Healing the Sheikh's Heart

by Annie O'Neil

  Robyn’s head was shaking no, no, no, before her mouth caught up with her. “I will only do the surgery at Paddington’s. With great respect to you and your team, it’s where I am most comfortable. Where I will be able to ensure I will do my best work.”

  “This is not what I want!” Idris slammed his fist against the wooden table sitting between them, the force behind his gesture so intense it sent the reverberations of his anger straight through to Robin’s core.

  She sat bolt upright and locked eyes with him. “Not everybody always gets what they want, do they, Your Excellency? As you yourself once said, life isn’t fair.”

  The words furled out from her mouth like a whip—snapping with a ferocity she hadn’t realized she’d possessed.

  “You won’t stop me from protecting Amira.” Idris’s voice was low, a near growl. “I have the power to stop this thing—whenever I choose.”

  And that was when she saw it clearly. The fear. The living terror that something would happen to his daughter and he would be powerless to change it. Her heart ached for him, but he had to see that micromanaging wasn’t love. Trust and faith and courage—those were the fibers that made love strong.

  She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye again.

  “I owe Amira my absolute concentration in the operating theater. The one place she will receive that is Paddington’s. You can’t control everything, Idris. Least of all me. Perhaps it’s time to focus on what you do have rather than what you don’t.”

  “I have a daughter who can’t hear!” His voice rose again.

  “You have a loving, joyful, curious, amazing daughter who would do anything for you if only you’d let her.”

  He let the words sink in, his body visibly battling a need to vent his frustration.

  “Can you promise me absolute success in Paddington’s?”

  “No,” she said plainly. “But what I can promise is my very best.”

  Robyn’s hands curled into fists to hide the tremors that would betray her to Idris.

  He considered her silently for a moment, his body still taut with his ferocious need to protect his daughter. She felt naked beneath his gaze and it took all her courage not to look away. She wriggled some more strength into the line of her spine, all the while meeting the depths of his ebony eyes when running away would have been the easiest option.

  “What is it?” Idris asked, his voice unexpectedly softening, teasing away the harshness of his steely-eyed expression. “What is it you didn’t get that you wanted so badly?”

  “A child,” she said simply, her eyes bravely linked to his so he could see the truth in them. “A child of my own.”

  “You would be a wonderful mother.” The words came without reservation and she felt them in her heart.

  “Alas!” The corners of her lips tipped upward, parting with a bittersweet smile. “It is not to be.”

  “Do you mind my asking why not?”

  She sighed, pressing her hands between her knees, hunching her shoulders up around her ears. “It’s not a very nice story.”

  “Whatever it is, you’ve lived to tell the tale. Someone very wise once told me I should focus on the positive.”

  She arced an eyebrow at him. It wasn’t strictly what’d she’d said, but it had been the message.

  “I’m paraphrasing,” he intoned with a gentle smile.

  “Of course.” She knew the smile she was offering him in return was wan, but she felt a strength growing in her. One that might lend a voice to her story.

  She tipped her head and gave him a sidelong look. His expression wasn’t as enraged as she might have expected after their fiery exchange. It was, in fact, one that spoke of a new understanding. Perhaps a realization that holding his daughter as tightly to him as he did could be restrictive rather than loving. That holding on to the grief and fear of the unknown that had come with his wife’s death might be suffocating his heart and soul—rather than enlightening them.

  Robyn tugged the edges of the shawl around her shoulders and tucked her feet up and under her on the cushioned sofa. She was going to have to get comfy if she was going to spill this particular pot of beans.

  “You’re difficult to say no to, you know.”

  “You’re difficult in your own special way, but let’s not worry about that now.” Idris reached across and took one of her hands in his, his thumb giving her palm a few short rubs before releasing it and settling back in his chair. “Please. I want to know.”

  The candlelight flickered off the dark shine of his hair, but his black eyes were lit entirely from within.

  “A little while ago,” she began, then laughed softly before correcting herself. “A long time ago actually, since forty is looming out there.”

  “What? Forty looms for the both of us.”

  She couldn’t help it. She snorted. “You’re a whippersnapper at thirty-five.”

  “You can barely be into your thirties.”

  “Thirty-seven,” she corrected, not a little pleased to see his eyes widen with genuine disbelief. Idris didn’t do social niceties so she knew it had to be real. “Guess that makes you my boy toy!”

  Oh, wow. Did you really just say that?

  “Does it, now?” Bemused didn’t even begin to cover the expression she received in return.

  “Can we just forget I said anything?”

  “Probably for the best,” he conceded, a twinkle of humor coming to the fore.

  “Anyhow—” she gave him a soft smile and a nod of thanks for wiping the slate clean “—when I was in my very early twenties, still in med school, I was in a relationship and fell pregnant.”

  “You were married?”

  “No.” She didn’t meet Idris’s gaze, her fingers busy toying with the tassels on the ends of the shawl he had placed protectively on her shoulders.

  “Was he not an honorable man?”

  She looked up, surprised to see the flare of protectiveness surge through him on her behalf.

  “He was, but what happened to the two of us...it was tough.” It surprised her how easy it was to speak to Idris. The man who seemed so solid, so absolute about his opinions—he wasn’t sitting there, body taut with tension to judge her, but to defend her if necessary, and she hadn’t felt that sort of security in, well, ever. The rest of the story came out in a whoosh of information. The medical school romance, the unplanned pregnancy. “I hadn’t realized how much I had wanted a child until I was pregnant and John was a good guy so we thought, why not? Why not have a child?”

  “So what happened?” Idris pressed, concern weaving through his voice.

  And this was the hard part. “It was an ectopic pregnancy.” She shot him a glance, and instead of feeling strange telling him about the intimate details, she felt relief. He didn’t seem squeamish or put off. Just profoundly interested in what had happened to her to change her life so much that she would always feel a longing for something she could never have. She went on to tell him about the cervical pregnancy. The fetus had implanted so near her uterus it had sustained a gestational sac. She had known the chances of the baby surviving were rare, but abortion hadn’t been a choice she’d wanted to make. There had been bleeding. Too much bleeding. And ultimately a hysterectomy to save her life, but not the life of her child.

  “The ramifications of what had happened to me—to my body—were too much for John and we drifted apart. There was a job offer from Paddington’s that lifted my heart out of the abyss and now it’s just me and my work!” She put on the bright smile she was so accustomed to pasting on at moments like these. The ones where she wondered if she really had healed and moved on from that devastating day. There were no visible scars, but she would be in complete denial not to admit that the emotional fallout ran deep.

  “I am so sorry, Robyn. You didn’t deserve th
at.”

  “No one does,” she quipped, pulling her hands back as she saw him come forward to offer her a comforting caress. Feeling his touch, the soft shift of his thumb along the back of her hand, along the length of her arm, would tip her over the edge, and this was a work trip. She might be great at giving advice, but taking her own seemed nigh on impossible.

  “You know, I really do have to make a few calls to the hospital. Check up on how things are going.” She pressed up from her chair and gave her legs an unnecessary brush for sand.

  “Surely they would get in touch with you if they needed anything.” Idris rose with her, his body language still hovering between his usual reserve and a newfound intimacy sprung from the fears and sorrows they had shared.

  It was an intangible line the pair of them could cross—a shared discovery of all the joy just waiting to fan out before them—if only life were so easy. Idris didn’t want her. He wanted his daughter to hear. And he would do anything in his power to make it happen. So, Robyn did a quick internal round of shutting the doors to everything she’d laid bare before him and gave Idris a bright smile.

  “There are a few things I wanted to make sure are under way as regards Amira’s surgery. If we’re still green-lit, that is?” She crossed her arms protectively, the delicate fabric of the shawl between them a reminder their futures were linked now...at least professionally speaking. And that was the part she needed to secure.

  “Very well.”

  Robin watched as the shutters slammed shut in Idris’s eyes. His lips pressed tightly together to form a straight line as the cool, icy distance she’d felt the very first time they met sent shivers along her spine.

  Again, she knew sleep would be some time coming and, when it did, there was little mystery as to who would haunt her dreams.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AS DAWN BROKE Idris squinted against the sun’s glory while it crested the mountain peaks encircling the valley and seaside cove where their camp lay. He stretched and pushed himself up and out of the tangle of bedsheets that hadn’t seen much sleep, elbows coming to rest on his knees, fingers templing, thumbs pressing into his brow as he sat in a contemplative silence he hoped would bring some peace.

  Restlessness won out. He tugged on a pair of swimming trunks hoping a long swim could achieve what his normally very controlled mind could not. He slipped his feet into his sandals, aligning the tan lines with the bands, suddenly appreciating how much he had been in “holiday” mode for the past few days. Traveling with Robyn and his daughter had been something he hadn’t experienced for a while. Years, in fact. It had been...fun.

  Very much like the childhood his parents had ensured he’d had. Not at all similar to the one he afforded Amira.

  He rounded the corner of his three-sided tent only to find a very anxious-looking Robyn nibbling away on her tidy manicure, twisting her slender body this way and that in the loose confines of a light cotton dress. The spaghetti string straps gave a clear view of her slender shoulders and the soft swoop and curve toward her breasts. No brassiere or bikini straps, just two triangles of cloth forming an eye-catching V in the center of her décolletage.

  The traditional clothing she’d been wearing had never afforded him so much... Robyn...and there was no denying he liked what he saw. She turned and noticed him watching.

  Unable to look away, he shifted his gaze along the soft arc of her breasts, her nipples tightening against the thin cotton as if he had reached out and caressed them between a finger and thumb or given them a swift lick with his tongue. A shot of desire slammed through him as the possibilities developed and grew. There was no one around at this hour. His tent was bathed in the apricot and gold light only a Da’harian sunrise could elicit. His fingers twitched, each hand longing to play its part in separating Robyn from her dress. Not by the gentle slipping of one strap and then the next in a slow, luxurious unveiling, but with a sharp, brusque rent of the flimsy fabric so that he could see all of her at once, then decide slowly, luxuriously, where and how he would begin to touch and caress her naked body.

  He surprised himself by taking a step forward. Just as quickly he ground his heels into the sand and his jaw into a tight clench, mind dictating to matter that he needed—he must—keep his primal response to her in check.

  “You seem to have been lying in wait. I can only assume it was for me?”

  Idris knew he sounded more growly than he would have liked, but he didn’t like losing control and the unbidden jags of longing that just looking at Robyn unleashed in him needed to be tamed.

  Her eyes widened with a combination of relief and nerves, both quickly evolving into something altogether different as he watched her eyes slip from his face and down to his bare torso.

  Electricity crackled through him again as her lips parted and she unconsciously licked her lips before shifting her heavy-lidded gaze upward to meet his. Her hands dropped to her sides and whatever it was that had been disturbing her seemed to have left her completely as she opened and closed those rose-red lips.

  “Care to join me for a swim?”

  It wasn’t a request. He needed to get in the deep, cool seawater. Now.

  “Ah, no, it is—rather, that is, I was—” she stammered out a few false starts.

  “Come on. Spit it out.” He reached into his tent and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around his waist to increase the divide between them.

  “The press have got hold of the news.”

  His focus swung from lust to protective in an instant.

  “About Amira?”

  “About the surgery, yes.”

  “What calls did you make last night?”

  “I rang the hospital. Paddington’s.” Her brow crinkled into tight furrows of concern.

  “Who did you speak with?”

  Robyn held her hands up in protest as he approached. “Please. No, Idris. I’m so sorry. I only spoke to one of my colleagues about where to place the 3-D printer and—”

  “Word leaked out,” he finished for her, arms crossing over his chest as he tried to put the information into some sort of order before he spoke again.

  * * *

  Robyn nodded somberly, rubbing her thumb again and again across the palm of her other hand as if it would expel the nerves that roller-coastered through her gut. If he decided to withdraw consent for the surgery now, the future of Paddington’s could only be closure. Coming to Da’har had been scary enough. Now she was going to have to well and truly fight to save the one thing that meant the most in the world to her.

  She could virtually see the thoughts flicking through Idris’s eyes as he dismissed option after option. She’d told him to loosen the reins of control and wow! What a backfire.

  A sudden clap of his hands jolted her to attention.

  “First things first, I’ll cancel the visit to Amaleet today.”

  “To see the children singing and the hawk display?”

  She received a curt nod, a distracted glance.

  “What on earth for? The press won’t be there, surely! Amira was so looking forward to being with the other children.”

  Was she defending Amira or Paddington’s? Had the futures of both become equally important? Robyn’s hand moved instinctively to her heart.

  “We’ll go another time, when the children aren’t there,” Idris continued, his statement making little to no sense.

  Was he wrestling with his need to control everything? This sort of thing—a media leak—was precisely what he wouldn’t want for Amira. Robyn, of all people, understood the desire for privacy. The fact news of the surgery would be hitting all of the British newspapers at dawn made her sick. For herself, the promises she’d made to Idris of absolute privacy and, most worryingly, for the future of Paddington’s.

  Robyn watched as he shifted his jaw from left to right as if
tasting the results of his decision. “Perhaps, if we cancel the other children she can see the hawk display.”

  “Don’t you think she wants to do these things with other people? The same way you experienced them as a child.”

  “It’s safer for her this way. Easier.”

  “Amira’s deaf, not agoraphobic!” Robyn protested.

  “And Amira’s my daughter, not yours.”

  If he had slashed her with a knife the words could not have cut deeper.

  She took a step back, barely able to contain the slug of grief rising in her throat.

  Idris was drawing his line in the sand—in concrete more like—and Robyn would have to respect it. She’d promised him privacy and had landed him on the front page.

  She swallowed all the things she could have said. All the feelings near enough choking her as she widened her tearless eyes. She may have fallen at this hurdle, but would not give Idris the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  “In which case, it’s best I return to England. I’ve spent enough time with you,” she added hastily.

  She was going to have to have a talk with her “out-loud” voice.

  “I think you’ll agree it’s probably best if I got back to Paddington’s and began organizing things. Particularly under the circumstances.”

  “No. You will stay in Da’har,” Idris replied, his temper barely contained. “As discussed.”

  Forcing on a braver face than the one she knew it was masking, she, too, pressed her heels into the sand for better grounding and drew a deep breath before jabbing an accusing finger in his direction.

  “I know you are Amira’s father, but either our talk last night meant absolutely nothing to you, or you are suffering from a rather severe case of floccinaucinihilipilification.” She sucked in another breath, feeling her confidence whoosh out of her with the word she’d summoned from only heaven knew where. An attack of Englishness forced her to tack on, “If you don’t mind me saying.”

  “I’m not certain I know what it is, let alone if I’m suffering from it.” Idris arced an imperious eyebrow. Something, Robyn now knew, he only did when his curiosity was piqued.