A Sheikh to Capture Her Heart

by Meredith Webber

  Sarah lifted her bag then felt the weight go from her hand, fingers brushing hers, sending a shock along her nerves.

  Hadn’t she just put all thoughts of touching Harry from her mind? Cooled down her over-active imagination and her body?

  And told herself to think ahead, not backwards? It was finished, done, nothing more than they’d intended it to be—a holiday romance...

  ‘I can carry it!’ she snapped, disturbed by that shock wave when everything between them was over.

  ‘Fight me for it?’ he suggested, in the husky voice he used in bed, the same husky voice that fired her entire body with waves of heat and desire.

  She shrugged but kept her fingers on the handle.

  How weak are you, Sarah Watson, to be pretend holding hands when the holiday is over?

  * * *

  The seemingly never-ending flight finally ended, the plane touching lightly down in Cairns, releasing Sarah from the agony of knowing Harry was directly behind her, his body bombarding hers with subliminal messages as she battled to read Ben’s book.

  Harry stood up to lift her bag from the overhead compartment, then quelled her protest with a look as he carried both her bag and his from the plane. So they stood together in the queue for Customs, the messages no longer subliminal as their bodies touched when the new arrivals pressed forward.

  Memories of other body-touching made her knees go weak, and it was only with the utmost resolution that she shut down the memories.

  She was saying goodbye to this man, and had to be cool, calm and clinical about it.

  Deep breath!

  ‘I don’t know what to say, other than goodbye,’ Sarah murmured to him, knowing her voice would be lost in the hubbub and only Harry would hear it. ‘And to say thank you. It was really, really special to me and I’ll always remember our time together.’

  ‘Wow, that seemed to come right from the heart!’ Harry muttered angrily at her. ‘Did you really feel it necessary to offer polite nothings?’

  ‘Well, what have you to say?’ Sarah demanded, wondering just why this particular man could fire her temper so easily.

  He didn’t answer and, looking into his face, she realised he didn’t know—any more than she had when she’d struggled to find words.

  The tightness in her chest eased, and she touched him on the arm.

  ‘There are no words,’ she said softly, ‘other than goodbye.’

  ‘Or I might need to be in Wildfire in six weeks,’ he suggested.

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘I’m taking time off after this next trip—six weeks—time enough to go back to England and spend some decent time with the family, rather than a rushed three-day Christmas visit.’

  Although the prospect of going home no longer had the appeal and excitement that had been there when she’d booked the trip.

  Damn the man, he really had got under her skin!

  Flurried, she repeated her goodbye but more firmly this time...

  * * *

  Goodbye?

  Harry’s brain struggled to grasp the concept.

  This was goodbye?

  Of course it was. What had he expected her to say?

  And as she’d said, what did he have to say that would be better?

  He was still struggling with these thoughts when she stepped up to the arrivals desk, had her passport stamped, then lifted her bag from the floor near his feet, opened it ready for a cursory inspection, and moved through the barrier.

  Getting farther and farther away from him, especially when the man stamping passports wanted to talk about his country.

  Ambelia!

  The word stuck in his head and a sudden rush of homesickness all but overwhelmed him.

  He wouldn’t go to Africa. His pilot would have to change their flight plan.

  He’d go home.

  And perhaps there he’d forget the woman with the vibrant red hair and slim white body who had just disappeared through a door and out of his life...

  CHAPTER FIVE

  IT WASN’T EXACTLY BORING, Sarah’s trip west. In fact, there were some interesting patients and she liked Emerald as a town.

  But something was missing and, loath as she was to admit it, she knew it was Harry’s presence—Harry’s lovemaking, and just Harry himself.

  Stupid, really, because now that she’d rediscovered her sexual self, she could enjoy a relationship with anyone she fancied.

  Providing, of course, they fancied her back.

  Not that she’d be slipping straight into bed with them as she had with Harry. No, she could take her time, get to know someone, let a relationship build.

  Perhaps that was why she was missing Harry—because the time they’d spent together could hardly be called a relationship. They’d done it all backwards.

  Maybe, given time, she’d have got over the need to brush her fingers across his skin, or trace the tiny scar beside his ear, or stroke her hand down his firm thigh.

  Got over the need to touch him at all.

  ‘You want to come into town for a bite to eat? There’s that great Indian restaurant just off the main drag.’

  Ben had knocked on the door of her motel room and poked his head through the gap.

  He’ll want to talk about his book, Sarah thought, and shook her head, then regretted it when she saw the disappointment on his face.

  But tonight she just wanted to brood.

  To try to work out why a certain Rahman al-Taraq had stirred the embers of her dead emotions back to smouldering life.

  In five days?

  Well, less, in the end.

  The attraction had begun, on her side anyway, from the moment she’d helped him from the water with the stonefish sting.

  And the discomfort—the shock, really—of that slow burn through her body had made her hit out at him.

  But he was wasted, doing what he did.

  Thankfully, her mobile belted out a jaunty tune at that stage of her brooding over Harry, and a desperate search for it distracted her completely.

  So when she finally found it and answered, and a deep, sultry, masculine voice said, ‘Sarah, I need you,’ she almost fainted on the spot.

  Had she conjured him up out of her thoughts?

  And was need the same as want?

  But he was still talking, and she had to listen. Apparently, Harry had touched down in Ambelia to complete chaos. His youngest sister had just given birth to her first baby, and he suffered from exactly the same problem as the baby boy on Wildfire Island: pyloric stenosis.

  ‘She wants me to do the op, Sarah, and you know I can’t. But we’ve done it together once before and could do it again. Will you help me?’

  ‘Oh, Harry, how can I? We’re at opposite ends of the world.’

  ‘My plane is on the way to Cairns as we speak. Will you come?’

  She had to go!

  She’d needed him and he’d come.

  ‘Can your pilot fly into Brisbane? It’s easier for me to get quickly from here to there than from here to Cairns. I’ve one small op in the morning, then I’ll get an afternoon flight to Brisbane. Should get in around five in the afternoon.’

  ‘He’ll be waiting at the airport for you,’ Harry promised.

  Sarah didn’t know what to say—even how to say goodbye. Not without sounding over formal, which would come across as cold.

  Harry broke the silence.

  ‘Thank you, Sarah.’

  Then he was gone.

  Had that really happened? Or had she imagined it?

  But, no, she was still holding her mobile in her hand so she’d been talking to someone.

  And now excitement began to build. Changing her flight was easy on the internet and she m
essaged Harry to let him know her flight details.

  Then she sat down, ran her hands through her hair, and considered what she’d agreed to do.

  Which was when the enormity of it all hit her.

  She’d see Harry again, see the desert and feel the sands run through her fingers like silk. Of course, she’d have to check she could fly from there to London, and if it was summer here would it be cold in...

  She dug through memories of her time with Harry but nowhere could she find the name of his country.

  Back on the net, she ran a search on Rahman al-Taraq and discovered the country was Ambelia and that Harry was heir to the throne.

  A sudden sadness filled her when she saw Harry still listed as a gifted and world-renowned paediatric surgeon.

  She shied away from that, looking up Ambelia instead, reading that the discovery of copper as well as the ever-present oil had made the country very wealthy.

  ‘The wealth is spread amongst the people,’ the article continued, ‘although many Ambelians live in traditional ways, with nomads following ancient trade routes in the desert, and fishermen using the traditional dhows to ply their trade.’

  Excitement stirred, the thrill of the unknown mixing with the physical sensations she was experiencing at the thought of seeing Harry again.

  * * *

  It was only when he’d ended the call, heart hammering in his chest at the prospect of seeing Sarah again, that Harry realised it had a downside.

  He had his own suite of rooms and his own staff in a section of the palace, but his mother would insist that Sarah stay in one of the guest suites.

  On the far side of the rambling building!

  And while jungle drums might be quick to pick up gossip, they were as nothing compared to the speed of palace gossip.

  It came of having too many staff with too little to do, but most of them were fourth-or even fifth-generation retainers to the royal family, which made sacking any of them inconceivable.

  So Sarah would be here, but not here for him—not close enough to touch, to slowly undress, to lie in his bed and make those little breathy moans when he pleasured her.

  His body tightened.

  There had to be a way.

  But even reserving a suite for her in one of the six-star hotels was out of the question.

  Hotels, too, had staff, and though he’d spent little time at home in the last years—in fact, since he’d been ten and had gone to boarding school—he was still easily recognisable...

  He sighed, cursing himself for not thinking this thing through. To have her here, so close, but untouchable—

  Hell and damnation, he couldn’t touch her anyway. His engagement was due to be announced, already postponed because of Miryam’s baby...

  He had to see speak to his mother, ask her to speak to Yasmina—to explain.

  Explain just what, exactly?

  That a woman with whom he’d had a brief holiday romance was coming to the country and he’d like to continue their relationship?

  Great thing to dump on any woman, but to someone who was related, whose family had already agreed to the marriage...

  Impossible!

  But it was equally impossible to marry Yasmina when he had feelings for Sarah. The exact nature of the feelings were a little confused, but they did exist...

  Didn’t they?

  He sighed.

  Even with the little he knew of Sarah, he knew she’d laugh at the situation—the two of them close but not close enough...

  He gritted his teeth and messaged her the name of the acting consul in Brisbane who would meet her plane and take her to the private section of the international airport. Youssef would see her onto the Ambelia-bound jet.

  Damn!

  He could have flown out with the plane, met her in Australia, then at least he’d have had the ten hours’ flight time to...

  Make love to her?

  Because that was all he wanted, wasn’t it?

  Now uncertainty raised its head, but he decided to ignore it. He had enough to do organising someone to meet Sarah at the airport, visiting Miryam at the hospital, arranging staff to be on standby for the op on his little nephew.

  More than enough to do, so why was his mind stuck on seeing Sarah again?

  Perhaps because she might not be quite as excited about seeing him?

  A brief affair, a fling, she’d said.

  Finished when their time on the island ended.

  But we didn’t have that final night, a pathetic voice cried in his head, and he quelled it firmly, called someone to take a message to the stables for his horse to be saddled.

  He’d forget about Sarah, go for a ride and watch the sunset from his own beach—hundreds and hundreds of miles of it.

  * * *

  Sarah sat back in the plush leather chair in the luxury jet, playing with the buttons that made the chair lie flat or worked the small TV in front of her.

  She’d been offered champagne, juice or water before the plane had even taken off, but had stuck with water, aware she could become dehydrated on the flight and wanting to arrive as alert as possible. The operation had already been delayed just getting her to Ambelia.

  Ambelia—Harry’s home...

  Once in the air, she was fed, the spices in the food, the little dishes of sauce reminding her of her last night on the island.

  That last night they were supposed to have been together.

  Reminding her of their mutual desire to drain as much pleasure as possible out of it.

  But that had been then and this was now, and as it had been nothing more than a brief fling, it was best to tuck it away in her memory and think of the future.

  Her future!

  The four years in Australia had helped her heal, but maybe it was time to think of returning home permanently. Her parents weren’t getting any younger, and Australia was a long way off if she was needed urgently.

  And operating on the baby had reminded her of her ambition...

  She sighed and settled back into her seat, letting it recline so she could put her feet up and doze.

  As if that was going to be possible, when Harry was at the end of this journey and memories of their short time together played like movies on the inside of her eyelids.

  * * *

  The ride had been a good idea—racing his stallion across the dunes behind the palace had been invigorating. The problem was, he shouldn’t have dismounted, shouldn’t have picked up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers.

  Was this to be his fate in life, that even the simplest of pleasures would remind him of Sarah?

  He rode home less swiftly, and went to visit Rajah in his palatial enclosure. The big animal trumpeted softly in greeting, and not for the first time Harry wondered just how old his friend might be. He’d been born in the circus and the man who had owned him had been sure he was at least twenty when Harry’s father had bought him.

  Too old, the man had said, to be retrained to live in the wild. But that was thirty-five years ago.

  Could elephants live into their fifties and sixties?

  Rajah’s trunk explored Harry’s pockets, seeking a treat that he’d usually find.

  ‘Nothing today, old boy,’ Harry told him, scratching at the more tender skin behind the animal’s ear. ‘I’m too out of whack to have thought of it,’ he continued. ‘There’s this woman, you see...’

  And he poured out the story of Sarah, and attraction, and the frustration that lay ahead for him—perhaps for both of them—while she was a guest at the palace.

  Rajah nodded wisely, but Harry knew he probably needed more than an elephant’s wise nod to sort out his mind and body.

  * * *

  The sun was rising over a distant hori
zon as they came in to land at Ambelia, and Sarah stared with wonder at the world she was about to enter. There were the dunes Harry had told her of, stretching to red and golden mountains, and there was the sea, dotted with fishing boats so small they looked like toys.

  The tall towers of a modern city glinted in the early morning sunlight, but it was the large walled estate beyond the city that drew her eyes. Minarets reached towards the sky, round domed buildings stood among rectangular ones, courtyards seemed to be scattered like embroidered handkerchiefs between the buildings and the whole complex within the walls was ringed with more greenery and formally laid-out gardens.

  Then it was gone, the city and the old walled complex, and they were coming in smoothly to land.

  Now there were no distractions.

  Very soon she would be seeing Harry again.

  Or maybe he’d be at the hospital with his sister and her child, and she would have to put up with the flock of butterflies dancing in her stomach for even longer.

  The crew unlocked doors and a stairway slid into place, then Harry was there, right in front of her, his face tense and pale as if he, too, was feeling uncertain about this meeting.

  Only it wasn’t Harry, it was Rahman al-Taraq, a gold-braided circlet holding his snowy white checked headcloth in place, more gold dribbling down the front of his immaculate white gown, tiny embroidery stitches outlining an opening in the front.

  And she stared—probably open-mouthed—at the man she knew yet didn’t know, then his eyes looked deep into hers and her lungs seized up.

  A slight smile twitched on his lips.

  ‘Sorry about the regalia. There was stuff I had to do on the way to the airport.’

  Still trying to regain control of her lungs, and other rioting body parts, all Sarah could manage was a vague nod.

  Had he read just how paralysed she was? He bent over, reaching out to undo her seatbelt, his voice shaking slightly as he said, ‘Thank you for coming, Sarah,’ in that deep, husky voice that played havoc in her dreams.

  She had to get with it—she was here, this was Harry, they would operate on the baby and then she’d be gone.

  His being dressed in his traditional garb reminded her of just how big a gulf lay between them culturally, and also reminded her he had a wife-to-be waiting somewhere in the shadows—possibly in one of the white buildings she’d seen from the plane, the ones in the walled complex.