The Sheik's Dangerous Temptation

by Mary Jo Springer

  “Can this be what I’m thinking?” He growled between clenched teeth.

  “Slave traders.” Nazem confirmed his thoughts, poking his head through the door on the opposite side. “The lowest scum on earth, selling women to the highest bidder.”

  “Then they deserved the fate they received,” Malik sneered, slowly injecting the medicine around her wound. “I just wish I’d been the one to deliver it.”

  She coughed, drawing his concerned attention.

  “Nazem, what’s the status on that chopper?”

  Withdrawing the dagger from his belt, Malik sliced through her bonds. A pleading groan escaped her lips as her arms fell limply to her sides. Revulsion contracted his heart, not from the blood or her extensive injuries, but from the evidence of how barbarically she’d been treated. Bruising in different stages of healing marred her chest. She’d been beaten. From the broad range of color of the bruises, many times over the past week or so. Compassion cleaved his heart.

  A veil of red-hot rage blurred his vision.

  No one deserved this kind of treatment, especially not a woman. The bizarre scene reminded him just how far from Massachusetts General’s E.R. he’d come.

  He returned his focus to her injuries. No exit wound, so the bullet laid buried within her. Without x-rays, he had no idea how much internal damage she suffered. He swallowed hard. “Nazem, I need that chopper!”

  “Working on it, sire.”

  “Well, work faster. I’m running out of time here.”

  Finishing the suturing of her wound, he wrapped her rib cage with gauze. Her fingers reached up and fisted his robes. “Help me,” she begged, in a harsh whisper.

  “I will,” he promised, staring into the most beautiful emerald eyes he’d ever seen. “I will,” he repeated, tenderly smoothing a strand of her blond hair behind her ear.

  “What’s your name?” he inquired.

  But her eyes drifted shut again. Finally, after what seemed like hours, the deafening swoosh, swoosh of helicopter blades produced a swirling squall of sand. He had only moments to stabilize her before they boarded her on the aircraft. He’d stay with her. He wasn’t about to let this woman out of his sight. He leaned over her, covering her with his body, protecting her from the whirlwind of sand as the chopper landed. He needed answers, and he was going to get them. He’d make sure the men who did this to her received the maximum penalty.

  No matter what it took.

  No matter how long.

  No matter whom he crushed.

  Chapter 2

  What was that annoying beeping? Good God! Someone make it stop, it’s driving me crazy! To make matters worse, her head felt like it was splitting in two, her eyes being clawed out of her skull.

  Searing pain robbed her of the strength required to open her eyes.

  A disturbing thought anchored within her. Where was she?

  Overhead a voice paged a Dr. Edmond to report to the ER stat.

  Sheer terror swept through her.

  “Please,” she begged, fighting to produce enough saliva to speak, but no sound emerged from her parched lips. Nothing. She struggled to raise her right hand, but an impediment prevented her from doing so. She tugged at her arm, no luck. Glancing over, she registered the needle supplying IV fluids into her hand, and monitoring wires covered her chest. She squinted as the ringing in her ears increased, hampering her ability to think.

  What was wrong with her? She could barely lift her head. Both her side and her head felt like someone had beaten her with a sledgehammer. She turned her head to the side, hoping to anchor herself, but it only increased the roaring pain. Faint, barely conscious, she struggled to keep her eyes open, fearing if she closed them, she’d never open them again. Squinting hard, her gaze locked onto the blurry image of a man in a white lab coat. Wearing royal blue scrubs and one of those paper surgical hats, he dropped a syringe into the biohazard box on the wall. He snapped off his latex gloves and flung them into a red box. Then he began scribbling in a chart, all the while unaware she was awake. When he finished, he snapped the metal chart closed and dropped it into a slot on the wall.

  Hospital! Her disoriented mind finally registered.

  She blinked, laboring to sharpen his image. He presented a striking figure.

  A sharp wail of a siren pierced the air.

  Oh, God, she was in a hospital. How did she get here? Her groggy brain reeled with a multitude of questions. The biggest of which was—why didn’t she have any recollection of what happened to her? Pain shot through her as she clamped her teeth together, struggling to remain calm. A blood pressure cuff tightened on her bicep, and she let out a little gasp.

  The man turned to stare at her.

  Flashing a brilliant smile, he moved toward her. “I’m Doctor Malik Hajjah. You’re in a hospital in Baharah.”

  Her chest tightened. Glancing around the room, she sought answers. Baharah, Baharah, Barharah . . . what the hell was she doing in Baharah? And where was Baharah anyway?

  Sensing her confusion, he began to explain, “We are a middle-eastern country at the very tip of the Arabian Peninsula. Were you here perhaps on vacation?”

  The medical mask looped around his ear dangled against his rugged cheek. He extended his hand. She grasped it, holding on to it like it was a lifeline, his warmth chasing away the chilly bleakness of the sterile room.

  Vacation? I . . . I . . .

  Her brows knitted together. “Uh . . . I don’t know.”

  Patting her hand, he leaned over the bed rails, his fingers strong and comforting, his arm slid along her shoulders as he pulled her forward. He lifted a plastic mug from the bedside tray and held a straw to her chapped lips. She drank deeply, the cool liquid spilling down her desiccated throat, the sensation so satisfying that her eyes slid shut. A sigh of pure pleasure escaped her lips. Water never tasted so good—cold, thick, breaking through the constriction in her throat. “Thank you,” she managed through swollen, cracked lips.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Still supporting her, he stared down at her. Kindness and concern spilled from his gaze.

  “Perhaps you are one of the many teachers hired to educate our children? Do you have any recollection of a school or perhaps a classroom?”

  The strong smell of antiseptic invaded her nose, and she blinked, dazed. “I don’t think so. I’m . . .” Oh, for heaven’s sake. She could barely get a word out. It hurt to swallow, to talk, to think.

  “I’m . . .” Rubbing her fingers back and forth across her forehead, she tried to focus on his question, but no explanation was forthcoming. She didn’t know. Unbelievable. Why didn’t she know?

  “I don’t know,” she managed at last.

  He gave a curt nod.

  She wanted answers, needed an explanation of how she’d ended up in this hospital with her side hurting like hell and every muscle in her body aching. “Was I in an accident?”

  His eyes jerked to hers. They were amazing . . . compelling. Crystal blue ringed with silver, they reminded her of a serene tropical sea at dawn. A woman could drown in those eyes. Probably many women did. To her amazement, a quiver of sexual awareness sprinted through her. It was impossible to forget eyes like his.

  Ever.

  Recognition suddenly flared. She’d seen those eyes before. Those blue dots brimming with warmth and concern. Yes, she’d seen them through the fog of a dream. He’d been there with her, reassuring her, calming her. But had it really happened?

  As the memory took hold, she blurted out, “You were the one who saved me—” her voice soft, a breathless whisper, “—I was in a car.”

  “Yes, very good. Do you remember anything else?” He adjusted the stethoscope around his neck, the simple motion bunching the muscles of his neck and shoulders. Her eyes followed the
rippling course and her heartbeat increased, sending the heart monitor into frenzy.

  His eyes flicked over to the screen and then back to her. When he smiled, it was like dawn breaking through the night. Darn that machine, he knew exactly what was making her pulse spike. His smile broadened . . . he was enjoying it.

  “Again, thank you,” she said.

  Another flash of that irresistible smile. The room spun. White teeth contrasted against his deep tan, hinting at Moorish ancestry—dark, handsome, exacting.

  “I’m glad I was there to help.”

  But, his next question tore away her safety net, his stern regard hardening his facial features.

  “You’ve been shot. Can you tell me how that happened?

  Shot! Anxiety roared through her, making her tremble, the cozy discussion of the past few moments forgotten. She. Had. Been. Shot. You’d think a person would remember something as monumental as having a gun pointed at you.

  Then why was she so clueless?

  Trying to pull herself into a sitting position, she grimaced, moaning out loud as pain ripped through her side. Gently, his hand pushed against her shoulder, lowering her back onto the mattress as her mind tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation. She tried to sit again, convinced that she’d be able to think better from that position. His hand pressed firmly against her shoulder to prevent the attempt.

  He smiled again. “Whoa! You’ve just come out of surgery. You need to take it easy. Give your body some time to heal.”

  Ugh. Dizziness overtook her, but she steadied herself by grasping the rails.

  His voice was a calming oasis as he continued, “I removed the bullet. I don’t expect you’ll have any permanent impairment.” He reached over and checked the IV fluids streaming into her arm, increasing the flow with a flick of his thumb. “But I do need to keep you in the hospital for a few days. Preventing infection is my main concern.”

  She heard his voice, witnessed his lips moving, but could not comprehend what he was saying, couldn’t concentrate on anything but the word shot.

  “I was shot?” she repeated, her brows puckering, her voice weak, thready. “How? Why?”

  He released the IV tubing and leaned over her, his arms resting on the rails. “I was hoping you could fill in the blanks for me . . .”

  Continuing to stare at him, her mind whirled, trying to think . . . to remember anything, anything at all. Blank. Nothing. Nada. The harder she struggled for an explanation, the more the pounding in her head increased. How could a person forget who they were? Narrowing her eyes, she pressed onward, scrambling to bring a memory, a smell, a place, anything, into the vast abyss of her injured mind. Zilch. Not a damn thing! How could this be happening? Panic unfurled inside her, fear filling her overtaxed mind. Unease that she wouldn’t be able to unlock the secrets of her identity.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, “I’m afraid we didn’t locate your identification. Is there anyone I can call and let them know you’re here?”

  Anyone he could call? Hell, yes, she needed him to call her . . . her . . . Holy crap! She couldn’t make her brain throw out a name, much less a phone number. Her mind was battling with itself, trying every method to spit out any morsel of information. Nothing was processing.

  Maybe something would pop up if she tried to relax. She adjusted her breathing, pleaded with her body to give up the details she so desperately needed. That’s all she needed to get back on course, just a tiny little fragment of who she was and what had happened. Please God, help me, she prayed.

  Again zip.

  She blinked rapidly, trying to improve her situation. Shot! That one startling fact kept echoing in her empty head. What a ludicrous thing. Of course, she did know a thing or two about guns . . .

  She froze. Where had that come from? Swallowing hard, she fought to interpret that tiny flicker of information. How did she know about guns? If she could just give her brain a platform to work from, she was sure her memory of the events leading up to her time in the hospital would gel . . .

  It didn’t work.

  Her mind remained as empty as the vast open waters of the sea as she labored for the words.

  “Miss, can you provide me with your name?” His voice, low and comforting, engaged her.

  His face’s gradient angles appeared harsh until he moved closer. His lips, seductive and full, softened his features. The deep bow of them mesmerized her. She openly stared.

  Even with all her problems, her breath snagged in her throat.

  He shifted from one foot to the other, waiting patiently for her response. She held up a finger, begging him for more time. Still nothing. Opening her mouth to reply, she quickly snapped it shut. This was crazy! She was crazy! Unable to prevent herself from trembling, she clasped her hands. His gaze tracked her shaky movements, picking up on her distress. Had he guessed she didn’t know who she was?

  He leaned in closer, his lush fragrance of sea and salt altering her thought process. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the exotic, masculine scent.

  Finally, she managed to force a few words past her swollen lips. “My throat feels like it’s closing.” Panicking, she clutched at her throat. He pried her fingers away. The simple exertion robbed her of what little strength she had.

  “During surgery, you had a tube down your throat to help you breathe. That’s what’s causing the sensation.”

  He continued to hold her hands as he rang for a nurse, and a rush of heat flashed through her at the contact. He was so warm, so caring, she never wanted to let go. Her fingers tightened around his when he glanced toward the door. Don’t leave, she silently begged. His face was the only thing she recognized. She needed to cling to him for just a little while longer. Just until . . .

  The door opened and a uniformed nurse with dark hair entered. “Yes, doctor?”

  “I’d like some ice chips, please.”

  “Of course, doctor.” As the door closed behind her with a soft swish, his intense attention immediately swung back to her.

  “You’re an American. We know that.”

  The nurse returned with a cup filled with ice chips, which he took and offered to her. She reached in and popped a piece into her mouth.

  Chewing on the ice, she rolled that thought around in her confused mind. “How can you tell?”

  He smiled, creating the cutest dimple in his cheeks. “Your hair and teeth gave it away immediately. Americans are known for their excellent orthodontia.”

  Her awe must have shown in her expression because he said, “Don’t look at me like I’m some ancient Druid priest reincarnated. It’s your accent too . . . pure Californian.”

  Her brows pinched together. Why is someone who lives on the other side of the world acquainted with Californian accents? Did he travel a lot? Or maybe he hadn’t always lived in Baharah. I don’t even know my name and he knows about California accents.

  “Check my driver’s license?”

  “No identification was found at the scene.”

  “How can that be?”

  “You tell me. You were the one in the car.”

  “My purse . . .”

  “Missing.”

  “Everything is gone?’

  “Your passport, your driver’s license, even your library card . . . taken.”

  “By whom?”

  “Again, you tell me.”

  “Well, I don’t have a clue.”

  “Neither do we, so we’re back to square one.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “Your name. I need to know your name.”

  A deep scowl marred his handsome features as he centered his hands on his hips. He was losing patience, but what could she do? She wasn’t withholding this information on purpose. She’d gladly offer up anything that would help her memory return. But unfortunately, she
didn’t know the information he sought. Didn’t have a clue about who she was or why she would be in Baharah. Not a clue. In fact, other than knowing she was in the hospital, her mind was blank.

  A small chunk of obsidian hair tumbled onto his perfectly shaped forehead from beneath his surgical cap. Her gaze traced its descent, enchanted by the simple action. Day-old stubble covered his jaw and chin, contributing to his renegade appearance. But she trusted this man. After all, he’d saved her life.

  The irritated snap of his voice shook her out of her preoccupation with his striking attractiveness. “Your name? Let’s try and concentrate on it. Shall we?”

  “Of course.” She focused on his question instead of his nearness. Her name: that should be easy. Her name was . . . She faltered, her teeth worrying her lower lip as nothing came to mind. She tried again, steeling herself. Maybe if she began to talk, her name would just pop out. “My name is . . .”

  Blinding panic spread through her body like a virus. Blank. Not a memory or a name. An intense pain shot through her head as she strained to force the information, any information. Nothing. She clasped her fingers into a tight fist, digging her fingers into her palm.

  The perceptive doctor laid a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Calm down and focus. It’ll come to you. Stop trying so hard.”

  Her eyes drifted shut as she fought to tamp down her unease. When they re-opened, she stared again into the blue sea of his. So crystal clear, she could see straight into his soul. A jolt of heat galvanized her limbs. The brief dilation of his pupils signaled he’d sensed the connection, too. He withdrew his hand, cutting the electrical pulse.

  “You took quite a blow to the head. There’s no fracture but sometimes a head injury can cause temporary amnesia. That may be what you’re experiencing.” His voice was sympathetic, reassuring. He turned, picked up her chart, and settled in the recliner. Crossing his legs, he opened her record and began writing.