Healing The Sheikh's Heart

Okay. So he was a king, or a sheikh, or a sheikh king. Whatever. It made no difference to her, not with how full her plate was with the hospital on the brink of closing and an endless list of patients Paddington’s could help if only its doors were kept open. Besides—she chewed on her lower lip as she held another untimed staring contest with him—she was just making chitchat until his daughter showed up.

Blink.

He won. Whether or not he knew it. Who could stare at all that...chiseled perfection without blinking? He had it all. The proud cheekbones. The aquiline nose. Deliciously perfect caramel-colored skin. The ever so slightly cleft chin just visible beneath more than a hint of a five o’clock shadow. She didn’t know why, but she was almost surprised at his short, immaculately groomed dark hair. He would’ve suited a mane of the stuff—blowing in the wind as he rode a horse bareback across the dunes. Or whatever it was sheikhs did in their spare time. The color of his hair was run-your-fingers-through-it gorgeous. Espresso-rich. Just...rich. Everything about him screamed privileged. Polar opposites, then.

Of course she’d blinked first.

“Well, you know there’s also a mountain in Wales—Idris’s Chair. And just look at you there—sitting in a chair.” She raised her eyebrows expectantly. Most people would, at the very least, feign a smile.

Nothing.

“It rhymes!” She tacked on with a hopeful grin, trying her best to keep her nerves at bay.

Nothing.

His lips, though clamped tight, were...sensual. She’d already noticed he curved them up or down to great effect. Disconcerting in a man who, on all other counts, embodied the definition of an alpha male. The perfect amount of six-foot-something. For her, anyway. She liked to be able to look a man in the eye without too much chin tilting. If she were in heels? Perfect. Match. Not that she was on the market for a boyfriend or anything. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stifle a guffaw. As if.

He looked fit. Athletically so. She would’ve laid money on the fact the hotel swimming pool had seen some well-turned-out laps this morning from the spread of his shoulders filling out what had to be a tailor-made suit. She tipped her chin to the side, finger tapping on her lips, wondering if she could drum up the Arabic word for tailor.

“Here we are! I even found a mug! The butler told me builder’s tea always has to come in a mug. Preferably with a chip, but I’m afraid this one has no chips.”

Robyn lifted her gaze, grateful to see Idris’s assistant arrive, face wreathed in a triumphant smile, carrying a tray laden with tea fixings and a huge pile of scrummy-looking biscuits. Were they...? Oh, wow. Dark chocolate–covered ginger biscuits. In abundance!

“These are my absolute favorite!”

“We’ve done our research. Let us hope,” Idris continued in his lightly accented English, “that you have done yours.”

The words were a dare. One she’d needed no prompting to resist.

“It’s actually been fascinating going over Amira’s notes. It’s kept me up at night.” She saw a flash of something indecipherable brighten Idris’s dark eyes. “In the best possible way.”

Kaisha set the tea tray down between them.

“Heavens! There are enough biscuits here for an army! Is Amira coming with a group of her friends?”

“No. This is just for you,” she answered, her beautiful headscarf swishing gently forward as she leaned to pour a cup of mint-scented tea for Idris and herself from a beautiful china teapot.

“Oh, you are a sweetie. Thank you. It’s Kaisha, isn’t it?” Robyn asked.

“That’s right.”

Robyn repeated the name. “In Japanese it means enterprising, or enterprise, I think.” She found herself looking to Idris for confirmation. He looked like a man who had answers in abundance.

“I thought you said you weren’t a linguist, Miss—”

“Doctor,” Robyn jumped in with a smile. It was her whole life—her job at Paddington’s—and heaven knew she’d far rather be defined by her work than her less edifying home life as a spinster.

“Doctor,” Idris corrected, eyebrows lifting as if he were amused by her insistence upon being called by her rightful title. “For someone who professes to only speak ‘menu’ you seem to know your way around the world’s languages.”

“Oh, yes, well...” She felt her cheeks grow hot. Again. Not a handy time to have a creamy complexion. She twisted her fingers together, hoping they would help her divine the perfect way to confess just how much of a nerd she was. Nothing sprang to mind so she dove into the pool of true confessions. “I’ve studied quite a few sign languages from around the world. It comes in handy as an ENT specialist. Many countries share similar signs for the same word, but it’s always useful to know the word in the spoken language given we have patients joining us from around the world and a lot of them—as many as I can encourage actually—are lip readers. So—” she signed as she spoke “—that is why I had prepared for meeting Amira and not you.”

“I see.” Idris’s dark-as-night eyes widened and she felt her heart sink. Why, oh, why did administration see fit to send her out on these meet-and-greet jobbies? She got too nervous. Talked too much. Way too much. She really would’ve preferred to meet the child—or patient—as the administrators insisted on calling them, on her own.

Patient. The word gave her shivers. The people who came to them at a time when they were sick, or injured and needing a healing touch—they were all children. Children with names and faces, likes and dislikes, and in some cases, the ability to knit the world’s longest scarf.

Her fingers crept across the couch and rubbed a bit of the damp wool between her fingers. The gift was as precious to her as if the children she’d never have had made it for her. An ectopic pregnancy had seen to that dream. So her life was filled with countless “adoptees.”

Children.

“Patient” sounded so clinical and she, along with the rest of the staff at the Castle—as the turreted building had long been nicknamed—wanted the children who came to them to be treated with individual respect and care. With or without the hospital gown, tubes and IVs. Row upon row of medicines, oxygen tanks, tracheal tubes and hearing aids. They were children for whom she tried her very best to make the world—or at least Paddington Children’s Hospital—a better place to be.

If Amira’s records were anything to go by—and Idris was willing to accept the cutting edge treatment she thought her hospital could offer—Robyn knew, with the right team of surgeons, specialists and, annoyingly, funding, she could help his little girl hear for the very first time.

So...it was suck it up and woo the Sheikh, help his daughter and save the hospital in the process.

CHAPTER TWO

“LET ME START AGAIN.”

Idris’s growing impatience won out over the desire to return Robyn’s infectious smile. “I wasn’t under the impression we had started anything, much less the interview I was expecting to conduct.”

He knew he was being contrary but this woman unnerved him. Her watchful tigress eyes flicked around the room on a fruitless quest to come up with reasons for his terse response. She wouldn’t find what she sought there. In the immaculate soft furnishings and discreet trappings of the überwealthy. The answer to his coldness stood guard at the surrounds of his heart. Unreachable.

And she would have to do a bit more than smile and catch him off guard to be the one he chose to operate on his daughter.

He was the wall people had to break through to get to Amira. He’d lost one love of his life to the medical “profession.” He’d be damned if he lost another.

He shifted in his chair, well aware Robyn was already unwittingly chinking away at some of his usually impenetrable defenses. This woman—ray of light, more like—was a near antithesis to everything his life had been these last seven years. Where he was wary and overprotective, she was virtually bursting with life, enthusiasm and kindness.

He didn’t think any of the other surgeons had so much as spoken to Kaisha other than to say “tea” or “coffee.” Perhaps a nod of dismissive thanks, but in his book, consideration was everything. Particularly in his role as leader of Da’har. Every decision he made about the small desert kingdom would, ultimately, affect each citizen. As such, he took no decision lightly, altered no laws of the land to benefit one group of people and not another. Life on this small planet was already unjust enough on its own. He’d learned that the hard way. And regrouped out of necessity.

The last thing the people of Da’har needed was a leader drowning in grief at the loss of his wife. Seven years ago his newborn daughter had needed a father with purpose. Direction. So he’d shut the doors on the past and sharply fine-tuned himself to focus on Amira and the role she would one day take on as Sheikha of Da’har and all her people. People whose voices she now longed to hear.

“Where are all the toys?” Robyn asked pointedly.

“I’m sorry?” Idris swung his attention back toward her, not realizing his thoughts had wandered so far away.

“Toys? You did bring your daughter with you, right? And she’s seven so...” He watched her brightly lit eyes scan the immaculate sitting room. “Where does she play?”

“She’s at the zoo with Thana.”

Kaisha’s eyes widened at his words. He knew as well as she, he would normally never tell a virtual stranger his daughter’s whereabouts. Or to call him Idris for that matter. He’d offered no such “common” courtesy to the surgeons he’d met before Robyn. Something about her elicited a sense of...comfort. Ease. She exuded warmth. Albeit, a higgledy-piggledy variety of warmth—but she seemed trustworthy, nonetheless. Which was interesting. Trust wasn’t something he extended to others when it came to his daughter.

“And Thana is her...?” He bristled at Robyn’s open-ended question. He never had to face this sort of questioning in Da’har. Or, generally, anywhere else. His wife’s death during childbirth had been international news. Where their wedding had lit up television broadcasts, her funeral had darkened screens around the globe. It was near impossible to explain how leaden his feet had felt as he’d followed her casket, Amira’s tiny form tightly swaddled in his arms, the pair of them making their way toward the newly dug grave site. He swallowed the sour sensation that never failed to twist through his gut at the memory.

“Her nanny.”

Robyn winced. He could see she remembered now. The myriad expressions her face flashed through and finally landed on was something he recognized too well.

The widowed Sheikh and his deaf daughter...all alone in their grief at the loss of the Sheikha.

So.

He quirked an appraising eyebrow.

She had done her research, after all. Just wasn’t going to any pains to prove it.

“Right!” Robyn pulled open the flap to her satchel and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, which she knocked into an exacting rectangle on the glass coffee table. “I generally prefer to do this sort of initial ‘meet’ with the child. Amira,” she corrected. “While I am relatively certain the type of surgery and treatment I am proposing will suit her case, I also like to make sure it suits her.”

“What do you mean?” None of the other surgeons seemed to care a jot about Amira’s thoughts on the matter. They just wanted to showboat their latest clinical trials...for a price, of course. A large one.

“When someone who is profoundly deaf has hearing restored, it can be quite shocking. Not all deaf people, you may be surprised to learn, want to hear.”

“That is not the case with Amira.”

Robyn gave him a gentle but firm smile before continuing. “It would be preferable to hear that from Amira. Sometimes what a parent desires for their child is different from what the child themselves wants. Tell me, how does she communicate?”

“She mostly reads lips, although—” he raised a hand as Robyn’s own lips parted to interject “—we have our own sign language of sorts. As I’m sure you are aware, there is not yet a regionally recognized sign language between the Arab nations as there is in America or here in the United Kingdom.”

Robyn was nodding along, the tiniest flicker of “been there, done that” betraying the fact he wasn’t telling her anything she didn’t know already.

“And is her lipreading in Arabic, French and English?”

Hackles rising, Idris checked the volume of his response. “Da’har’s local dialect is what interests her most as the people of my kingdom are the ones she will one day be Sheikha to. Though she speaks a smattering of the others as we travel together regularly. Do bear in mind, Doctor, she is only seven.”

“I have met some very savvy seven-year-olds in my day.” Her chin jutted forward decisively.

Was she mocking him? Amira was the most precious thing in his life. He was hardly going to overwhelm his already serious little girl with an endless stream of tutors and languages when life was innately challenging for her.

When his eyes met hers, he was heartened to see Robyn’s countenance matched her words. She seemed to have...respect...for her patients. He notched up a point for her. A small one. But a point, nonetheless.

“Shame.” Robyn was shaking her head, fanning out some of the papers she’d brought. “It’s much easier to learn multiple languages as a child. The younger, the better, some say. Particularly if it’s not in a scholastic setting.” Her eyes made a derisive skid across the decidedly “grown-up” hotel suite.

“Actually...” Kaisha interjected shyly. “Amira’s English is pretty good and we have been practicing some British Sign Language. She seems to enjoy it.”

“You’ve not told me this!” Idris knew it wasn’t something to be angry about—but why would they keep this from him? A small twinge of concern that his own serious demeanor might be the reason teased at his conscience. Then he dismissed it. He was who he was. A father who put his daughter above everything.

“It was a surprise. For Dr. Kelly.” Kaisha jumbled the words together, then launched herself into some fastidious note-taking to avoid any reaction Idris might have.

“That’s excellent!” Robyn gave a fingertip pitter-patter clap.

“British Sign Language is closer to French—so if she takes that up as well, it sounds as though she’s got some solid grounding in the wonderful world of the polyglot!”

Kaisha beamed with pride.

“Hold on!” Idris unsuccessfully tried to rein in the women’s enthusiasm. “What has all of this got to do with the operation to restore her hearing?”

“Everything,” Robyn replied solidly.

“And why is that?” Idris asked, now feeling sorely tested.

“Because there is always the chance it might not work.”

A thick silence settled between them as he took on board what none of the other surgeons dared suggest. Failure. It was a courageous thing to admit.

“I thought you were one of the best.”

“I am,” Robyn replied without so much as a blink of an eye. “But Amira’s case is a tricky one and the treatment I’m proposing has never been done in exactly this way. Not to mention, I’ve never done it in tandem with gene therapy.”

“Gene therapy?” Idris’s hackles went straight up. It sounded invasive. Dangerously so.

“Don’t worry...don’t worry.” Robyn waved away his concerns as if they were minor. “This is really exciting stuff. During my time in Boston Pediatrics—”

“I thought you were based at Paddington’s.”

Was nothing as it seemed with this woman?

“I am,” she confirmed patiently, then gave a self-effacing laugh. “Unlike most of the human race I like to take my ‘holidays’ at other hospitals. See what my fellow comrades in the Ear, Nose and Throat world are up to.”

“So...you work on holiday.” It came out as a statement.

“I never feel like I’m at work,” she replied, looking shocked he could think otherwise. “I love what I do. So, really, I’m living the dream!”

Idris saw something just then—the tiniest of winces as she spoke of her “perfect life.”

That she was passionate about medicine he had no doubt. But there was something missing, something personal. Which was what she seemed to be making this whole affair by the constant reminders that Amira wasn’t available for “inspection.”

He gave a dissatisfied grunt at the thought, smoothing away an invisible crease on his trousers.

Work and play might be one and the same for Robyn, but he had yet to get a handle on what it was she was actually going to do for his daughter apart from test her emotional elasticity. What was she expecting? A picket fence lifestyle for a girl who had lost her mother at birth and would one day rule a nation, all the while coping with profound deafness?

If she could handle that with the grace and charm she exhibited on a daily basis, Amira would certainly be able to handle...

Ah...

Idris put two and two together, suddenly seeing the sense behind everything Robyn—Dr. Kelly—was saying. One devastating loss was big enough. Something she would have to live with forever. The second? Her dream of being able to hear the voices of the people she would one day serve as leader?

He glanced at his watch, wondering how long it would take to bring Amira back from the zoo. Then again, he still hadn’t heard Robyn’s surgical plans. He was hardly going to give her hope before he’d heard Dr. Sunshine’s proposal.

“Okay, Idris—Your Highness. This is the part for focusing.” Robyn’s entire body looked as though it were ready to spring from the sofa as she spoke. “I am particularly excited about the different components of this surgery. I think Amira—when I eventually meet her—will be pretty interested to learn she’ll be one of the first children to receive a 3-D printout of not one but two inner ear bones. The stapes or stirrup, and the incus—or anvil as it is commonly known. I’m guessing you’re relatively au fait with this terminology, right?” She didn’t pause for an answer, just a quick glance in his direction as she pushed a couple of maps of an ear in his direction highlighting the work she proposed to do. Then, from her seemingly bottomless pit of a satchel, she pulled out a large model of an ear.

“This was more for Amira’s sake, but as she’s not here, you’ll do.”

“How very kind,” Idris answered dryly. Whether or not Robyn took any notice of his tone was beyond him as she was utterly engrossed in taking apart the pieces of the gigantic model to reveal a beautiful side view of the intricately constructed organ.

“As she was born prematurely, it looks as though a couple of Amira’s middle ear bones had some trouble developing completely, leading to the conductive hearing loss and—for whatever reason, it could be her diet, could be all the other factors a preemie has to go through—her body hasn’t quite caught up with the development she should have gone through by this point. It’s also apparent that the sensory hairs in her ear were damaged at some point. It could have been in the gestational period, but I think it is more likely it was during the labor. Sometimes the use of medicines that are beneficial to the mother can affect the baby—”

“Stop there. I’ve heard enough.”

Idris clenched his teeth, feeling the telltale twitch in his jaw as he did. No one had so much as dared to suggest Amira’s hearing loss had been caused by the medical treatment his wife had received. He’d never hold his wife’s fight for survival accountable for his daughter’s condition. At first he’d thought it had been punishment for being too happy. A beautiful wife, a nation who adored the pair of them, a child on the way... The lightning strikes of how cruel life could actually be had been blunt and unforgiving.

Robyn leaned forward and reached out a hand, taking one of Idris’s in her own. His instinct was to yank his hand away. It had been years since he’d known the comforting touch of a woman. Years since he’d thought such a thing would ever be possible after he’d lost his beloved wife. If Robyn noticed, nothing in her expression betrayed the fact.

“This is a big step,” she began, the warmth of her fingers beginning to mesh with his own. “For you and your daughter. I would rather call the entire thing off if you feel it’s too iffy. There is always the option of cochlear implants or bone conducting hearing aids. They do offer excellent opportunities for many hearing-impaired children, but given the damage to Amira’s sensory hairs, I believe they’ll offer minimal aid in your daughter’s case. If you like I can show you the details for the other surgeries.”

“No need.” Idris extracted his hand from hers and stood, suddenly impatient to get things under way. His own fears, his need to control the situation, would have to be controlled. For Amira’s sake. Putting all of his faith in a surgeon for his daughter’s well-being terrified him, but something about Robyn told him she would do everything in her power to do what she could for Amira.

“We will do the surgery, as you prescribed, but on one condition.”

“Oh! I...uh...” She threw a look over each shoulder as if expecting the condition to appear from behind the sofa.

Idris bit back a smile. She was clearly a doctor, through and through. A negotiator? Not so much. Children seemed to be the medium through which she communicated with the rest of the world. Adults, less comfortable terrain. Or was it just him that made her squirm? A flash of sexual prowess shot through him. Fleeting—powerful enough to leave aftershocks.

“What exactly is this condition?” Robyn shot him a wary look when a giraffe didn’t pop up behind her. “I don’t dance, sing or play poker if any of those are your poison.”

“You will come to Da’har.”

Her eyebrows shot up and her mouth popped into a pretty O as she took on board his proposal. She wanted him out of his comfort zone...and it looked as though his request meant she would have to leave hers.

“Why?”

“To spend time with Amira, of course. As you requested,” he couldn’t resist adding.

Robyn jumped to her feet, raising her hands in protest.

“There’s no need for me to leave the hallowed shores of Blighty to do my best in surgery.” Her eyes zigzagged between him and Kaisha as if trying to divine a hidden meaning in the request. Demand? Even he wasn’t sure. What he did know was if he was going to acquiesce to her demands she’d better be prepared to meet him halfway. Putting his daughter’s future in the hands of virtual stranger? Not an option.

“When we’re in Da’har—”

“Oh, my goodness me! Let’s not count our camels before they hatch!” Robyn laughed nervously, faltered, regrouped, then put on what he suspected was a self-taught stern expression as she wagged a finger at him. “I don’t exactly remember saying I would come along. I am the head of surgery at a very busy hospital that—”

“Is under threat of closure and relocation outside of London? Riverside, I believe the new site is called?” he finished coolly.

He was no game player, but if Paddington Children’s Hospital was on the brink of an unwanted closure, he had the means to change that. His pockets were deep. Very deep. But his daughter’s welfare came first. The thought of losing Amira under any circumstances chilled him to his very marrow. Something just as deep-seated told him Robyn was the woman to perform Amira’s surgery, but only after a few more boxes had been ticked. “You will come to Da’har to allay my concerns—”

“Concerns?”

A piercing shot of anger coursed through Idris that she could even dare to suggest he would feel otherwise.

“Yes. Concerns. Shall I spell it out for you? A father’s concerns. Surely, Dr. Kelly, you are not unfamiliar with the love a parent has for a child?”

Robyn went deathly still. She blinked, hiding behind her eyelids a look of pure, unadulterated grief. When she opened them again, her eyes bore little of the light they’d shone with earlier and Idris knew he was at fault for unearthing a deep sorrow. A hollow victory if ever there was one.