He leaned forward, jerking the man’s head toward his own so the prisoner could hear every single syllable as it was slowly enunciated. “What part of ‘put a bullet in her head’ didn’t you understand? Idiot!” He released his hold on the man unable to bear touching him for a second longer. “The very sight of you disgusts me!” He spat on him, the white foam running down the man’s battered cheek. Walking the perimeter of the dank underground prison, he unfurled the whip again and let it fly, ripping into the man’s lacerated back. “No, you let Malik capture her.” The whip whistled through the air, striking its mark. “Now I am left to clean up this mess before she reveals everything to him.”

  The odor of the man’s suffering, mixed with the blood and musty essence of the thousand-year-old dungeon, produced a disgusting stench. The hooded man wanted nothing more to do with this slug who’d failed him. He drew in a deep breath, the stagnant air filling his lungs. Spying a dilapidated wooden bucket filled to the brim with mucky, moldy water, he picked it up and threw its contents on the man. “I will kill your entire family for this mistake.”

  The broken man whimpered pathetically. “Please, Your Excellency, do not make them suffer for what I have done.”

  He stepped back, swinging the whip before slinging it through the air once more. A bloodcurdling scream rent the air. He smiled, knowing his men’s fear of him grew stronger with every passing moment. Good! His followers needed to know the power of his wrath. He couldn’t afford for another blunder to delay his plan. Malik needed to die. The sooner the better.

  “Kill him. He’s no longer of any use to me!” He turned on his heels, his black robes spiraling around him like an ebony mantle. Without so much as a backward glance, he strode up the steps, the man’s screams echoing in his wake.

  ~ ~ ~

  Malik jerked straight up in bed as his cell phone rang. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his palms. Two-thirty in the morning. He’d barely closed his eyes. Thoughts of his patient had kept him awake for hours. His stunning patient, with tanned legs that went on forever, a wasp-like waist, and long, silky blond hair that seized the sun. He was snared—hook, line, and sinker. Oh, he’d been attracted to patients in the past, but this was different. This was intense.

  His cell phone blared again. He’d left word with the charge nurse to notify him of any change in his patient’s condition. It had to be an emergency or they wouldn’t be calling him at this late hour. He shook the remaining thoughts from his head and dialed the hospital. “This is Doctor Hajjah. You called me?”

  As the nurse’s excited words penetrated his brain, he threw his legs over the side of the bed. “When did this happen?” Holding the phone in the crook of his neck, he stood, then stepped naked into his jeans as he said, “Calm down. What’s being done for her?”

  He listened attentively before responding, “Good. Good.” Issuing orders, he jerked a white button-down shirt off its hanger and shrugged into it. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  Chaos reigned in his patient’s room as he entered. Monitors blared, their high-pitched scream deafening. Nurses attempting emergency procedures tripped over each other in their haste to help. Ripped open and discarded sterilization bags littered the floor. He rushed up to his patie
nt’s bed and froze. She was seizing, foam dripping from the corner of her mouth, but that was his secondary concern. The primary problem—her muscles were rolling up and down like the waves of the ocean. He’d only seen this particular scenario one other time, in an E.R. in Arizona. Then, the culprit had been a diamond-backed rattlesnake. Now . . .

  His mind, fighting through the familiar haze of antiseptic, tried to wrap itself around the situation. How could this be? She hadn’t manifested any symptoms of a snakebite earlier. She had been stable when he looked in on her before he left the hospital. What the hell was happening? He brushed a hand through his hair, working through the possible solutions. Then, in a moment of total clarity, the answer surfaced. His lip raised in a sneer. Yes, there was only one explanation for this incredible turn of events. Realizing they hadn’t completed the job, someone had snuck in here to finish it. Damn it! He should have posted men to guard her around the clock.

  “I need some antivenin.” For one long moment, everyone in the room stopped and stared at him as if he were crazy. “Stat!” he barked, losing his patience. Why were his enemies trying to keep her quiet? What damning information did she possess in the back of her rattled brain they were afraid he’d unlock?

  He threw back the sheet covering her body, his hands roaming nimbly over every inch, inspecting her tanned skin like a jeweler in possession of a thirty-carat diamond.

  Checking . . . checking. Ah, there it is! He’d found the angry red skin, lacerated by the snake’s fangs. Nazem appeared silently at his side. Malik had returned his call on his way into the hospital. “It looks like someone is trying to make damn sure our Jane Doe doesn’t live long enough to recover her memory.”

  “What are we dealing with, Your Highness?”

  “She’s been bitten by a venomous snake. Judging from the size of the bite, I’m guessing a cobra. Have your men check not only this room, but the entire hospital to see if the snake was left behind. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

  As his words registered, the nurses let out a screech, their eyes widening into saucers as they surveyed the floor.

  The patient reached up and grabbed his hand with surprising strength. The fear in her verdant eyes made him pause in his medical duties to lean over and reassure her. “Hey, we got this.” If only he could convince himself. Snakebites were tricky things to treat.

  The tension in her muscles along with the grimace on her face told Malik what he already knew: she was suffering greatly. The need to safeguard her overwhelmed him, curling through him with a power so intense it nearly knocked him off his feet. Shocked, he realized he wasn’t only feeling compassion for his patient. A potent punch of desire hit him in his belly. God, what was wrong with him? He buried the treacherous thoughts, driving his mind back to where it belonged: saving her life.

  Nothing was going to happen to her on his watch. He’d make damn sure of that, even if he had to move into the hospital and stay with her until she improved, regained her memory, and he extracted the vital information buried in her brain. He required that information, and judging from the look on her face when he’d showed her his sister’s medallion, he was positive she knew something about it. Memories of his younger sister nagged at him, and he shuddered. He hadn’t been able to save his sister, but he’d be damned if he’d lose this woman as well. Currently, she had no family to comfort her in her hour of distress. And he sure as hell knew what that was like. She squeezed his hand, focusing his attention back on her.

  “Please, don’t let me die,” she begged, her voice a tortuous whisper.

  He winked at her. “It’s going to be all right,” he reassured her, squeezing her hand in return. “I’m doing everything in my power to help you.”

  She crooked her finger, motioning him closer. He bent down so she could speak directly into his ear.

  “Help me!” Her voice was nothing stronger than a whoosh of air. For a moment, he let his gaze roam over her. Luminous eyes sunken with illness stared back at him. Glossy locks of sweat-soaked hair fell across her face. He smoothed the strands out of the way.

  Seconds later, the antivenin arrived, snapping Malik into action. Drawing the liquid out of the vial with a syringe, he injected it into her IV bag. Picking up a black marker, he drew a line about five inches above the snakebite. He wrote the time in big bold numbers, right there on her leg, showing the advance of the venom. Once he was done, he glanced down at her again. His fingers trailed across her cheek. Removing his stethoscope from around his neck, he leaned over her. Placing the bell against her skin, he listened to the beat of her heart. Though elevated, the cadence was steady. He checked the machines measuring her vitals.

  After a couple of touch-and-go hours, Malik’s patient finally began showing signs of improvement. Confident she was holding her own, he began shooing people out of the room. Everyone except Nazem’s men. They remained, rechecking every nook and cranny for any signs of the snake.

  They were in for a long night.

  ~ ~ ~

  He rolled the sleeves of his shirt back over his forearm and glanced at his watch—5:45 am. He could use a cup of coffee.

  Picking up her chart to record his findings, he rotated away from her bed. Her soft voice drew him back. “Doctor Hajjah, why is this happening to me?”

  Why, indeed? He stopped writing, focusing his attention on her. “I’m not sure. I think you may have information that’s detrimental to some sort of plot.”

  “Against you?” she asked, fatigue settling in the wispy sound of her voice, her energy clearly waning.

  “I believe so,” he countered, giving her his full attention.

  She drew in a staggered breath, her chest rumbling with the effort. “And how will killing me retrieve this information?”

  He continued to stare at her, searching her face for any clue that she was innocent in this whole dangerous game. It will prevent me from obtaining the particulars of their latest plot.”

  Fear widened her eyes into a sea-green oasis he longed to dive into. Get a grip.

  “Oh, I see.”

  No, she didn’t. He could tell. She didn’t understand hate of this magnitude or people who killed to take over a country.

  “When will my memory come back?” The drugs were taking effect —she was getting drowsy, and her voice sounded as fragile as her body. He wished he knew. Until her memory returned, he’d enclose her within the power of his station. Protect her. Keep her safe. And he’d be damned if he’d let anyone hurt her again. Not while he had a puff of breath left in his body.

  He shook his head, exhaustion worming its way through him. “I don’t have an answer. It might be hours. It might be days or weeks. Sometimes it takes another shock to bring it back.”

  A look of dismay spread across her face.

  “Can you remember what happened tonight?” he asked gently.

  He witnessed the exact moment when the memory returned to her. “I thought I was having a nightmare,” she began, her voice light and breathy, drowsy. “Two men dressed in black hooded robes carried a basket into my room.” A shudder ran over her. “A big brute of a man held me down, covering my mouth with his meaty hand, while the other took this snake, this very big snake, out of the basket. He pressed the open mouth of the snake against my leg, and it bit me. Right here.” She pointed toward the two deep puncture wounds on her leg. “The pain was excruciating, which is when I knew it was no nightmare. I screamed, and they ran from the room.” She drew a shaky breath. “Does any of this help?”

  “Yes.”

  Her information helped a lot. The perpetrators must have thought he knew nothing about reptiles. They’d falsely assumed the bite would go unnoticed, and everyone would think she had died from complications from surgery. Genius, really. He’d known all along he wasn’t dealing with a bunch of thugs, that there was a mastermind pulling t
he strings, and now he had proof.

  Her eyes glistened with tears. His heart cinched in his chest, and he fought the urge to wrap his arms around her, pick her up, and hold her in his lap like a child.

  “It felt like someone was holding a flame to my leg. It hurt so terribly.”

  A single tear slipped down her cheek, which he caught with the pad of his finger. “I’m so sorry you got caught up in all this.”

  She blinked. She was losing the battle to stay awake.

  “Is there anything I can get you to make you more comfortable?” he asked, smiling as he leaned over her.

  “Can you stay with me?”

  She was putting up a good front, but he knew she was scared. Hell, he was scared.

  He leaned in closer, his lips drawn to the plumpness of hers. She pursed her lips as if preparing to kiss him. A smile teased his lips. The drugs were doing their job.

  “Get some sleep now. It’s almost dawn.” He turned toward the recliner, letting out a pent-up breath; he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight in that contraption. It looked as comfortable as a bed of nails.

  “We seem to have a habit of always meeting in crisis mode.” She forced a laugh, but he could tell it was a lie. She was terrorized.

  He strode back to her bedside. “Don’t you know I meet all my women this way?”

  She giggled again, a sound so enchanting it nearly buckled his knees. He needed to put some space between them. He still needed that coffee.

  “I’m sorry if I sounded a little cross yesterday,” she murmured. “I was confused and terribly alarmed about losing my memory. And then there was the whole thing about being in a foreign country . . . well, it’s made me a little crazy.”

  Once again, he attempted to walk over to the recliner. “Forget it. It was my fault. I apologize for my boorish behavior—” he threw over his shoulder, “—but you’re safe now. So, close your eyes and get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.”