The Sheikh Who Married Her: One Desert Night / Strangers in the Desert / Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh

The Moroccan lanterns she’d left burning softly cast a seductive glow round the wide decorative vestibule that led into the main living area. When Gina started to move in that direction Zahir caught her by the waist, and what she saw blazing in his eyes smothered every thought in her head to silence.

‘Where is it that you sleep?’ he asked, his voice low and imbued with the sensuous drugging heat of the desert itself.

Slipping her hand into his, she led him into the blissfully cool bedroom, with its marble floor, and to the bed that was graced with a silken canopy the colour of a dramatic burnt orange and red sunset. Brass wall lights and another softly glowing lantern rendered the interior warmly intimate.

Stepping in front of her, Zahir cupped her face between his hands—hands that were warm and capable and big. He had the hands of a protector, for sure. And his gaze … his steady dark gaze … was a benevolent silky ocean that Gina would willingly submerge herself in for the longest time.

Inside his chest, Zahir’s heart drummed hard. His confession that he had never wanted a woman this much before was perfectly true. How could attraction be so instant and so … so violent? he mused. His every sense was irrefutably held captive, and he could barely think, let alone hope for some understandable explanation. He found himself intimately examining the arresting features before him. In contrast to the brightness of her golden hair, Gina’s arched brows were dark and generous. They raised her exquisitely formed features to a visage far beyond merely pretty, stamping them with a beauty that was hard to forget.

It was, Zahir thought, perhaps the only night they could be together for a long time. Who knew how long Gina’s mother would be in the hospital? How long before her lovely daughter could return to Kabuyadir? The idea made his insides lurch painfully. Why had fate brought him this treasure only to rip it away from him so soon … too soon?

‘I never expected …’

Gina sucked in a breath, her lips visibly trembling, bringing home to Zahir how nervous she was. How to convey without the use of words—words that would surely be woefully inadequate—that he would never knowingly cause her hurt or bring her shame? Those same reasons had made him check to see if they were being observed just now in the garden. He would willingly shoulder all the blame if someone were to even think of judging her.

‘Neither did I, rohi.’ He laid the pad of his thumb across her plump lower lip and stroked it. ‘And if all we are destined to have together for a while is this one night … then I will make sure it is a night that our bodies and souls will never forget. That is a promise I make to you straight from my heart …’

Three years later …

‘Dad, are you there? It’s only me,’ Gina called out after letting herself in with her key.

She gathered up the stack of letters on the mat inside the door, frowned, and made her way along the rather gloomy hallway to the back of the three-storied Victorian house, where her father had his study. He was hunched over at his desk, staring at what looked to be an aged, yellowed document. Just then, with his mussed greying hair and his too-thin shoulders in a blue unironed shirt, he seemed not just preoccupied and isolated, but sad and neglected, too.

In Gina’s heart a pang of guilt mingled with her sorrow. She’d been working hard at her new job at a prestigious auction house, had rung him nightly, but hadn’t called in for a week.

‘How are you?’ Leaning towards him, she brushed the side of his unshaven cheek lightly with her lips.

He stared up at her with shock in his eyes … just as if he’d seen a ghost. Then he grimaced and forced a smile. ‘I thought you were Charlotte. You’re looking more and more like your mother every day, Gina.’

‘Am I?’ The comment surprised her, and made her heart skip a beat. It was the closest thing to a personal remark Jeremy Collins had made to her in weeks. He particularly avoided mentioning his wife, Gina’s mother, if he could help it. Her death three years ago had hit him much harder than she’d ever envisaged it would. Gina was disturbed that he should bring her up now.

‘Yes, you are.’ Shrugging his shoulders, Jeremy laid down the yellowed document and tried for a smile. ‘How’s the job going at the auction house?’

‘It’s really testing my mettle, if I’m honest. I mean, just when you think you’ve got a handle on something you discover there’s so much more to learn.’

‘You sound as if you’re learning some valuable wisdom along the way as well.’

‘I hope so. No matter how many diplomas I’ve succeeded in getting, I still feel very much a junior in this trade, Dad.’

‘I understand, dear. But don’t be in such a hurry to get somewhere. This “trade,” as you call it, is a lifetime’s passion for most who enter into it, and you never stop learning and discovering things you didn’t know before. You’re still so young. How old? Remind me?’

‘Twenty-nine.’

‘Good God!’

His exclamation made Gina giggle. ‘How old did you think I was?’ she playfully challenged him. At least he wasn’t looking so down and distracted now, she noticed.

The greying eyebrows made a concertina motion. ‘In my mind I always remember you at round about five years old … reaching a sticky exploring little hand towards the papers on my desk. Even then you had an interest in history, Gee-Gee.’

Dumbfounded, Gina stared hard, ‘Gee-Gee?’

‘It was my pet name for you. Don’t you remember? Your mother thought it highly amusing that a distinguished professor of antiquities and ancient history should have the imagination to come up with something like that.’

‘Here.’ There was a lump in her throat the size of an egg as she handed him the letters she’d found on the mat.

‘What’s this?’

‘Your post … looks like it’s been accumulating for days. Why didn’t Mrs Babbage bring it in for you?’

‘What?’ The pale blue gaze was distracted again. ‘Mrs Babbage resigned last week, I’m afraid. Her husband had to go into hospital for a major operation and she wanted to be able to visit him as often as she could. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t keep her job here. Anyway, I shall need to interview for a new housekeeper.’

Reaching out her hand, Gina laid it briefly on his shoulder. She was shocked to feel how little flesh covered it beneath his shirt. ‘That’s the third housekeeper you’ve lost in a year,’ she commented worriedly.

‘I know. Must be my sparkling personality or something’

Ignoring the droll reply, Gina gazed at him, seriously concerned. ‘What have you been living on for a week? Not much, by the looks of it. Why didn’t you tell me about this when I rang you, Dad?’

For a moment the expression on her father’s long thin face reminded her of a small boy who had been reprimanded by a teacher and told to stand at the back of the class. The lump inside her throat seemed to swell.

‘Didn’t want to worry you, dear … You’re not responsible, you see. It’s my own stupid fault that I never took the time to learn how to cope with the domestics … Head always in some book or other, you see. Since your mother went I don’t seem to have the heart for much else. People thought I was a cold fish when I didn’t cry at her funeral. But I cried inside, Gina …’ His voice broke, and moisture glazed the pale, serious eyes, ‘I cried inside …’

She hardly knew what to say—how to respond. It was as though a stranger sat in front of her—not the remote, self-contained, preoccupied man who was her father. The man she would have been hard put to it to say had any feelings at all.

Patting his bony shoulder again, she gave it what she hoped was a reassuring squeeze. ‘Why don’t I make us both a nice cup of tea? We’ll have it in the living room, then I’ll nip out to the supermarket to get you some supplies for the fridge.’

‘Are you in a hurry tonight, Gina?’ The moisture beneath the pale eyes had been dashed away, and now his eyes glimmered with warmth … affection, even.

‘No, I’m not in a hurry. Why?’

‘Would you—I mean could you stay for a while? We could—we could talk. You could tell me a bit more about your work at the auction house.’

Was this some kind of breakthrough in their difficult and sometimes distant relationship? Why now, when it had been three years since she had lost her mother? Had it taken him that long to realise that he’d really loved Charlotte? That he loved his daughter?

Gina didn’t know right then whether she felt hopeful or angry. Shrugging off her raincoat, she folded it over her arm, then crossed to the still open study door. ‘I don’t have to rush off. I’ll go and put the kettle on. Why don’t you go into the living room and make up the fire? The house is chilly.’

In the kitchen, staring at the peeling paintwork and the cupboards that she guessed were as bare as Mother Hubbard’s, Gina filled the kettle at the sink and plugged it in. Before she realised it, her eyes were awash with tears. To find her father dejected, sad and reminiscing about her as a child was disturbing enough, but earlier on today her senses had received another jolt.

She’d been asked to work with a team of researchers on the provenance and history of a valuable jewel from Kabuyadir. Just the name of the place had the power to arouse the most potent of memories, and make her ache for a man whose skin was imbued with the scent of the desert, whose eyes burned with a passion that had consumed her from the very first glance—a man Gina had reluctantly had to say a premature goodbye to that magical, unforgettable night three years ago, because she’d been returning to the UK to see her mother in hospital.

When Charlotte Collins had passed unexpectedly away shortly afterwards, it had knocked Gina for six. It had also heightened her overwhelming sense of responsibility towards her father. So much so that when Zahir had rung her for the second time from Kabuyadir, in the days following the funeral, she had determinedly decided to put their night of wonderful passion and kismet behind her to focus instead on an academic career. Her father had told her that her mother would have wanted to see her make a resounding success of it.

With tears burning her eyes, and a lump in her throat the size of Gibraltar, Gina had declined Zahir’s heartfelt pleas to return to Kabuyadir soon and told him she was sorry—what had happened had been wonderful, but the idea that they could be together wasn’t remotely realistic. Now that she was back in the UK it was her career that had to be her focus, not some love affair she’d be completely foolish to trust in.

Even as she’d been speaking she’d felt as if a stranger had taken over her body and mind … a despondent stranger who certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight or happy-ever-after. When more time had passed, she’d continued quietly, he would see it that way, too, she was certain.

Zahir’s parting words had broken her heart. ‘How could you do this to me, Gina … to us?’

CHAPTER TWO

WALKING into the serene courtyard garden, where the air was heavily hypnotic with the perfume of drowsily alluring blossoms, Zahir saw his sister sitting on the long wooden bench beside the pretty ornamental pond. Her sad gaze was as far away as ever, in a land he couldn’t reach.

Beneath his black jalabiya, Zahir’s taut abdominal muscles clenched uneasily. They had always been close, but since Farida had lost her husband Azhar six months ago she had become withdrawn and uncommunicative, and all the joy had vanished from her almond-shaped dark eyes. Would he ever see it again? He hated to think he might not. There wasn’t anything he owned that he wouldn’t give to see her happy once more. With their parents gone all they had now was each other …

‘Farida?’

Her glance barely acknowledged him before returning to its dreamlike examination of the pond.

‘I am going into the city today on business, and I thought you might like to go with me? We could stay overnight at the apartment and have dinner at your favourite restaurant. What do you think?’

‘I would rather stay here, if you don’t mind, Zahir. I don’t feel like facing the city crowds today—even if it is only from behind the tinted windows of your car.’

Zahir’s responding sigh was heavy. Since he had lost his father and inherited rulership of Kabuyadir he was looked to—and indeed expected—to dispense wisdom, guidance and help to the people of his kingdom. But apparently not to his own sister. As far as that aspect of his rank and power was concerned he was all but useless.

‘What will you do with yourself here all day on your own?’ He tried hard, but couldn’t quite keep the frustration out of his voice.

She shook her head and would not look at him. ‘I will do what I usually do. I will sit here and remember how happy I was with Azhar, and know that I will never be happy again.’

‘You should have had your marriage arranged, as is the custom!’ Zahir flashed irritably, pacing the stone flags surrounding the pond. ‘Then it would not have been such a blow to you when you lost your husband. This—this marrying for love was a mistake. Has our tragic history not taught you that?’

Now Farida did look up at him. ‘How can you say such a terrible thing, Zahir? Our parents did not have an arranged marriage, and they knew the kind of joy and happiness that made them the envy of everyone. Have you forgotten how it was with them? Father told me once that loving our mother made him feel more complete and content than anything material this world could ever do.’

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Zahir came to a standstill beside her. ‘And he was a broken man when she died. So broken that he followed her soon after. Have you forgotten that?’

‘You have changed, Zahir, and it worries me just how much,’ Farida told him sadly. ‘Your rule of Kabuyadir is exemplary, and would have made Father proud, but your rigid rule over your heart has made you cold and a little bitter, I think. Remember the prophecy of the Heart of Courage that has been in our family for generations? It says that all the sons and daughters of the house of Kazeem Khan will marry for love—not for strategic or dynastic alliance. Remember?’

Knowing he had already set plans in motion for the sale of that cursed jewel, Zahir flinched a little. ‘Yes, yes—I remember. But I personally will not be adhering to that. In fact my business today involves preliminary negotiations with the Emir of Kajistan for the hand of his daughter in marriage. She has just turned eighteen, so is eligible. It is a good match, Farida … sensible.’

‘You plan to marry the dull-witted plain daughter of our neighbour? Are you mad? She will drive you crazy in a matter of hours, let alone days!’

Her brother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, but because it will be a marriage of convenience I am not bound to spend every waking hour with the lady. She will have her own interests and I mine.’

‘And what will they be, I wonder? Regularly visiting the beauty parlours in the big city in the hope that they will have some transformative elixir that will render her beautiful? I believe in the power of magic, brother, but I would have trouble believing in a magic as powerful as that. It would be like hoping for a powder to turn a mule into the most elegant of Bedouin thoroughbreds!’

‘Farida!’ Zahir was quick to show his displeasure at this insult to his potential bride, but underneath his admonishing glare his lips twitched in amusement. It reminded him of how mischievous and playful his sister could be. He threw her a final beseeching glance. ‘Won’t you come with me today? When my business meeting is over I would really welcome your company.’

‘I am sorry, Zahir. But I have given you my answer and prefer to be left here alone. However, I pray that you come to your senses and forget about making such a soulless marriage with the Emir’s daughter. Have you never wanted to fall in love like our father did? Like our ancestors did … like I did, too?’

A pair of incandescent long-lashed blue eyes flashed in Zahir’s mind, instigating such a powerful longing inside him to see their owner again that he fought to contain it and return to cold, hard reality instead. Icy reason told him that even to entertain such a hurtful memory was to go down a road made impassable by bitterness and disillusionment. The woman had rejected his entreaty to return to Kabuyadir and his arms outright. Never again would he risk his heart that way, or give his trust to a woman.

When he finally spoke his voice was gruff. ‘The premise is pointless, and I am not a masochist willing to experience more pain and anguish than I have endured already. No, that is not a path for me. Now, can I bring you anything back from the city?’

‘No, thank you. Just go safely and return home soon.’ With the barest glimmer of a filial smile, his sister returned to her lonely musing over the clear still pond at her feet.

Gina had fought hard in her case to win the right to travel to Kabuyadir and examine the jewel she and her colleagues had been researching these past few weeks, and she’d won the battle. Still, it was a double-edged sword to go back to the place where she’d experienced her greatest joy and deepest pleasure and know that she’d foolishly trampled the chance she’d had to be with the man she loved into the dirt.

Now, as her colleague Jake Rivers drove them to the airport, she stared out of the passenger window of his small Fiat in silence, reflecting on returning to the place where she had lost her heart to a handsome, enigmatic stranger—a stranger she had dreamt about almost every night for the past three years. The dreams endlessly replayed that incredible night they had spent together under the desert stars.

‘Zahir.’ She murmured the name softly.

Not for the first time she wondered where he was and what he was doing. Was he married to a girl from his own land now? Was he father to a child that played happily at his feet and made him ache with pride? Did he ever think of Gina and remember the incredible instant connection they had shared? Or had he relegated it to a moment of madness he regretted because she’d callously rejected his invitation to return in preference to forging ahead with her career?

Chewing down hard on her lip, she felt her insides flip in anguish. She’d wanted to make her father proud and honour her mother’s memory, but in doing so she’d sacrificed perhaps the one real chance of happiness she would ever have. Bad enough that she hadn’t seen Zahir again after that one night, but to think that he might despise her for the choice she’d made was a psychological blow beyond cruel. Please, God, no …

‘What did you say?’

Realising she had spoken out loud, Gina glanced round at her erudite bespectacled colleague, her face hot. ‘Nothing … just thinking aloud for a moment.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve been to Kabuyadir before. What was it like?’ Jake asked conversationally as he negotiated the route to the long-term car park.

Shutting her eyes for an instant, Gina felt it all come flooding back—the scent of exotic spices and incense, the sound of languages with their origins in ancient Persian and Byzantine empires, the vibrant glowing colours of the wares in the marketplace, and the fragrant perfume of the Husseins’ garden that was hypnotically carried on the sultry wind.

Most of all she recalled Zahir’s strong-boned face, and eyes so chocolate-dark that one arresting glance had been enough to steal her heart and keep it his for ever …

‘Whatever description my words could give you wouldn’t do it justice. Why not just see for yourself when we get there?’

He sent her a smile as he parked. ‘All right, then. I will. By the way, how’s Professor Collins doing? What’s he working on at the moment?’

Jake’s tone had both admiration and curiosity in it, and Gina kept her expression as neutral as possible. Usually she tried to stick to a policy of keeping her personal life well out of her professional one, but she supposed it was inevitable that her ambitious young colleague would be curious. He had confessed to her from the very first that he was Jeremy Collins’s ‘greatest admirer’ because of what he had achieved in his long and distinguished career.

‘I have no idea what he’s working on, but he’s been a bit under the weather lately, to tell you the truth. Thankfully I found him a new housekeeper, who seems very thoughtful and caring, so I’m trusting he’ll be okay while I’m abroad.’

She hoped she didn’t sound as anxious as she felt. Suddenly her father seemed worryingly forgetful and fragile, and her heart bumped a little beneath her ribs when she thought of him struggling with the daily chores most people found easy.

That was why she was so thankful that she’d found Lizzie Eldridge. As his new housekeeper she would be just perfect. A forty-something single mum of an eleven-year-old, she was down to earth and immensely practical, as well as kind. She and Gina’s father had hit if off straight away. He was in safe hands, she thought as she wheeled her suitcase across the concrete to the dropping-off point for the bus that would take them to the airport entrance.

‘I can’t wait to see the jewel “in the flesh” as it were,’ her companion enthused as he walked beside her. ‘That central diamond—or Almas, as they call it—is quite something. The owner can’t be short of a few quid, seeing that he’s the local Sheikh an’ all, so I wonder what’s made him think of selling it?’

‘That is surely none of our business?’ Gina responded with an arch of her brow. ‘All I know is that it’s a tremendous privilege to study the history of such a jewel … a jewel that research had corroborated hails from seventh-century Persia.’

‘Hmm …’ Unrepentant, Jake grinned. ‘I wonder what he’s like, this “Sheikh of Sheikhs” as he’s known? Can you believe we’ve been invited to stay at his palace instead of some local flea-bitten hotel?’

‘I’d be careful about coming out with things like that when we’re in Kabuyadir, Jake. It might be construed as disrespectful … which it is.’

‘Have you always been such a good girl, Gina?’ The hazel eyes behind the fashionable ebony glass frames were definitely speculative as well as teasing. ‘Don’t you ever let your hair down and just, well … misbehave?’

It was such an outrageous comment that Gina sensed herself flushing hotly. She had ‘misbehaved’ once—in Kabuyadir, as a matter of fact—but at the time it hadn’t seemed at all as if she was doing wrong. Under the circumstances it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world, because it had been purely instinctive and right. She certainly didn’t regret what others might regard as her moment of madness if they knew about it. Not even once.

Running her hand over her tidy French pleat, she felt the leap of intense longing to see Zahir again almost overcome her. ‘I’m not perfect, Jake. I have my foibles just like anyone else. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’

There were moments in a person’s life when the sheer wonder of a sight left an imprint on the heart and mind that would never be erased. Stepping into the vast mosaic and marble courtyard of Sheikh Kazeem Khan’s ornately gilded palace was one of them.

Shielding her gaze against the dazzling sunlight that rendered the tall golden turrets almost impossible to look at for long, even with her sunglasses on, Gina glanced over at an equally mesmerised Jake and shook her head. Words seemed unnecessary.

Lifting her face up to the skyline again, she noted the impressive stone-built watchtower, hovering even higher than the golden pinnacle of the roof. Once upon a time this palace must have been the most intimidating and impenetrable fortress. It wasn’t hard to imagine what it must have been like then. From the outside it appeared as if twenty-first century modernity had barely touched it at all.

A slim-built young man with watchful amber eyes, dressed traditionally in a jalabiya and a headdress with a colourful agal rope securing it round his head, stood waiting patiently as the two Europeans ogled a sight that for him was no doubt commonplace. His name was Jamal, and he was proud to call himself a servant of Sheikh Kazeem Khan, he told them. He had met them at the foothills of the city, where the taxi that had waited for them at the airport had left them, and had then accompanied them up the mountain in a cable car. From there, a comfortable horse-drawn buggy, with ravishing silk curtains and cushions, had transported them to the palace.