Читать книгу The Desert Surgeon's Secret Son - Olivia Gates - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

BE READY.

The order reverberated in Viv’s mind until she was ready to scream. He’d tossed it at her, expected her to abide by it.

But what did she expect from a despot anyway? Sure, he enveloped it all in layers of benevolence, modernism and tolerance, but in reality he was the same as his desert-raider ancestors, tyrannical rulers and decadent sultans all. Aarrghhh…

Okay. Enough of that. She should concentrate on something else. The magnificence of Jobail at sunset, for instance. She may as well enjoy it. Driving through the city that had materialized out of architects’ fantasies, cocooned in that rarefied atmosphere of a limo of a level of luxury she hadn’t known existed. Without the evidence of her eyes, the sight of the city rushing by, she could have sworn they weren’t moving at all. So smooth were the roads…

It wasn’t working. And it was Ghaleb’s fault.

It was his fault she was victim to volcanic emotions once more after she’d long mastered herself, found tranquility, enjoyed the rewards of control. And all he’d had to do to achieve this reversion had been to expose her to the sight of him, his voice and scent, to breathe near her, look at her. To utter those two words.

She closed her eyes. She should consider this not succumbing to his order but strategic acceptance of an opportunity. This dinner could provide her with time in his company to decide how to proceed. Yes. She could live with that.

Nodding to herself, settling back into the frame of mind she’d accomplished in the past seven years, she opened her eyes as the villa Ghaleb had provided for her came into view at the end of the palm-tree-lined street. A three-story building that could house thirty people, not only three, nestling among at least five acres of impeccably landscaped grounds. It looked far more beautiful now as spotlights showcased each detail in an ingenious play of light and shadows.

Guards opened the remote-controlled gates and the limo slid in through, traveling at least two hundred meters before coming to a stop in front of the villa’s main door.

Before she could move, her driver opened her door. She hadn’t known anyone, especially someone of his size, could move that fast!

He stood aside, awaiting her exit from the vehicle. He hadn’t said one word to her so far. In fact, she hadn’t even really been aware of the guy. That was saying something with him so imposing.

That cloak of invisibility must be Ghaleb’s conditioning. That really clashed with his assertion that his people possessed independent wills.

Well, she wouldn’t treat her driver as if he were some advanced piece of hardware to operate her car and run her errands.

She stepped down from the car and didn’t walk away, but turned to face him. He did a double take then resumed looking ahead, but she could see him tensing.

What did he think? That she’d blast him over some imaginary mistake? Was that how Ghaleb kept his subordinates functioning to optimum capacity? Browbeating them with unreasonableness, never satisfied with any level of competence they achieved?

Not that she’d noticed any bullying today. Ghaleb had just murmured a word and his team had met his demands with a speed and efficiency any genie would have envied. And if something inside her whispered that Ghaleb had never needed intimidation of any sort to get what he wanted, that without even trying he’d had her falling over herself to please him, she smothered it. Viciously.

She looked way up at him and smiled. “I just wanted to thank you for the smoothest ride of my life.”

The man blinked, seemingly stunned that she’d addressed him at all, and with thanks no less.

He finally rumbled gruffly, “It’s my job, ya sayedati.”

“It’s only right to be thanked for a job well done, uh…” She flashed him an apologetic smile. “I don’t know your name yet.”

He hesitated again. “Khadamek Abdur-Ruhman.”

She didn’t get the first word, but knew the second was a name, one of those starting with “Abd,” slave or worshipper—of Ullah, of course, in this case one of His other ninety-nine names.

Unsure if the first word was his first name, she made note to ask about it later and extended her hand. “And I’m Vivienne LaSalle.”

He barely touched it before withdrawing his own, dark color staining his intimidating face. And she realized.

This guy wasn’t only under orders to treat her like some sanctified entity. His culture was vastly different than hers and he—who by the silver band on his left ring finger was married—really was unsure how to deal with women who weren’t part of his family. All that coarse maleness was just a misleading exterior. He was out of his depth here, was actually blushing!

She smiled at him again. “I will call you in good enough time when I need you to drive me to work.”

“But…ya sayedati, you won’t need to. I’ll be right here in the service houses in the grounds of the villa with the guards.”

“Why?” she exclaimed. “Even if you live on the other side of Jobail, you’d get here in less than an hour. In days I’ll have a schedule and won’t even need to call you!”

“You’ll need me for more than commuting to and from work, and you have family with you. They’ll need me when you’re at work.”

“They can also use a phone to call you if they can’t use the incredibly efficient public transportation. No. You spend your nights with your family. I will call you, well ahead of time, when I need you. And that’s final.” He gave her a pained look. He was about to say he couldn’t do as she asked. She knew why. Ghaleb. Well, tough. If Ghaleb thought having an enslaved driver would impress her, he was in for a surprise. “It’s final,” she ground out. “I’ll tell Prince Ghaleb. Now, go home. Please.”

She waved goodbye and turned away, but could tell he remained there until she’d reached the second floor. She was passing along the corridor leading to the bedroom Sam had chosen when she heard the purr of the limo. She wondered if he’d do as she’d demanded or if his orders would prevent him from obeying anyone but Ghaleb. Yet another bone to pick with said prince.

She opened the door to Sam’s room, tiptoed in. Not that she needed to. The thickest carpets she’d ever walked on made her steps soundless. But she couldn’t be too careful. Sam was a very light sleeper. Like his father. She’d once asked Ghaleb if he ever slept properly, or if he only closed his eyes and pretended to. She’d only had to breathe more deeply as she’d watched him sleep for his eyes to snap open, alert, focused, devouring…

She’d long added this inherited trait to her resentment against Ghaleb. It made her unable to kiss Sam while he slept.

But tonight she couldn’t help it. She had to touch him, smell him. Feel his precious life. She needed the strength that connecting with him always gave her. The strength to take on the world and win. She was going to take on something far more cruel tonight. Ghaleb. And her own resurrected weaknesses.

She came down on the mattress Sam had given a test the best trampoline wouldn’t have passed, and he didn’t stir. A tingle of anxiety slithered down her nerves. She bent closer, inhaled his sweet, beloved scent then touched her lips to his downy cheek. He gave no reaction and panic slammed into her.

She groped for his pulse with one shaking hand and for the bedside light with the other.

“Mo-om… Sleepy… Don’t wanna go to school…”

Viv sobbed, hiccupped, her eyes watering. And she couldn’t hold back. She swept him into her arms in a fierce hug, to grumpier protestations. She let out a chuckle of distress.

“No school, darling. Mom just missed kissing you good-night.”

He cracked one eye open. “You’ve kissed me ten times now.”

And she laughed. “You were counting?”

He buried his head under the pillow, mumbled what sounded like, “Wasn’t…too many…too fast…give you more…when I wake up…”

She chuckled, turned off the lamp, took the pillow off his head, put it back under him, kissed him and hurried from the room.

Once outside, she leaned on the door. She was in worse shape than she’d realized. She was obsessive where Sam’s safety was concerned but that attack of suffocating dread was a new level.

She looked at her watch. She had exactly thirty-five minutes until Ghaleb’s eight-fifteen deadline!

She started to run before she caught herself then stopped, stared into space. What was she doing, rushing to make his appointment? She’d take a bath, wash her hair, dry it, dress at leisure. Whomever he sent to fetch her would just have to wait.

Even with this resolution, she had to force herself not to hurry to her room. And she’d thought her driver—Abdur-Ruhman until proven otherwise—programmed? When she couldn’t rise above her own programming? To give Ghaleb anything he wanted?

No. Just to be punctual, to strive to fulfill others’ expectations. Even when she didn’t have a hand in creating those.

She entered the large, cheery room she’d picked haphazardly that morning, again getting only impressions of soft pastel colors and floral designs, having no time to take stock of her surroundings. She collected her things, headed into the plush bathroom and started filling the huge tub, muttering to herself all through the rushed procedure.

And, no, it wasn’t rushed on account of wanting to fulfill Ghaleb’s expectations. She’d become a time freak, as her colleagues called her, so she’d squeeze all the time-consuming things she had to do into each twenty-four hours. She’d bet she couldn’t soak or take time to style her hair if she tried.

In thirty minutes she was bathed, dried, body and hair, and dressed. Damn. She wouldn’t make Ghaleb wait. But…she could lie down in bed until she was fashionably late.

She shook her head at that idea. The moment she hit the bed she’d plunge into a coma. She didn’t want to be that late.

A melodious bell rang. She sighed, squared her shoulders. On the strike of the minute. Still painfully punctual, huh? A condition he’d clearly imposed on the lackeys sent to fetch her.

She forced herself not to run down the stairs.

The bell rang again. What did those guys expect? That she’d be propped behind the door, waiting for their arrival? Sheesh.

She reached the door, struggled to wipe the frown from her face as she opened it. She couldn’t be annoyed with Ghaleb’s underlings for being anxious to fulfill their master’s orders.

Next moment her heart emptied of blood, her mind of thoughts.

Not underlings on her doorstep… Him…here…

Ghaleb. Obsidian eyes drilling into her, taking her apart a cell at a time, ruthlessly sensuous mouth set, sculpted bone structure showcased by the lights illuminating her entrance, body molded in the darkness of the first formal suit she’d seen him in, handmade, detail-worshipping pure silk, looking so good it was unfair…

As unfair as him popping up on her doorstep like that.

Anger chased away paralysis. Hoping she hadn’t gawked at him for too long and thanking God that Sam and Anna were asleep, she raised her chin and glared at him.

“What happened to your army of errand boys?”

Ghaleb stared at Viv, once again unable to breathe.

The scent of cleanliness and femininity had sizzled into his lungs the moment she’d opened the door. He didn’t dare draw another breath laden with her uniqueness before he’d dealt with the first dose. Before he dealt with the response that laying eyes on her again had ripped from his depths.

And he’d been hoping his earlier response had been exaggerated by shock? If anything, it had been dampened by it.

He crackled with her nearness, with the onslaught of her every detail. The ripeness encased in another neutral-colored creation that made his hands sting to tear her out of it. The hair shining like burnished bronze transforming the sting to the pain of needing to thread them through it. Then came the stain of peach spreading through her scrubbed skin, the pursed generosity of ruby lips, and the flash of eyes that burned like incandescent coals…

Her eyes. He should concentrate on her eyes. Focusing anywhere else would lead to consequences he hadn’t charted. But her eyes arrested his spiraling reaction, put the brakes on what could develop into a runaway situation in heartbeats.

They were full of—what? Annoyance? Defiance?

That tilt of her chin, that remark confirmed both.

He could have stared at her for an hour before he forced himself to answer her, injecting his tone with an outstanding imitation of calmness. “You thought I’d send assistants to escort you to the dinner I invited you to?”

Her chin rose higher. “Were we both in the same scene an hour and a half ago? You invited me? In which parallel universe?”

His lips twitched. Ya Ullah, every irreverent word that spilled out of her mouth zinged something electric behind his sternum. Was it elation? How could it be?

She went on. “You told me we were having dinner. You told me when. And let’s not forget the ‘be ready’ parting shot.”

“And I can see that you are ready. So I assume you accepted my…suggestion, if you will.”

“Oh, I certainly won’t. That was no suggestion, that was a decree. As crown prince you live to issue those, don’t you? Though I guess I can’t blame you. I wouldn’t blame a predator for making meals of other animals either.”

It was no use resisting. It was elation. The twitch broke into a full-fledged smile. “I’m a predator now?”

She raised a matter-of-fact eyebrow. “Aren’t you?”

The way he felt right now? The way he’d always felt around her? Certainly. A predator in a perpetual mating frenzy.

He wondered what cool answer she’d volley back if he told her that. Instead he said, “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

She flinched, as if he’d sprayed her with something scalding. His request horrified her that much?

The next moment he didn’t have to wonder what her reaction was.

She said a clear, and clearly final, “No.”

So. She wasn’t inviting him in. Good call. He certainly had no idea what he was doing, inviting her to dinner, coming to her.

Oh, he’d told himself he’d extend the same courtesy to anyone he’d be working that closely with, however temporarily, that he’d had to come as he sensed she’d send anyone else away. He hadn’t dwelt on why her aversion to being in his company put him out. After all, she was the woman he’d left for the best reasons.

But no reason felt valid anymore. He could no more stay away from her now than he could stop breathing indefinitely.

He tilted his head at her, devouring her expressions, struggling to fathom them, only her deepening color betraying the effect of his nearness. “If I can’t come in, you must come out.”

“What I must do is bid you good-night and go up to bed.”

Bed. Exactly where he wanted to go, too, where he wanted to sweep her, all fire and defiance, and drown in her all night.

But again he knew she hadn’t thrown a suggestive word for his mind to latch on to and wander into erotic abandon.

He exhaled. “You are not going to bed, Viv.” A thrill rattled through him at having her name on his tongue again after so long, the shortened form she’d told him only he had ever used. The sensation heightened at her indrawn breath, the admission of her reaction to hearing it. “We are having dinner, even if I have to order a table to be placed right in that doorway with us on either side.”

“And you’d do it, too.” Her lips spread in the closest thing to a real smile he’d had from her so far. “This is too funny. You standing across the threshold like a vampire denied entrance.”

He smiled back at her even as he damned himself for it. “First I’m a predator, now I’m a vampire. Interesting.”

Her eyes scalded down his body, before taking the same path back up to his eyes. “A cape and more pointed canines and you’d fit the bill.” Before he could gauge if her eyes contained the awareness he couldn’t wait to detect, they hardened. “But you can’t do a thing without my consent. Or are you going to call your men to carry me out of the house?”

It had been awareness. And she was as angry as he was with himself for succumbing to it.

So could it be true? She was here for the job? Could he want her to have it? Could he be so reckless he’d have her in a position that would keep her in close proximity with him, no matter how temporarily? Wasn’t that courting catastrophe?

Yes, it was. He was in no position to indulge his desires, with his every action having widespread repercussions on a whole nation, now more so than ever, with his marriage of state looming closer. As soon as a suitable bride was decided on.

That was his mind talking. His body sanctioned nothing, was punishing him as it always had for denying it its one desire. Her.

But the ugliness of the past or the volatility of the future weren’t what stopped him from surrendering to its clawing demands. It was that hostile look in her eyes.

But what shook him was the need to wipe it away. The need dampened even his anger that she dared have it. Acting the wronged party? Sure she was. She had no idea he’d found out the truth.

They had been only three months into the affair he’d insisted on keeping secret, fearing the repercussions back home. He’d been recalled to Omraania but, suffering from his first infatuation at thirty-two, a man of his position and experience, he’d had no defenses against her power over him. He’d rushed to her to propose a continuation of their secret affair, this time in his kingdom.

He’d arrived at that doctors’ room to overhear her saying that he meant nothing to her. She’d used those very words.

His first impulse had been to storm in, confront her, shout accusations at her. But she would have only retracted her words, and he couldn’t have borne to see the mask of sincerity falling back into place. He’d left, feeling crushed by what he’d heard. She’d pursued for the same reason as every woman he’d ever known had—a bid to attain wealth and power. What he’d been about to offer her, for as long as she’d have him.

Oblivious to his eavesdropping, she’d caught up with him, had acted distraught on finding him departing. She’d clung, begged to be with him, anywhere, anyhow, whenever his duties let him. Even with what he’d learned, it had been almost impossible to conquer the temptation, his still raging hunger and emotions.

But he’d done it. He’d walked away, without one more word.

Then he’d made the mistake of taking one last look. The sight of her standing at the gate of his mansion, watching him drive away, looking devastated, would never fade from his memory.

He’d spent endless months tormented by that memory, by every nuance of her passion, the conviction of her confessions of love. He’d berated himself for forgetting what he’d heard with his own ears instead of being grateful for it. He wouldn’t have been able to pay the price of keeping her in his life. Hearing the truth had saved him insupportable trouble. Had set him free.

Or so he’d tried to tell himself all these years.

Suddenly a gust of breeze threaded through his hair, seemed to pass through it to comb through hers, brushing the strands away from her face. He moved, as if he’d catch the subtle change in her expression, and the silvery rays of the dawning full moon flooded her beauty. Such beauty. All new. All hers. As he’d once been.

Memories made him surge with their flow toward her, needing to close the gap, end the separation. She muffled a gasp, receded, maintaining the distance between them.

Suddenly he was fed up with it all. Seven-years’-worth, end-of-his-tether fed up. With the doubts, the foul taste of how it had ended, the holding back. But mostly with the pretense.

A step back resumed his position across the threshold before he muttered, “All right, Viv. Enough. Let’s drop this charade. Let’s stop behaving as if we don’t know each other.”

She leaned on the door, hands clutching its edge, as if to keep herself up. “I did no such thing.”

“Zain. Fine. I did, then. You have to excuse me, though. Seeing you walking into the center and realizing you were my new co-head of surgery wasn’t something I could get over quickly.”