‘Son? You have adopted him?’
She’d been expecting more objections to her leaving, not this shocked disbelief.
‘Lily left him with me that night, telling me to take great care of him—telling me again of threats. To do that when she was...’ Lauren made a huge effort to pull herself together ‘...gone, he had to be legally mine, so of course I’ve adopted him.’
She looked directly into his eyes this time—into darkness that held no light or shadows, and about as much humanity and understanding as a statue’s blank gaze.
* * *
Malik was only too aware he’d made a mess of this. First the fawning executive, setting up the meeting with this woman as if he was conferring a great honour on her.
And then underestimating the stubborn female who’d had the guts to adopt his nephew. There might not be much of her, and most of what he could see was tired and grubby, but despite the dark shadows beneath her large grey eyes, and the fear, which had been an almost palpable thing in the room, she’d stood up to him.
Though with what she’d been through he could understand that fear...
Coming here, he’d thought she’d be willing to hand the boy over to him—perhaps with due recompense—but every word he’d heard held the cadences of her love for Nimr.
Had he been judging her by her sister, that he’d thought this way? One look at her had dispelled any physical resemblance, and he doubted Lily would have stood up to him the way Lauren had, or taken the extreme measures he now knew of, to keep his nephew safe.
No, Lily had been beautiful, captivating, and could charm birds from a tree, but how much more attractive was the courage and quiet determination of this sister?
Something he hadn’t felt for a long time stirred inside him, something he’d have to think about later, because his business was far from finished.
As far as she was concerned, Nimr was her child and she’d probably have killed him if he’d mentioned recompense.
He looked down at her, close now as she tried once more to get out the door, and he was almost sure he detected a tremble in her body, and definitely saw fear behind the defiance in her eyes.
He touched her gently on the shoulder—felt the tremors running through her and the coldness of her skin and knew he hadn’t imagined the fear, knew he’d caused it, and that wounded him.
‘I’m sorry. This has come as a surprise for you, but I have had top private investigators looking for Nimr for two years now and to suddenly have him so close—well, I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought meeting you publicly through the hospital might be easier for you, but all I’ve done is barge into your life and upset you.’
She’d stepped away from his hand.
‘I have to go,’ she said, slipping behind him as he moved forward, escaping this time, though not for long.
He caught up with her by the time they’d reached the elevator.
‘We need to talk!’ he said, probably too loudly from the stares he got as they entered the already packed space.
She was pressed against him so he couldn’t see her face, but the shake of her head, dark curls moving beneath his chin—brushing his skin—gave him his answer.
Soft dark curls from what he could see, giving off a hint of something he recognised but couldn’t name.
Rosewater?
Back home, it was used in many local dishes—but in hair?
He breathed in the scent again as the elevator reached the ground floor—whatever it was that had stirred inside him earlier stirring again—and they led the exodus out into the corridor.
Expecting her to make a dash for some bolthole he’d never find in the big hospital, he caught her arm.
She spun towards him.
‘I’ll call Security,’ she warned, but his mind was still on rosewater.
‘Is it rosewater I can smell?’
The words were out before he considered how inappropriate they were.
‘Rosewater?’ she demanded, outrage warming her cheeks to a rosy pink. Grey eyes spitting fire, all fear gone. She probably had some kind of emergency call button somewhere on her person—
‘I could smell rosewater,’ he said, aware of how lame it sounded. ‘The women use it in cooking at home.’
‘The women, huh?’ she said, but a lot of her tension was gone, and he kind of thought her soft pink lips might be trying hard not to smile.
Pleased they’d seemed to reach some kind of armistice, he raised both hands in surrender.
‘I will not get into an argument with you about women’s rights! I’m a believer in them myself. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m so anxious to take Nimr home. My country needs to be dragged into the twenty-first century, and as his regent I could at least begin the task.’
She studied him for a moment, not bothering to hide the suspicion that had flared in her wide eyes.
‘And you can’t do that without him there—a boy of four? Surely, if you’re related and next in line after him, you can get started without his presence.’
Malik sighed. He’d had a long journey, spent far too long convincing the finance man to arrange his meeting with this woman, thinking it was better to do it with an authority figure to introduce them—as it would have been at home. And now she was demanding answers to questions that could take hours to explain.
‘I’ve got to get home,’ she said, halting any further conversation. ‘Joe goes to swimming training and I have to be there for Nim.’
‘Nimr,’ Malik corrected automatically, giving the ‘r’ on the end of his nephew’s name the slight roll it required.
‘Whatever!’ his companion snapped. ‘But we’ll never get through any conversation if you’re going to correct his name every time I say it! And you know nothing about Australian kids if you imagine he could get through childhood with a rolled “r” on the end of his name without incessant teasing, so here he’s Nim!’
And she stalked away, her anger back, and clearly seen in the straight shoulders and swift strides that somehow drew his attention to strong, shapely legs and a trim figure.
Kept his attention for an instant too long...
He sighed again.
He had more important matters at hand than a woman with grey eyes and a trim figure. Although Tariq had always been the practised negotiator—when he’d bothered—he, Malik, had stepped in often enough to be a competent one. But he’d blown it this time. He could understand her fighting him if she’d grown fond of the boy—that would be understandable—but part of her resistance had definitely been fear.
At least he knew where she lived.
In fear?
* * *
Rattled by the encounter, Lauren made her way out of the hospital by the nearest exit, finding herself in the wrong car park, so by the time she’d found her small vehicle she was shaking with the tension the stranger’s appearance had generated.
Tension and fear—and something else, something she really didn’t want to acknowledge.
She unlocked the door and slumped gratefully into the driving seat, opening windows and starting the air-conditioning as the vehicle, after standing in the summer sun all day, was like an inferno. Even the steering wheel was too hot to touch, so the idea of resting her forearms on it and having a wee cry had to be denied.
Not that she’d let that man make her cry! She’d shed enough tears four years ago—enough to last a lifetime. Although admittedly there’d been more, when Nim had been a baby and, teething or not well, impossible to settle, she’d felt totally alone.
Then Aunt Jane had sold her parents’ house for her, found the duplex for them on the other side of the country, set up the security, and made it safe enough for her to finally give Nim a home.
It was time to get home to her son. She couldn’t let Joe down. Without Joe she’d be lost, she and Nim.
And no matter what that man said, Nim was hers and hers he was going to stay. He could grow up as an ordinary Australian boy and need never know much at all about that strange place thousands of miles away where his birth mother had lost her bearings.
Oh, Lily.
With a huff of impatience at the sudden sense of loss inside her, she drove out of the parking area and headed for home, her mind back on practical matters.
Did she have to stop at the shops for fruit for Nim’s lunchbox tomorrow or had Joe called in on his way back from kindy?
He probably had and she couldn’t think of anything else they needed.
Except perhaps a magic carpet to whisk Sheikh whoever he was back to where he’d come from. But magic carpets were fairly rare in Abbotsfield, for all it was a thriving regional city.
Regional city?
How had the man found her here, thousands of miles from where she’d grown up in Perth? All the police reports on the so-called accident had put the family’s place of residence as Perth. And after that she’d disappeared. The family’s assets had been frozen so she’d borrowed enough from Aunt Jane to buy the campervan, and she and tiny baby Nim had lived like gypsies, moving constantly, she doing anything to keep him safe.
Lauren’s mind was lost in the past and, driving on autopilot, it was only as she was using the remote to open the outer gate that she saw the sleek black luxury vehicle parked outside.
The fear she’d felt earlier turned to terror and she dropped the remote as if it would burn her fingers. She parked behind the ominous car, only too aware of who would be inside it.
Or inside her house?
Dear heaven, surely not!
She shot from her car, and strode towards the limo, hauling open the driver’s door so suddenly a slim man in a blue suit and matching cap almost fell out, his cap coming askew on his head.
‘Who are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded, hoping Joe was inside with one finger poised above the alarm.
‘He’s my driver. He owns the hire car.’
Sheikh whatever was emerging from the back seat on the passenger side. ‘I had no time to waste finding my way around your city, small though it might be.’
‘Oh, and I suppose your city is ginormous!’ Lauren shot at him, and immediately regretted it as this wasn’t the argument she should be having.
Especially as the wretched man had the nerve to smile.
Well, she supposed it was a smile—he’d definitely moved his lips and revealed a dazzling array of perfectly aligned white teeth, but it was a crocodile that came to mind rather than rapprochement.
‘Would you feel easier discussing the situation here?” he continued, as smooth as custard.
‘There is no situation to discuss,’ she said, hoping she sounded a lot more determined than she felt. Seeing the man who might just be a murderer standing outside her home had brought back all her fear, yet in some offbeat section of her brain she was simply seeing the man.
Bizarre, to say the least.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t see dozens of men every day, but this was definitely not that kind of seeing.
He’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves a little to reveal smooth olive skin that gleamed in the sunlight, while his shirt clung to a body she guessed had been shaped through exercise—not too much, just enough to give definition to hard pecs and wide shoulders beneath the snowy-white material.
She wouldn’t look at his neck, rising from the now tieless shirt—well, only to see it as a strong column...
Ye gods! What was the matter with her? She was standing in the street mooning over a man who was undoubtedly her enemy?
‘I don’t want you in my house,’ she finally said, meaning, I don’t want you anywhere near me, not now, not ever, but especially not now when I’m so damned confused I can’t think straight.
Fortunately, Joe appeared in the doorway at that moment, preceded by Ghost, Joe’s pale German shepherd, and with Nim no doubt right behind, probably peering through Joe’s legs, for all he was supposed to stay inside when people came.
‘The gentleman’s just leaving,’ Lauren said, speaking to Joe but with her eyes on the Sheikh.
‘We need to talk,’ he said to her. ‘It’s imperative. I will not invade the sanctity of your home—’ was there a ‘not right now’ hovering behind the words? ‘—but I shall call for you at seven.’
‘Get into a car with a stranger? I think not! If we do need to talk, then we can talk at your hotel. Where are you staying?’
‘The Regal.’
Lauren nodded.
‘I’ll meet you there at eight,’ she said, hoping she’d spoken loftily enough for him to assume she dined at The Regal regularly, and at the same time wondering desperately what she might have in her wardrobe that she could wear to such a place. And whether Joe would be back from training, or, if not, there was always Aunt Jane who’d stand in...
The Sheikh nodded graciously, before pointing a finger at the gathering in the doorway.
‘Security’s a little lax. I could have shot the dog, then the nanny, and grabbed the boy.’
‘You wouldn’t!’ Lauren whispered, then slid limply to the ground, a black cloud closing over her as the events of the afternoon finally caught up with her.
Joe darted forward but Malik was there first, lifting Lauren into his arms and marching towards the front door, telling the dog to sit in such a firm voice it dropped to his haunches.
‘Get a cool, wet cloth,’ he said to the so-called nanny. ‘It’s just a faint. I can feel her coming round already, so I’d better put her down because if she realises it’s me holding her she’s likely to hit me.’
‘You can put her on the couch,’ a small boy said, his eyes wide with unshed tears as he saw his mother in such a helpless state.
‘She’ll be better soon,’ Malik assured the boy who was, without doubt, Nimr, for he was the dead spit of Tariq at that age.
Tariq, the brother Malik had worshipped all his young life and followed around like a puppy.
‘Here!’
The nanny had returned, and the hoarseness in his voice made Malik turn to look at him—to see a face distorted by the scars of operations that had somehow put it back together.
‘I am Malik,’ he said, holding out his hand.
‘That’s Joe,’ Nimr said, looking up from where he was wiping his mother’s face with the damp hand towel. ‘Joe looks after us.’
‘I noticed that,’ Malik told the boy, although his eyes were on the mother now—Lauren—dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Something that wasn’t entirely guilt fluttered inside him, moved by her paleness—her vulnerability...
Her eyes opened, deep grey pools of fear and confusion—and he had caused the fear, first by arriving as he had and then with his foolish words about their protection.
Although that part was deadly serious. If there really was a threat against his nephew, he’d be better off back in Madan.
He should take the boy home, no matter what.
She sat up so suddenly he was knocked from where he crouched by the couch, landing awkwardly on his butt.
At least it gave Nimr a laugh.
‘You’re in my house!’
Outrage vied with disbelief as Lauren took in this man’s presence. He was so close she could hardly not notice that his eyes were not the black she’d thought them but a surprising warm toffee colour, and right now were looking intently at her.
‘You have to go,’ she said, unable to tell if her hyper-awareness of him—the unsettled feeling in her chest—was to do with the shock she’d had or the man himself.
Whatever it was, she wanted it gone too.
He hesitated, aware of the nanny standing behind him, ready to break him in two if he so much as touche
d the recovering woman.
He moved back a little, and said gently, ‘I’m sorry, but we do have to talk, and I think the sooner the better.’
Lauren forced her fuzzy brain to sort out the words, and one thing became perfectly clear. This man was not leaving until he’d said what he’d come to say.
And considering that, wouldn’t it be better to listen to him here and now—well, not right now as she had to get Nim’s dinner, her own dinner, too, given that lunch had been a snatched apple and cup of coffee and her stomach was making her aware that she was famished.
She heaved herself upright on the sofa, Nim slipping up to sit beside her and take her hand.
‘I’m all right,’ she assured him. ‘I just forgot to have my lunch and that’s what made me faint like that.’
Lying to her son? She knew full well it was the man’s suggestion that it would have been easy to abduct Nim that had made her mind shut down.
Which left her with the man—the Madani man!
He was standing back—against a window once again—and, much as she hated having him in her house, she knew she wouldn’t be rid of him until she’d listened to what he’d come to say.
‘I have to give Nim his dinner and I usually eat with him so you might as well stay and eat with us. That way we can talk when Nim’s gone to bed. I’ll just have a quick wash—Nim, you need to wash your hands for dinner so you come with me.’
‘You get off to training,’ she added to Joe, who was standing, watching them all. ‘I’m fine now and I’ll have an early night.’
She was leaving the room when she remembered the big black car parked outside her yard, and added to Malik, ‘You’d better get your driver and bring him in for dinner too.’
‘The driver?’
He sounded so incredulous, Lauren almost laughed.
‘Drivers do eat, you know,’ she said. ‘And there’s plenty so it’s hardly fair to leave him sitting out there.’
A Wife for the Surgeon Sheikh Page 2
