Читать книгу A Sheikh To Capture Her Heart - Meredith Webber - Страница 9

KEANU DROVE HARRY back to his bure, offering to stay for a while, though Harry could see he was itching to get into the newly refurbished laboratories. As well as Harry’s team working towards clinical trials of an encephalitis vaccine, other scientists were welcome to use the facilities, and Keanu’s passion at the moment—apart from his fiancée, Caroline, and saving the island’s gold mine—was examining the properties of M’Langi tea, a project started by his father many years ago.

‘Are you getting anywhere?’ Harry asked the young doctor.

Keanu shook his head.

‘We know we have fewer encephalitis cases than other South Sea islands and the only difference as far as diet is concerned is this tea we drink.’

Harry nodded.

Keanu’s work fitted with what his team was doing, but the two strands needed to be studied separately.

Keanu pulled up outside the bure and came around to help Harry inside.

But he sat for a moment, wondering if he might not be better off going up to the lab, making himself useful.

Or would he be a nuisance to his ‘minions’, as Sarah Watson had described them?

Of course he would, limping and still in some pain as he was. Besides, meticulous research work was not his thing—he was far too impatient.

Though not in surgery …

‘Thanks, Keanu, I can hop from here,’ he said, waving away the man’s assistance, his traitorous mind thinking of the last person who’d helped him inside the building.

Maybe it was lemons, not vinegar—or something a little tarter …

Limes?

Hobbling up the two steps, his foot still in pain, he shook his head at his stupidity. Sarah had made her feelings clear when she’d let fly about his behaviour, neither could he have failed to feel the contempt in her words.

Deserved contempt?

Probably!

Forget the woman!

Easier said than done.

Women usually lingered pleasantly in his head, small, special moments of past relationships stored neatly away like boxes in a storeroom in his brain.

But this woman …

No way she’d stay in a box!

Perhaps because they hadn’t had a relationship.

They’d been nothing more than ships that had passed in the night!

She’d been pregnant. She obviously had a family—husband and child—or at least the child.

So why the job of flying surgeon?

She’d be home, what, one week in four or five? Hardly a good arrangement for family life.

And none of his business …

Sarah loved operating in the small but brilliant theatre at Wildfire. Double-glazed windows let in natural light while allowing the room to be airconditioned, and through them she could see the tangle of treetops and vines in the rainforest that ran up the hill behind the hospital.

Added to which Sam was an excellent assistant, competent in his own right to perform routine operations but unable to take time out of his busy schedule to do regular surgical work. Hettie, the head nurse, and Caroline both enjoyed theatre nursing so, with Ben, she had a great team.

The patient was sedated, breathing through an endotracheal tube, and Sarah was about to begin when she sensed, rather than saw, another person enter the room.

Sensed who it was, too.

‘Glad you felt well enough to come up,’ Sam said cheerfully to the newcomer, who was still somewhere behind Sarah as she lifted a scalpel off the tray, ready to begin. ‘It’s not often we can show off our theatre to someone who’s seen the best.’

‘Thank you for inviting me.’

The deep voice reverberated down Sarah’s spine, and she had to focus on the lines she’d drawn on the patient’s neck and breathe deeply for a moment to steady her nerves.

Sam glanced at her, the retractors in his hand, ready to begin, while Hettie shifted a little impatiently, ready to cauterise tiny blood vessels.

Sarah began, although a tiny portion of her mind was protesting that it was her theatre right now and she could ask him to leave.

When the hospital boss had invited him?

She focussed fully on the patient, cutting into the throat in a crease in the woman’s neck so the scar would be next to invisible. The parathyroid glands lay directly behind the thyroid, so at the forefront of her mind her brain was locating and isolating them so they wouldn’t be damaged.

The area was also filled with important nerves and blood vessels, not to mention the larynx, just above the gland, so it was easy to lose herself in the meticulous work, excluding all outside factors.

Three hours later the glands had been removed and Sarah was checking they’d cauterised all the blood vessels in the incision.

‘I’ll close for you if you like,’ Sam offered, and, knowing how much he enjoyed being part of the surgery, Sarah stepped back, only too happy to let him finish the job.

‘Do you want a drain in place?” he asked, and she checked the open wound again.

‘No, it’s clean,’ she said. ‘Good job, team.’

She crossed the theatre towards the washrooms, stripping off her gloves and gown and dumping them in a bin by the door. Still clad in the highly unflattering green hospital scrubs, she turned to push her way through the door, finally catching sight of the unexpected onlooker.

He’d obviously been masked as he’d stood outside the sterile area of the theatre. Now the white strip of paper hung around his neck, resting on the collar of a dark blue polo shirt that clung to a chest any athlete would be proud to display.

And just why had she been looking at his chest?

To avoid looking at his face?

Probably!

But what was it about the man that drew her eyes?

More than her eyes … Her senses.

Forget him!

She felt strongly about his opting out of the world of paediatric surgery. From all she’d seen and read, he’d been truly gifted.

And he’d made her cry!

Twice!

So why was she even thinking about him?

She stripped off her clothes, showered, and pulled on a pair of white slacks and a black and white striped tee that was old and faded but very soft and comforting. Pushing her feet into sandals, she went out the back door of the changing room and along the corridor to the rear of the hospital, heading for her villa.

Ben was in charge of their patient now, and would keep an eye on her in the recovery room. Sarah would see her in the morning.

The first thing she saw as she walked into the villa was the jug from Harry’s bure—the jug she’d carried away with her as she’d fled the man’s taunt.

Well, he was up at the hospital with Sam right now, so she’d duck down to the resort and leave it outside his door. She grabbed her hat, a large droopy-brimmed black creation, off the hook by the door.

The ducking down to his island home would have worked if he hadn’t overtaken her as she strolled down the track, admiring the beautiful, lush gardens and isolated bures.

Finding he’d lost interest in the hospital once Sarah had departed, Harry made his way across the airstrip and onto the track that led through the resort.

The figure striding ahead of him was instantly recognisable despite the floppy black hat covering her glorious hair.

Glorious hair?

He really was losing it with this woman …

This woman he’d hurt when he’d hit out at her.

Unforgiveable, really.

‘Going my way?’

She started at his voice, but perhaps because it was such a corny thing to say she also smiled and held up the jug.

‘Returning your property, but now you’re here I can give it to you.’

She turned towards him, pushing the jug into his hands, their fingers touching, time suspended.

‘Have lunch with me?’

The invitation coming out like it had startled him, and apparently was so unexpected Sarah could only peer up at him from under the hat.

What did she see?

His regret?

Or had she heard a hint of desperation in his voice? She thought for a moment then said yes.

She seemed as startled as he’d been by the acceptance, but he couldn’t hide his pleasure, smiling as he took her elbow to walk her down the track.

His foot still pained him but he tried to hide it, then wondered if was kindness because he was limping that had made her say yes and hadn’t shaken off his hand.

Probably!

Harry’s light touch on her elbow was causing Sarah’s body all the same manifestations of attraction she’d first felt as she’d helped him out of the water the previous day.

The same manifestations that had so confused her she’d ranted at the man about his life choice!

He didn’t speak until they’d reached his island home. He walked her through the room where she’d given him first aid and out to a trellis-covered deck.

He waved his hand towards a cushioned cane chair, then sat down opposite her, looking at her, studying her as she pulled off the hat and shook out her hair—studying her as if to really look at her was the sole reason he’d brought her there.

The strange part was she didn’t mind, not when it gave her time to study him—to try to work out just what was at play here.

A subliminal link from the past—back when both their lives had been so different?

Or something more basic, even earthy … Simple attraction?

Was attraction ever simple?

And not having experienced it for so long, how could she be sure that’s what it was?

‘Cold drink? Juice?’ he finally asked, and Sarah wondered if she’d imagined that brief moment of mutual interest.

‘Cold water would be great,’ she said, then sank thankfully back into the chair as he disappeared inside.

Relief washed through her but it didn’t entirely release the inner tension she was feeling—or the strange, almost magnetic force this man exerted over her.

Saying yes to lunch—sitting staring at him—this wasn’t her. Sarah Watson was practical, organised, totally self-contained, and content with the new life she’d made for herself.

He reappeared carrying a large tray, the jug she’d just returned set in the middle of it, surrounded by platters of sliced tropical fruit, curls of finely cut meat, chunks of cheese and a cane basket filled with soft rolls and bruschetta.

‘One moment,’ he said, disappearing inside again, then reappearing with plates, glasses, cutlery, napkins and a smaller tray containing little dishes of butter and relishes.

‘Wow? You did all this in a matter of minutes?’ Sarah said, looking up at him as he checked they had everything they needed.

‘Minions,’ he said briefly, placing a plate and glass in front of her. ‘The resort staff bring me a lunch this size every day, although I keep telling them there’s only one of me and I can’t possibly eat it all.’

‘So you asked me to lunch to help you out?’ Sarah teased, looking up at him.

He held her gaze for an instant then shook his head.

‘Heaven only knows why I asked you to lunch,’ he growled, a puzzled frown drawing his dark eyebrows together. ‘It just seemed to come out of me, but as both Sam and Caroline have ripped strips off me for upsetting you, maybe my conscience made the call.’

So Sam had seen her crying as she’d left the bure, and Caroline had definitely seen she’d been upset in the ER yesterday …

But tearing strips off him?

She concentrated on the lunch, forking some sliced fruit onto her plate, taking a piece of bruschetta, some cheese—

‘You obviously know my recent history, but what happened to you?’ he asked, his voice gentler now, his eyes on hers, not on the plate already filled with meat and cheese that he was holding in his hand.

She frowned at the intrusive question, selected a piece of melon, didn’t answer.

‘You don’t have to answer, of course, but I’ve obviously upset you, and I wouldn’t knowingly do that. Not for the world.’

She had to look at him now, and she saw not only concern but empathy in his eyes.

It would be so easy to tell him, to excuse her rudeness to him by revealing why remembering the night they’d first met had caused her so much pain.

Yet still she hesitated, until he moved his chair closer, lifted the plate from her hands and set it on the table, then took one of her hands in both of his and looked deep into her eyes.

‘What happened to your ambition to practise paediatric surgery, to the child you carried? What was so terrible it sent you halfway across the world to take on the itinerant work you do?’

His words were almost hesitant, so much so she knew it wasn’t curiosity but some deeper need to know.

The same need to know that she felt about him—a need to know more of this man.

Although she left her hand where it was, she couldn’t look at him, chewing at the melon when it had already dissolved to mush in her mouth.

‘I watched you today,’ he continued, genuine interest in his voice. ‘You’re a natural surgeon, the instruments are like extensions of your fingers, and your hands move almost without messages from your brain. You were so enthusiastic about paediatric surgery—’

‘So were you!’ She shot the reminder at him. ‘Stuff happens, as well you know.’

He didn’t reply, studying her again, then gave a rough shake of his head.

‘I’m sorry, I really hadn’t meant to bring all this up, to pry into your private life. It’s none of my business what you do or why you do it and if I hurt you yesterday I’m truly sorry.’

Sarah met his eyes, and saw the apology there as well, but behind it the questions lingered, questions she didn’t want to answer—probably couldn’t.

Not right now, anyway …

Harry moved his chair away—fractionally—then picked up the plate he’d removed from Sarah’s hands and gave it back to her.

Was he out of his mind? Here he had the company of this attractive woman and he’d ruined the lunch by demanding to know why her life had changed.

He’d already upset her twice, obviously by the things he’d said about the past, so why was he pushing for answers she equally obviously didn’t want to give?

And why should she?

What business was it of his what she did or why she did it?

He was attracted to her—he’d got that far in sorting things out—but he’d rarely, or possibly never, pried into the pasts of other women to whom he’d been attracted.

He had accepted them as they were, enjoying a relationship that brought pleasure to both of them, always with the understanding that that was all it would ever be.

He knew some of the reasons it was all the women concerned wanted—their careers came first, or they’d been hurt before and just wanted the fun and companionship, and, yes, sex.

While ever conscious that for all he’d built his own life away from his family and the place of his birth, he still had obligations there—and a woman his family had pledged him to marry.

So relationships had been, well, fun, and many of the women remained his friend.

But this woman?

He pushed his plate away, his appetite gone, and looked at her.

‘For all we seem to have done nothing but fling accusations at each other and probably hurt each other more than we should, there’s something between us,’ he said, hoping that bringing things out into the open might help.

She smiled, which didn’t help.

‘You mean a cup of coffee nearly five years ago and a stonefish sting?’

‘No!’

He hadn’t meant to snap, but even in his own ears it sounded snappy.

‘A link, an attraction—a strong attraction that I think you can feel, too.’

She looked up from her plate then looked down again, very deliberately choosing a slice of pineapple and lifting it to luscious pink lips.

Every sinew in his body tightened—attraction? Or nerves about what, if anything, she might reply?

‘And?’ she said finally, when she’d chewed the pineapple far more than was necessary and swallowed it, the white skin on her throat moving up and down, the tip of her tongue sliding out to wipe the juice from her lips.

The tightening this time definitely wasn’t nerves.

‘And what?’ The words scratched out from a throat thickened by emotion.

She almost smiled, her lips widening just slightly, indenting the faintest of dimples into her cheeks.

‘And what would we do about it if, as you say, there’s something there?’

‘I don’t know!’

He threw up his arms in exasperation. This wasn’t how his courtships usually worked. He met a woman, they liked each other, went out for dinner then usually ended up in bed.

No, he shouldn’t have thought about the bed part, especially as his bed was so close and he could already picture a naked Sarah Watson spread out on it, while he licked the cream of her skin from her toes to her forehead.

Possibly pausing on the way, here and there …

He blanked the image and forced his mind to shut down the thoughts accompanying it.

‘It’s a long time since I’ve been in a relationship,’ she said quietly, setting down her plate and leaning back in the chair, the faded T-shirt she was wearing pulling tight against her full breasts.

‘Because?’

He had to ask but all she did was shake her head and look so lost he wanted to scoop her into his arms and hold her tight against his chest until the sadness left her lovely eyes.

‘But I probably wouldn’t mind one.’

Had he heard her right?

‘With me?’ he managed to get out, any semblance of the suave man of the world he thought himself completely gone.

This time she smiled properly.

‘Well, you’re here, and I think you’re right, there is something between us, isn’t there? We’re both old enough to recognise attraction, and should be able to admit to it, for all it’s weird when neither of us seem to like each other particularly, and I don’t really believe in instant …’

‘Lust?’ he suggested when she faltered in her almost clinical dissection of what lay between them.

‘I suppose that’s as good a word for what we’re experiencing as any,’ she admitted, ‘and given I’m only here for a week—well, five days now—it wouldn’t have time to get complicated. It’d be like a holiday romance only without the holiday part—a fling.’

He nodded, partly because he couldn’t find the words but also, in part, because he had no idea where to go from there.

Taking her into the bedroom and peeling off all her clothes was one option, but it seemed a little abrupt—even more clinical than her words had been.

Damn it all, how did he usually get a woman into bed? He must have some technique—some idea of how to get from a shared lunch to the bedroom!

She was smiling, probably at the confusion that must be evident on his face.

Had she really just suggested they have an affair—well, hardly an affair, surely they took longer …?

I wouldn’t mind one. She’d definitely said that.

Put the words right out there in the open, in a cartoon bubble above her head!

Well, the man was the most handsome, sexy member of the species she’d ever met, and if you counted tingling nerves, and a racing pulse, and shallow breathing, then he was right about there being something between them.

But an affair?

Well, hardly that, a fling.

A very short fling …

What the hell!

She looked into those slumberous grey eyes, studied the moulded lips, and, as panic yelled at her to go, to run for her life, she heard herself saying, ‘Well, what happens next?’

He looked so stunned, she helped him out.

‘Either I kiss you or you kiss me, I guess. Do you have a preference?’

He made a growling kind of noise and drew her close, studying her face, running his fingers through her hair, eyes wide now with a kind of wonder.

‘You’re serious?’

‘Well, I think I am, but the more you mess about the more worried I’m getting. Perhaps we should sleep on it, decide tomorrow.’

This time the growly noise was more like a purr.

‘And miss tonight? No way.’

Now, finally, he did kiss her.

Well, she guessed it was just a kiss, although it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, sending her brain cells into a muzzy cloud and her body into a frenzy of desire.

Lust?

What the hell? Did it really matter?

She concentrated on the kiss, on kissing him with as much heat as he was kissing her.

Kissing him …

He felt her momentary hesitation, remembered her tears, and lifted his head, cupping her face in his hands, and looked into her eyes.

‘You’re sure about this?’

Well, nearly sure …

She didn’t say the words but he read it in her eyes. Nearly sure wasn’t good enough—not this time, for some reason, not with this woman.

Though at other times would he have hesitated?

Hell, what did he know?

Except he wanted her to be sure, so he kissed her lightly on the lips and tried a smile, although he knew it probably looked as false as it felt.

‘Think about it,’ he said quietly.

She eased her body away from his and nodded.

‘I think I need to,’ she responded.

And with that, she stood up, thanked him politely for the lunch, and walked away.

Out of his bure, but not out of his life?

He had no idea …