The Sheikh Surgeon's Proposal

by Olivia Gates

“The ‘never apologize’ rule, remember?” His eyes held only amusement, soothing her. “And then I can have others waiting on my every whim. So you have a good excuse to think it.”

  No, she didn’t. She knew how unfair that comment had been.

  She knew he didn’t abuse his privileges just as she knew he hadn’t been bequeathed his position. In the past week she’d pieced together how he’d risen to it. How previous ministers had centralized medical care, squandered resources, imported protocols that hadn’t worked for the culture and environment.

  Then he had come, with a comprehensive vision of where Damhoor was and should go, with updated knowledge of medicine and the world and how to apply it here.

  At thirty he’d been the land’s leading surgeon, then he’d won his position, only to surpass its demands, rewrite its parameters. In the six years since he’d become Health Minister, he’d salvaged the medical system, reformed it, turned it into a model advanced countries were vying to emulate.

  But she hadn’t relied only on his people’s reports in forming her opinion of him. Those could have been slanted by worshipping subordinates. She trusted the evidence of her eyes. The reports didn’t do him justice.

  “Even without bristles invading your face,” he murmured, “you must be longing for the forgotten luxury of a bath.” He advanced on her and she stumbled back. This time he noticed. His face lost all lightness, confusion draining his eyes of their usual bone-melting focus. “Anyway, we’re returning to Halwan.”

  That made her find her voice again. “But only the rescue and medical relief work is done.”

  “That’s what you signed up for. And you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. Rebuilding Mejbel is Damhoor’s job, government and people. I set up a system with GAO that will keep the camp and field hospital running smoothly until everyone is back home or has a home built. The good news is I went over the hardest-hit areas at dawn and the water has almost receded. Some parts are coming back to life. Rebuilding can start soon.”

  “You went without me!”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up. You’d only been sleeping half an hour when the survey flight was scheduled.”

  “You mean when you scheduled the survey flight. When you haven’t slept at all. Oh, Malek, I wanted to see that!”

  “And you will, on our way out of here. After all you’ve done to help during the disaster, you must see its end.”

  “What about our patients?”

  “All serious cases we’ve kept here to follow up will be airlifted to Halwan. You can follow up any of your personal patients any time.” His voiced suddenly thickened. “I checked on Adham just half an hour ago. His coma is lightening.”

  He understood, shared her specific concern. He was incredible. He was also dead on his feet.

  “I was coming to tell you that and to … er …” A spaced-out look came into his eyes. “Azeff elaiki—as we say here—bring you news of your imminent release in a—a festive procession.” He groaned. “OK, literal translation didn’t work there. If it ever does …” He stopped again. “That’s it—I’m officially delirious. I jumble Arabic and English only when all my synapses are fried. Good thing we’re leaving in an hour.” Before he turned away, he cocked an eyebrow at her. “And, Janaan, do check with Saeed about our departure. I may have hallucinated it all.”

  “You were born this way, weren’t you?” Malek growled.

  Jay refused to let his irritated vehemence intimidate her and held his infuriated gaze.

  Something rumbled deep in his chest. “I bet you drove the doctor who delivered you crazy, dictating non-negotiable terms about the specifics of your delivery.”

  “What does my delivery have to do with you trying to deliver me to this seven-star hotel?” She waved a hand across her window at the Taj Mahal-like edifice. “I already have a room with all my stuff waiting for me in a hotel I can afford.”

  “If there were a championship for being perverse, you’d rake in every medal. B’Ellahi, why won’t you let me do this for you?”

  “Because I like the hotel room just fine, thank you. Because I’m not in the habit of accepting six-figure gifts, which a stay of even ten days in this hotel will amount to. And because you don’t owe me anything, even if it seems you think you do. Besides, GAO will be providing my accomodations soon.”

  “You think I’m repaying you …?” He drove both hands into the depths of his luxurious hair, seemed about to pull it out. “Ya muthab’bet al agl wad’deen! And this is one occasion where literal translation works. I do need God to tether down my mind and faith with you around or they’ll fly out the window.”

  “One sure way not to have me around is to drop me where I specified.” She scowled back. “And for your information, I had no say in my delivery. I was born by Cesarean section.”

  “You see? You wouldn’t get out, had to be forced out!”

  “Like you’re tempted to do to me now?”

  “As if I could. I suspect the good doctor only got the best of you because your obstinacy was still in its infancy.” His exhalation flayed her even from two feet away. “Zain. Fine. I will take you to your hotel. At least I get to do that at last. But—and this, Janaan, is something you won’t win, so save your exasperation—I am taking care of the time the room was reserved while you were with me.”

  She wondered at the level his beauty attained with aggravation. Whoever had coined “beautiful when angry” didn’t know the half of it. She shrugged. “Zain yourself. Sounds fair.”

  He looked flabbergasted. “What? No struggle? You’re conceding? You’re accepting, just like that?”

  She couldn’t help it. She giggled. “You said to save my exasperation.”

  “And that was the right phrasing for the tongue-holding, stubbornness-halting incantation? If only I’d known earlier.” His lips spread, against his will it seemed, before that glazed look entered his eyes again. “You’re lucky I’m operating on a flat battery.” He lowered the barrier between them and his driver, muttered her hotel’s address then sprawled beside her. “Excuse me as I recharge on the way. But if you don’t wake me when we arrive, I’ll.”

  “Yes?” she prodded when he didn’t come up with anything.

  “Ma ba’ref. I don’t know, something dire …” he promised as he slipped into sleep.

  Jay waited a few moments then rested her head inches from his, absorbing his every detail with far more greed than she’d done as he’d slept on the helicopter.

  This time would be the last time.

  But though the knowledge hurt—and she couldn’t dwell on how much it did—she was grateful for every minute she’d had with him. The past week, through the toil and exhaustion, working side by side with him to reach so many people in their acute need had been the best time of her life. But it was getting to know him that had catapulted it to the status of once in a lifetime. She counted herself lucky that she had met him, had been allowed to share that worthwhile time with him.

  She suddenly remembered jeering at him the day they’d met, about his nights of excess, when he’d been returning from a three-week stint organizing the relief and relocation of Ashgoonian peasants whose villages had been destroyed in even worse torrential rain. That made it over a month he’d been literally on his feet, salvaging hundreds of thousands of lives.

  And again she wondered that he’d let her get away with the slur. More than anything, she wondered why a man in his position would undertake such distressing, dangerous missions when he could just send people and resources.

  But the answer was clear. He’d been born into ultimate privilege, wielded his power with the ease in which he breathed, but he thought nothing of dipping his hand in dirt and himself in pain and danger to fulfill the vocation he’d undertaken of his own choice, when any other man would have multiplied his wealth and power, when he’d only had to let his royal status secure him everything he wanted from life.

  But it was clear what he wanted from life. The sa
me thing she did. To be of use, to make a difference. But with his powers he was of infinite use, made such a far-reaching difference.

  The car stopped. So did her heart.

  God—it had only been fifteen minutes. Now she’d have to wake him to say goodbye. Just get it over with.

  His name came out a choked whisper. “Malek.”

  He jerked up, his eyes snapping open on a blast of alarm and confusion. “Janaan. What …?” He subsided. “Ya Ullah—I had this dream … and you were. But you woke me up!”

  “You told me to,” she protested.

  He blinked forcefully. “I’m still not sure if I’m dreaming this, if you didn’t leave me sleeping to teach me a lesson.”

  “I said I would wake you up.”

  “You could have only let me believe it so I’d—”

  She interrupted him. “If I give my word, I keep it. We arrived, I woke you up, and as much as I’d love to listen to you on the untrustworthiness of my gender, I have to say goodbye and let you—finally—get to your bed.”

  He bit his lower lip, his eyes steamy slits glowing in the limousine’s semi-darkness. Then he sat up, got out of the car. She knew what he’d do, had to beat him to it. She opened her door and sprang out. There was no way she was prolonging this.

  He caught her elbow when she tried to hurry away. “Seems the incantation has worn off. Do I need to re-invoke it?”

  Just end this. “Malek, you’re dead on your feet and I’m dying for that bath. So—let’s just say our goodbyes here.” She tried to regulate her breathing so she wouldn’t gasp like a fish thrashing on the pavement. She also had to—had to—tell him. “But before I go, I want to tell you that the last week has been my life’s most incredible experience. I’m grateful that you let me be a part of it all and—and that people like you exist.”

  She swayed, whimpered, tried to turn around. He lunged for her arm, his grip fierce as he turned her towards the entrance of her hotel. Her moaned objection was met by his groan, thick and ragged. “Not another word, Janaan. I’m taking you to your door.”

  It was a strange and not particularly pleasant experience, to be treated like some sort of celebrity in the two-and-a-half-pretending-to-be-four-star hotel where she’d previously had nothing more than inattention and grudging courtesy.

  Everyone’s first sighting of Malek had been dramatic, to put it mildly. Eyes had turned on her and it had been like watching one of those sci-fi movies where people switched identities in mid-stare. She had a feeling they’d provide their bodies in lieu of ground for her to walk on from now on.

  Everybody made way for them so by the time they reached her door, the hotel felt deserted. He opened it for her, stood back.

  She took the unsteady step that would take her out of his realm, crossed the threshold, turned to him, praying he’d just turn around and leave, spare her this.

  He didn’t. He stood looking down at her, tall and broad and indescribable, something poignant, defeated in every line of his body.

  And she couldn’t say goodbye. Not like this.

  And it wasn’t because she now knew what he was, because they’d shared that grueling experience or because she couldn’t bear seeing fatigue shadowing his face and dimming the indomitable life force she’d been amazed by.

  It was because depletion had bared a vulnerability she hadn’t imagined. She sensed he needed solace, reprieve, and had never thought to ask for them, didn’t think they existed.

  She stepped back over the threshold, wrapped trembling arms around all she could of him.

  He stiffened in her embrace as if she’d electrocuted him.

  Oh, God. She’d read it all wrong. He didn’t need comfort, not from her. He thought she was coming on to him!

  Her feverish thoughts crashed and burned to ashes. All his tension was draining on a shuddering groan, his formidable body surrendering in her hold. He didn’t hug her back, just let her hug him, and hug him, moaning, resting his head on hers, swaying with her to the erratic cadence of their heartbeats.

  Then realization hit her. He was a man of state, in a conservative country. She was compromising him, hugging him in a hotel corridor that had to have prying eyes, no matter how deserted it felt to her oblivious senses.

  Fear won over her greed to give him more solace, made her tear her arms off him. A rumbling moan of loss and reproach reverberated like distant thunder in his chest.

  It made up her mind for her.

  And she stammered, “Would you like to come in?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MALEK FELT JANAAN’S words spearing through him, unraveling what her arms hadn’t undone of his sanity.

  He’d been feeling her withdrawing from him, had been steeling himself for the end that was advancing like a tidal wave of despondency. Then it had been the last seconds, the last glimpse, and she’d surged back into his existence, contained him in her arms, her haven. Then she’d made her offer.

  He had no idea what it was exactly but, whatever it was, he couldn’t take anything. Not when he wanted everything. Not when he had nothing to offer in return.

  “Come in, Malek.”

  This time she wasn’t giving him a choice but demanding he comply. He did, surrendered, let her take his hand and lead him inside. He could withstand almost anything, but he couldn’t bear letting her fade out of his life.

  But she was still there, drawing him deeper into hers, resolve and shyness in her eyes like at their first meeting. There was more now. Gentleness. Generosity. Solicitude.

  Then a sudden burst of anxiety wiped away everything. She dropped his hand, swung away.

  What had happened? What had gone wrong?

  Now she’d ask him to get out. Or he’d wake up.

  “I’m sorry, Malek. It’s just—just …” She paused, her throat working in agitation. “I’ve seen you do so much for others—and I wanted to—to do something for you—to show you, beyond words, how much I appreciate.” She paused again before blurting out, “But your … family must be waiting for you.”

  So that was it. What so troubled her.

  “You think I would have kissed you the first day we met if I had a … family?”

  “You didn’t … well, you almost, but you didn’t.”

  “Oh, I did.” He huffed a harsh laugh. “The almost was all the phone’s fault. Now I let you hug me, came into your room. I’d have to be a dishonorable, unfaithful wretch if I did all that with a … family waiting for me. Is that what you think I am?”

  “No.” Her denial was ready, vehement. It validated him, made him proud. Her next words made him ashamed. “It’s just I don’t know … anything about you …”

  And as long as he didn’t tell her anything, he could delude himself he had a right to feel for her.

  “You have nothing to worry about in that area,” he rasped, feeling as if he was lying, heard his voice alien in his ears, thick with hunger, rough with agitation. He shouldn’t be doing this. He could do nothing else. He had to have more of her. Just a little bit more. “So—what did you have in mind?”

  Her heavenly eyes melted with that look that hurt him with its magnanimity, its uniqueness. “You look finished …”

  He hadn’t seen that coming. He barked a laugh. “Shokrun.”

  “You know what I mean! And I know you’re a prime specimen of the exasperating species who accept help from no one.”

  “Takes one to know one, eh?”

  She giggled. “Well, yeah. But I was hoping you’d let me …” She stopped, looked as if she was getting ready to jump off a cliff. Then she did. “Pamper you!”

  He choked. She was out to give him a stroke today!

  He staggered, leaned back on the door they’d just closed, coughed, felt the air disappearing, the world receding.

  So this was temptation. Unstoppable, disempowering, to die for. This golden virago who’d invaded his life, occupied his being, conquered his reason and priorities.

  She planted her hands on her hips,
her eyes narrowing into slits of blue fire. “Are you laughing?”

  He did laugh now, at the sheer inaccuracy of her suspicion. “No, but I may be dying.”

  “Ooh!” She stormed around, threw her bag on her bed, took off the jacket he’d given her, came back to him, thrust it at him. “I take it back. Now, take your jacket back and go laugh yourself to death somewhere else where you have access to emergency medical services. This emergency doctor isn’t equipped for intubation and ventilation at the moment.”

  And he could only do one thing. Give up. All of himself, to her, to do with what she would. He only hoped he’d survive whatever she had in mind. He was already half-disintegrated from a hug and a statement of intent.

  He blocked her path when she headed for the bathroom. She evaded him and he intercepted her again, spread his arms.

  “Ana kol’ly elek.” And he was, all hers.

  She probably thought he meant he was all hers to pamper. A last flicker of sanity stopped him from elaborating.

  After a hesitant moment, she beamed up at him, let out a carefree trill and dragged him behind her.

  Once inside the bathroom she said, “Shower or shave first?”

  “You’re offering …”

  “A shave. The shower you’ll take on your own.”

  He grimaced in not-so-mock disappointment. “Spoilsport. But if I’m to prioritize, a shave has become an emergency by now.”

  “A shave it is.” She ran out, returned with the dressing-table’s chair, placed it in front of the mirror and patted it.

  He sank on it, watched her hungrily as she strode out again and picked up the phone. She made three phone calls in all, her voice low. Preparing a surprise? Could he stand another one?

  Two minutes later he heard a knock on the door. She came back from opening it triumphantly waving a zipped shaving kit.

  She started lining up the products on the sink. “I decided to make use of your clout here, as it is for you after all.”

  He returned her smile, tried to convince his senses not to riot as her heat and softness pressed closer while she tucked his hair out of the way.