Healing The Sheikh's Heart

“I will have to talk to the board,” she said. “Ensure appropriate replacements can be made...”

“Good.” He gave a curt nod, his tone back to its usual brusque efficiency. It wasn’t as if he could comfort her. Pull her into his arms and tell her whatever it was that had thrown a shadow over her sunlit eyes would one day be better. He was proof that time was not a healer of all wounds.

“Right. Very well, then. When shall we book your flight? Or, if you care to join us, we will be taking the jet back. Is it tomorrow afternoon, Kaisha? Amira’s booked in to see a premiere of some sort tonight—a musical—otherwise we’d be off today.”

* * *

“You’re going to see Princesses and Frogs?” Robyn shoved her dark thoughts away, grateful for the distraction. The highly anticipated musical had been sold out for months and months. She’d been hoping to bring some of her friends from the hospital...well, patients, but they always ended up finding a way into her heart no matter how “doctory” she tried to be.

“Yes. Very nice seats, I’m led to believe. Would you care to join us?”

Robyn barked out an ungainly laugh. “I doubt you’d be able to get extra tickets at this point.”

“It won’t be a problem. We always book out the Royal Dress Circle.”

She cringed as Idris caught her raised eyebrows, even more embarrassed at her reaction to the show of wealth when he finished, “In case Amira would like to bring along a friend or two. As you speak British Sign Language, you could be useful if she needs some additional interpreting along the way. Is there anyone else you’d like to invite along?” She felt his eyes traveling down to her bare ring finger and protectively covered her left hand with her right.

She fidgeted for a minute under his cool gaze, then crossed her arms, in a B-grade show of giving his question a few moments’ consideration. Idris didn’t need to know she was a dedicated singleton. One whose daily torture and pleasure it was to enter Paddington’s and spend day after day surrounded by children knowing she would never have one of her own. Lacerating her heart by getting close to yet another young patient was always a risk. One she’d have to take if it meant saving the hospital that had saved her in her darkest days. Her hands, as they always did, crept down to protect the area where she would have carried a child if things had gone differently. If life had been kind. She blinked. Kind. Idris hadn’t known much kindness at the hands of Mother Nature, either.

“It would be great if I could come along...to meet Amira.” Her brow crinkled as she continued. “In the light of which, I really don’t think it’s necessary to take up your time and resources to go to Da’har.”

“Nonsense. Expense is the least of my problems.” Idris tutted, crossing to the sofa where Robyn was sitting. She watched, wordlessly, as he picked up the crumpled ball that was her raincoat and shook it out. The scarf one of “her” kids had given her fell to the ground. When she bent to pick it up, she conked heads, rather impressively, with Idris.

They rose simultaneously, hands clamped on foreheads. As comedy moments went...this was up there. Except neither of them were laughing.

His eyes...those beautiful near black eyes of his held on to hers as if they were speaking to each other. A silent conversation winging its way, effortlessly, to her very core where she was feeling rather heated and a little bit...giddy.

Da’har was meant to be nice this time of year.

Idris regrouped more quickly than Robyn and all she could do was watch his lips as he spoke.

“If you need a few days to rearrange your schedule...” She watched as his Adam’s apple dipped and resurfaced. Was he feeling it, too? “I’m quite sure the hospital administration will be...flexible...about your hospital duties when they understand the complexities surrounding your upcoming surgery.”

“It’s not the surgery I’m worried about.” Her fingers flew to cover her lips. Gulp. She was really going to have to curtail her out-loud voice.

“Dr. Kelly, I’m not certain how much your administrative team has told you about me, but in order for this surgery to go ahead I’m afraid there are a few hurdles to leap. My daughter is my utmost priority and as much as you want to understand Amira, I need to understand you.”

“Oh, no, no. I don’t go under the microscope.” Not a chance. No one—no matter how sexy, powerful and unnervingly sensual they were—no one opened up her private life for inspection. Case. Closed. She dug her trainers into the thick carpet and gave a shake of the head, wishing she’d commandeered her wild spray of curls into some sort of obedience. “Nonnegotiable.”

“My daughter, my rule book.”

“Ha! Wow.” Despite her best efforts to stem her response, she snorted. “Someone’s a little used to getting what he wants.”

He quirked an eyebrow in response; a ribbon of heat flickered through her belly as she watched his lips part to respond to her, a full octave lower than usual.

“And someone’s going to have to learn to be a bit more flexible to get what she wants.”

Robyn could’ve sworn she saw the hint of a smile on his lips before he continued briskly. “You will, of course, need to meet the team you will work with for the surgery in Da’har before I allow it—”

“Allow it?” Sorry, pal. Sheikh or no sheikh, she and she alone decided whether or not the surgery was green-lit.

“Yes. Allow it,” Idris replied, entirely unaffected by her interior monologue. “I make decisions about Amira and no one else. It’s the job of a parent to protect, is it not?”

Robyn bit down hard enough on the inside of her cheek to draw blood as he continued. She’d never be a parent and, as such, was denied any right of reply. This time her silence drew venom.

* * *

“How else do you recommend I look after my daughter’s welfare?” Idris snapped. He would move heaven and earth for Amira. Retaining control of her medical treatment was paramount. If he had control, he could ensure nothing would happen to her. Loss—the aching, hollowed-out-heart kind of grief he had felt when his wife had died—was not something he would ever go through again. He pressed his lips tightly together as Robyn began, again, to fight her corner.

“By trusting me and the other physicians at Paddington’s to do our very best—as we always do,” she replied, only just managing to keep the bite out of her own voice. Kaisha, Idris noticed, was inching her way out of the room.

“Then you will do your very best in Da’har.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Robyn’s index finger went into overdrive. “Not for the surgery. That will happen here.” She pointed in the general direction of Paddington’s, wagging her finger as if that were the decision maker. “It’s Paddington’s world-class facilities...or nowhere.”

The air crackled between them and for just a moment Idris saw a strength in her he doubted few people were privy to. A confidence in her abilities—under her terms—to which he was going to have to acquiesce.

Interesting.

What was it that made Robyn tick? Gave her the strength to disagree with him when everyone else was busy falling over themselves to appease. What would it be like to share the responsibility of Amira’s care with someone he trusted? The thought instantly brought him back to his senses. He had no one. Amira’s care was his and his alone.

“I can get you anything or anyone you like to work with in Da’har. What does it matter where the surgery takes place?”

“Everything!”

They both froze. Idris felt his features recompose themselves into the unreadable mask he’d worn for so long while the tiniest of twitches on Robyn’s face betrayed a fight against the unwelcome sting of tears. His chest tightened. Yes, he wanted control—but not on these terms.

“Isn’t a surgical theater the same anywhere?”

Robyn shook her head, clearly not yet trusting herself to speak.

“My daughter’s welfare is paramount. She is happiest in Da’har.”

“My patient’s welfare is paramount and, as such, I am happiest operating at Paddington’s.”

“Tell me, what’s so special about it?”

* * *

His softer tone suggested a change of tack. One Robyn felt herself drawn to. Even so, she didn’t share. Not even her colleagues knew about the ectopic pregnancy that had ended her dreams of having a family of her own. All they knew was that Robyn poured her heart and soul into Paddington’s and was as much a part of the place as the very bricks and mortar.

“Spend time in Da’har with us.” A smile—one he should use more frequently—accompanied Idris’s words. “If you meet my terms, I will meet yours.”

“You mean the operation will be at Paddington’s?”

“So long as you join us in Da’har. The sooner, the better.”

A trip to Da’har.

Her lungs strained against the thought. Even so...something told her this was a throw-caution-to-the-winds moment. It was not like she was facing a life or death decision. What harm could seeing a children’s musical and a couple of days in Da’har do in the greater scheme of things apart from scare her witless by yanking her straight out of her comfort zone?

So she’d have a handful of days not knowing if she was coming or going. Days that could change the face of things at Paddington’s, making every moment of scrutinizing looks from the desert kingdom’s leader worth it.

Idris’s eyes bore down on her as he waited for an answer, a shift of his jawline betraying his impatience.

Her tummy flipped.

And...breathe.

See? Survived the first step.

Robyn gave a quick nod and stuck out her hand in as businesslike a fashion as she could muster. “I trust there will be chocolate-covered ginger biscuits where we’re going?”

Maybe not quite as grown-up as she’d been aiming for.

“More than enough.” Idris’s voice deepened as he mirrored her nod, engulfing her hand in both of his as he did. Why hadn’t she noticed how large his hands were before? And how strong. And gentle enough in their strength to make her feel...delicate.

Crikey. If only she could take a pile of those ginger biscuits back with her and curl up in a corner until every last crumb of them had disappeared. A sugar high might be the only way she’d have the strength to go through with this harebrained scheme.

“Kaisha,” Idris called over his shoulder, hands still encasing hers as if they were precious jewels, “can we get the rest of Dr. Kelly’s biscuits put in a basket or something so that she can bring them back to the hospital. To share.” He arched an eyebrow at her, all but proving he’d read her mind.

* * *

A few moments later, a flame-faced Robyn was jabbing at the lift buttons, a wicker basket swinging from her arm laden with enough ginger biscuits to feed an army.

C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Where was the elite and exclusive service when you needed it? She could feel the Sheikh’s bodyguards train their eyes on her, hoping they read nothing into the jiggling she could feel beginning as a hit of nerves overtook her entire upper body.

He’d seen into her soul.

How was that even possible? Less than an hour with Idris—Sheikh Idris Al Khalil. Her polar opposite if ever there was one, and yet...

She shot a glance over her shoulder again and grimaced. If the muscle men evaporated she could start banging her head against the controls hoping to knock some sense into herself at the same time. What on earth was she doing? Agreeing to up stakes and hang out in a desert kingdom with the cool-as-a-cucumber mind reader? Her private life was exactly that and she didn’t know how many more X-ray vision looks she could deflect.

A low groan filled the space around her. A droning moan of despair. Oh, wait. She was making that sound. Oops.

She turned around and flashed the bodyguards a quick smile, which grew brighter when she heard the lift ping and the doors click-clack open.

The sooner she could get back into the comforting surrounds of Paddington’s, the better.

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