Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh

by Meredith Webber

  He turned back to find Jenny had taken off her skirt, without attempting to cover her body, although he guessed she must be longing to. She handed it to him to shake and set beside the shirt on the ledge.

  Her bra and tiny bikini panties were both black, sensibly so considering the difficulties with laundry in a desert, yet they made her pale skin look even paler, and the sight of her, the swell of hips, the indentation of her slim waist, then her body swelling out again in full, heavy breasts, started a hunger so strong he had to hold himself back from taking her into his arms and tossing her on the pile of rugs that made up their bed.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he managed, although the tightness in his throat strangled the words as they came out. ‘Beautiful!’

  She moved, taking the basin to the corner, filling it with water and, with her back to him, removing the rest of her clothes and soaping her scarf, using it to wash her body.

  And even in the dim light Kam could see the fine tracings of the scars across her back, no doubt from the accident in which her husband had died.

  So she’d suffered a double blow, and his heart ached for her, but heartache didn’t stop the hunger…

  He stripped off his jeans and shirt and picked up a towel and the jar of rose-scented cream. He came towards her slowly, as he would to a skittish horse unused to man’s handling.

  ‘Let me dry you,’ he murmured, and although Jen started at his voice, when he touched her with the towel, she stood still. But rubbing cream into that pale skin, feeling her flesh beneath it and the curves and indentations of her body proved his undoing.

  ‘If I keep this up, I’ll shame myself,’ he said, nodding towards his very obvious erection. ‘You finish with the cream while I have a wash.’

  Jen took the jar from his hands and moved across to the pile of rugs. The light was dim enough for her not to feel embarrassment, or was it because of the way she felt about Kam that such a negative emotion had no place in her mind?

  She didn’t know and neither did she waste thought on it for very long, contenting herself instead with rubbing the smooth, scented cream into the skin on her face and neck, enjoying the simple pleasure of pampering herself.

  As for Kam…

  She watched him as he washed, saw the strong shoulders she knew he had because he’d carried her so easily, and the way his back tapered to a slim waist and hips, before swelling to a very attractive backside and strong, long legs.

  Was it the unreality of the storm and the cave and the rebel camp that was making what lay ahead possible for her?

  Or was it love?

  She rather hoped it wasn’t love pushing her into Kam’s arms tonight. The love she felt for him should be separate to this. It would be far better for her peace of mind if she’d finally matured enough to take some pleasure from a chance meeting with a man to whom she felt attraction; if she’d matured enough to enjoy an affair and then forget it—or maybe not forget it but tuck the memory away somewhere safe—and move on with her life.

  That way the love she felt for him could stay hidden in her heart, rather than leaking out and embarrassing both of them.

  He turned towards her and she realised it was all academic anyway. She was about to make love—OK, have sex—with the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen, and her body was so excited it was a wonder he couldn’t see her shaking from the other side of the cave.

  But when he reached the pile of mats on which she sat, he lay down and propped himself on one elbow, frowning at her.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she said, reaching out her hand to take his and pull him down beside her.

  He resisted her tug and continued frowning.

  ‘I have no protection,’ he muttered, as if both embarrassed and angered by this circumstance that had caught him in a cave in the desert in the middle of a sandstorm without a condom in his jeans pocket.

  Jen squeezed his fingers, and tugged again.

  ‘It’s OK, I’m protected,’ she told him, not adding what kind of protection—that of her inability to carry a child. The sadness of it hit her like it usually did, but not as strongly so she could let it pass. While it wasn’t one hundred per cent certain, her doctors believed the internal injuries she’d suffered in the accident meant she would never conceive again.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ Kam repeated, finally sitting beside her and taking her into his arms, kissing her as he’d kissed her earlier, gently at first then with increasing passion until they were both shaking with the need to find the ultimate release.

  Yet they held back, exploring with their hands, Jen rediscovering the delight of a hard male body, the contours of thick slabs of muscle, the smoothness of male skin. Kam’s fingers traced her scars and he hissed beneath his breath, but the touch was so gentle it excited her more than it embarrassed her.

  His hands roamed her body, touching it in secret places, setting it on fire, until she took the initiative and guided him inside her and they joined in a rhythm old as time itself and together found release, his gasp echoing her own cry of satisfaction as her body melted into a million quivering nerve cells before slowly reforming into human shape.

  Sated, they lay together, silent by unspoken agreement, and finally Jen turned sleepily in Kam’s arms and snuggled up against his body, letting sleep come, although the wailing of the wind outside and the splatter of sand against the mats was loud enough to wake the dead.

  There was no night or day in the time that followed, just the crying of the wind, rising to shrieks and falling to moans, and the movement of the mats that formed their doorway, and desire, heating Jen’s body and hammering in her heart. Was it the same for Kam?

  She could only guess it was, for the simplest, slightest touch would have them back on the pile of mats that formed their bed, their bodies more familiar to each other now so pleasure came more easily, although held back at times so the ending would be all the sweeter.

  ‘I can’t believe this is happening,’ she said, some time in what she thought might be their second night in the cave. ‘All we do is make love and boil water for cups of tea.’

  She was making a cup of tea as she spoke, naked as the day she’d been born and feeling no shame. It had to be because it was like a time out of life, a diversion from reality that would have no meaning in the future. What happened here in the cave would remain a secret held inside her, a memory to cherish and inspect from time to time, but never to regret.

  ‘There’s not much else to do in a sandstorm,’ Kam told her, ‘although I do need more sustenance than tea and bread. I think I’ll open the cans and you can make us a nice stew from whatever’s inside them.’

  ‘Hey, I made the tea, you make the stew.’

  He stared at her and Jen knew something had shifted between them.

  ‘You can’t make stew?’ she said, hoping a light-hearted tease might shift things back again.

  ‘I’ve never thought to do it,’ he said, and somehow the distance grew even greater.

  We’ve never talked about ourselves, Jen realised, the realisation bringing an icy shock. Apart from her mentioning David’s death, they’d had no personal conversation. He could be married with five kids! What had she done? How could she have been so…uncaring?

  Was this the way affairs worked?

  She didn’t know but wished she had her friend Melissa here—well, not right here but at the other end of a telephone—so she could ask.

  But Melissa wasn’t here and all the implications of not talking about personal things had struck her with a force that made her hands shake.

  ‘We know nothing about each other,’ she said, her voice strained as what ifs hammered in her head. ‘What have I done? Is it because your wife cooks for you that you can’t make a stew? Are you married, Kam? Have I been the cause of you being unfaithful to your wife? Or to someone who is important in your life? Why didn’t I ask? How stupid could I be?’

  He came towards her, his hands reaching out towards her, but she stepped back so he couldn’
t touch her, knowing his touch could make her forget her concerns—forget everything—and right now she needed answers, not oblivion.

  She pulled on the gown that had been left for her to sleep in and, seeing the gesture, Kam wound the sarong he’d told her was called a wezaar around his waist.

  The gestures—the covering of their bodies—said far more than words and emphasised the rift between them.

  ‘I am not married and there’s no one else in my life at the moment.’ She could see his eyes, see the greenness, although the cave was dimly lit, and she read truth, but also something else in them.

  Something else he wasn’t long in revealing.

  ‘Do you think so little of me you think I’d cheat on my wife? Or betray a special woman?’

  Jen held out her hands.

  ‘I don’t know what to think, Kam,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’ve never been in this situation before, and things happened so quickly.’

  This was the truth but not the whole truth. Inside Jen a tiny bud of hope had sprouted and was now swelling irrationally. He’s not married, there’s no one else, he washed my feet—could he not love me?

  Couldn’t love grow between us?

  Stupid hope, she said mentally, determined to squelch it before it got too strong. Remember this is a time out of reality, a window into another world, open for a short space and soon to close again.

  This isn’t love.

  Well, not on his side…

  Kam had walked back to sit down on the mats, and all Jen wanted was for things to be right between them again.

  But how to get from here to there?

  With practicality, of course. And pretence. She would pretend she hadn’t felt the shift, and that the marriage conversation hadn’t happened. Go back to stew!

  ‘Did you live at home when you were studying, that you never learnt to fend for yourself, shopping and cooking and such?’

  ‘I studied first in London and then here. My family had a house in both cities and staff, of course, so, no, cooking for myself wasn’t something I ever learnt.’

  Staff, of course? Who had ‘staff, of course’ in this day and age?

  Very, very, very wealthy people, that’s who!

  She stared at him as the little bud folded back on itself. Very rich people married other very rich people, not nobodies from Brisbane, Queensland, Australia.

  Kam knew the time had come to tell Jenny the truth. How could he continue to lie—or if not to lie to deceive—a woman who had given herself so unselfishly and wholeheartedly to him, who had met his passion and matched it with her own, the little cries she’d uttered lingering at all times in his head? Memories of them were causing his body to stir even now when coolness lay between them.

  ‘Come and sit beside me,’ he said. ‘I’ll make do with tea and bread for now, then you can teach me to make stew.’

  She came, handing him a cup of tea and a torn-off piece of now stale flat-bread.

  ‘Maybe learn to make bread as well,’ he joked, but she didn’t smile, alerted by his tone that this was serious.

  ‘Jen…’ he began, then stalled.

  How to tell her?

  How to explain?

  Should he begin with his father? With his illness and the gradual slide into decline his country had taken?

  But he didn’t want to blame his father, or blame anyone for his deceit, so…

  ‘Jen,’ he tried again, and this time found some of the words he needed. ‘You were right to be suspicious of me.’

  She got up so quickly her tea spilt.

  ‘Sit!’ he ordered. ‘Let me explain.’

  She sat again but she was trembling and he wanted to take her in his arms and hold her close until the trembling stopped, and then maybe for ever.

  That last thought shocked him.

  For ever meant love.

  No way could he be in love with Jenny Stapleton—not now, with his country in turmoil, looking to the new ruler to make things right again. What would the people think of that new ruler marrying a foreigner? He’d lose all credibility. And on top of that, his mother was even now scouting for a suitable bride.

  ‘So, are you going to explain?’

  She’d stopped trembling and now sounded angry, angry enough for Kam to realise he’d been lost in his own thoughts for too long.

  ‘I meant no harm, coming to the refugee camp as I did,’ he began, ‘and as for my name, it is somewhere near the truth because I’ve held a passport in the name of Kam Rahman since I was seven. That was how old I was when our father sent me and my twin brother Arun off to school in England. My full name is Kamid Rahman al’Kawali, so he simply shortened it. Arun’s is pronounced the same as the English Aaron but spelt A-R-U-N, but for school he was Arun Rahman.’

  ‘So, you’re not who you said you were, but you’ve been this person you’re not since you were seven?’

  Kam turned to Jenny to see if she was teasing him, but no vestige of a smile flickered about her lips, and her eyes looked very stormy, golden glints darting like fire in the dim cave.

  ‘Is that an excuse or an explanation?’ she continued, her lovely lips, slightly swollen by their kisses, set in a thin, grim line.

  ‘It’s the beginning of an explanation,’ Kam told her. ‘My father changed our names because he feared we might be kidnapped if our real identity was known. Not that he’d have missed us, he was quite old by the time we were born and had little contact with us. But he’d worked his way through four wives in order to finally produce sons to ensure the succession, and for that reason he was wary.’

  ‘Succession? Your father?’ Jen pressed, and Kam understood the question.

  ‘The hereditary ruler of our country—the one over the border—the sheikh who recently died.’

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ Jen said, using the excuse of putting down her empty teacup to stand up then return and sit a little further apart from him. ‘You’re not Kam Rahman, but Kam something else—what comes after that?’

  ‘Kamid Rahman al’Kawali,’ Kam told her, wondering why his full name would matter.

  Jen repeated the name in her head. It sounded nice. But the bud of hope had already withered on its stem. Even if he loved her—and there was not one single, solitary reason to think he might—he couldn’t marry her. His marriage would be important to his country and his people, and apart from that, as the hereditary ruler he’d need to have children to carry on—sons doubtless. He’d already told her how important sons were…

  Her heart ached with regrets she knew she shouldn’t have, and certainly would have to hide.

  Anger would help!

  ‘And you couldn’t tell me this right at the start? You had to be someone else. Was there a reason?’

  Kam sighed.

  ‘My father was ill for a long time, and things have deteriorated throughout the country. We are wealthy people, and always have been, even before oil was discovered here, having been successful traders from many centuries ago. And we’ve always prided ourselves on taking care of our own. So, imagine my surprise and disappointment when I discover there’s a foreign aid organisation working in our country.’

  ‘But you’ve been working here yourself, in the city, you said. Shouldn’t you have known?’

  Kam shook his head.

  ‘I barely knew my father and, though ill, he kept control through his brothers and their sons. My father married four times, wanting sons but only having daughters until his last wife, my mother, produced male twins. Once we were born, that was enough for him. He went back to his favourite, his third wife. My mother was set up in her own house and we were raised by the women around her until he sent us to school in England. It could have been rebelling against him that made Arun and I decided to study medicine rather than go into businesses the family owned. That made relations between the two of us and our father even more strained so, although we worked here, it was as ordinary citizens, not as sheikhs or heirs to the old man.’

  Jen thoug
ht of her own close family, without whose love and caring and support she’d never have recovered from the deaths of David and her unborn child. She remembered her childhood, filled with laughter and the confidence that came from knowing she was loved.

  Her heart ached for the children the twins had been, for the childhood they’d never had…

  ‘When our father died, both Arun and I would have preferred one of our uncles take over as ruler, but people came to us with disturbing reports that things were bad throughout the country. Someone told us of Aid for All, other reports were that government funds were being siphoned off to family members rather than being distributed evenly to the people. We didn’t know if one uncle had gone bad or if all of them were in collusion, so how could we pass the succession to any of them?’

  He paused, looking directly at Jenny, although the light was so dim she doubted he would see the despairing pity in her eyes.

  ‘I came out here to see the work Aid for All is doing and to find out why we can’t do it ourselves. After this camp I intended to travel through the other villages on or near the border so I could see for myself what was happening in the country, while Arun is checking what he can in the city.’

  ‘Also incognito?’

  Kam shook his head.

  ‘He’s too well known in the city—both of us are. And as well as that, the checking there needs influence—bankers and government officials—so his position is important for him to collect information. But out in the country people react differently to the ruler, particularly if they feel the family has been neglecting them. I wanted to see things for myself, and to work out ways to right genuine wrongs, not be told tales of woe by someone who might want nothing more than to make money out of an untenable situation.’

  Jenny nodded, understanding all of this yet still feeling the deep hurt of betrayal. She had been suspicious of Kam and now knew her suspicions had been well founded.

  So how much did it count that his reasons for deceit were good?

  It didn’t seem to help the pain she was feeling, or the devastation that had swamped her when she’d realised who Kam was, although the devastation, she knew, was to do with the shrivelling of the bud of hope that had sprouted from her love.