The Nanny and The Sheikh. Barbara McMahon
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wood double doors carved into intricate designs and polished to a gleaming shine, she wondered why Max had brought her since Surim spoke French fluently. To have an impartial person on his side? Not that she could imagine the sheikh being the slightest bit dishonorable. Of course he was probably too busy to translate mere construction documents.
Or, as her mother had suggested, maybe the trip was a treat for the work she had already done. It didn’t matter; she was thrilled to be here.
The interior of the house was cool, though not apparently due to artificial means. Windows were wide open allowing a balmy breeze to flow through. The tall ceilings allowed the air to circulate freely.
Rich colorful furnishings filled the room to the left. She followed the men and stood in the doorway, her sandy stockings starting to annoy her. How soon could she escape to her room and change?
“You must be tired from the journey,” Surim said. “I’ll have my housekeeper show you to your room. Dinner will be at eight.”
“Thank you,” Melissa said, glancing at Max to make sure her departure would be all right with him. There wouldn’t be any work today, would there? Surely if he and the sheikh were such old friends they had lots to catch up on.
“Good idea. That’ll give you and me time to look over the plans. I’ve noted some changes I want in the kitchen area,” Max said.
So much for catching up on their personal lives. Was work the only thing these men cared about?
Melissa pulled back the cool sheets from the high bed. It was after eleven and she was tired. Slipping beneath the light covers, she lay back on the mattress, her head still swimming from the conversation at dinner. It had only been the three of them in the ornate dining room that could have seated fifty-four easily. The primary topic of conversation had been the new restaurant and resort.
She would have preferred an alfresco meal on the veranda, with more talk about Qu’ Arim to enable her to learn more about the country. Maybe with another guest or two to round out the numbers. It was apparent the sheikh liked things formal. It was a good thing she was only here a week; the protocol would drive her crazy.
After dinner, she’d excused herself to wander in the gardens. They’d been illuminated with subdued lighting. She’d walked down one path and then another, exploring little nooks and thoroughly enjoying herself. It was such a change from wintery London.
Melissa began settling on the pillow, her eyes closing as she reviewed what she needed to remember for the morning. They would eat at seven and head for Surim’s offices where she and Max would meet with the contractor. Then they would—
A sudden shriek startled her. She sat up. What had that been?
Listening intently, she heard another shriek and then a child crying.
The sheikh wasn’t married, at least not that she knew. But that was definitely a child. She got up and found her robe, pulling it on as she hurried to her door.
Opening it, she could clearly hear the wailing. It came from the third floor.
Her heart hurt to hear a child cry so wretchedly. She ran lightly down the hall to the stairs she had seen earlier and quickly gained the third floor. Rushing to an open doorway, the light spilling into the hall, Melissa halted at the scene before her.
Surim had shed his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. His hands were on his hips and he glared at three young children huddled on a sofa. An older woman stood near a door on the opposite wall, wringing her hands. The oldest child looked to be seven or eight, a toddler leaned against her. It was the little boy, about four or five, who was crying so hard.
Without a thought, Melissa stormed into the room.
“What is going on?” she asked. Moving past Surim, she gathered the little boy in her arms, brushing back his hair and hugging him as she sat on the edge of the bed. “What’s the matter, little man?” she asked in her most soothing tone.
The other two children looked at her with startled surprise, then glanced nervously at Surim.
Melissa turned, the little boy in her arms, and glared at the sheikh.
“These children should have been in bed long ago; it’s after eleven,” she said in her firmest nanny tone.
“That is what I have been telling them,” Surim said, his own voice showing his frustration. “Their nurse has been unable to control them. When Hamid awoke with a nightmare, he woke the others. Now they won’t return to bed. If they don’t behave, I’ll have to find new accommodations for them.”
“That’s the coldest thing I ever heard a father say!” she exclaimed.
“I’m not their father,” he returned.
The little boy rested his head on Melissa’s shoulder, quieting. She hugged him again and looked at the other two. They looked tired, scared and wary.
“Well, whose children are they and why were they left with you?” Melissa asked. The woman moaned slightly and lowered her gaze.
Surim lowered his hands and took a step closer, anger evident in his eyes.
“My household is not your concern. You are merely a guest. Here because Max requested it.”
“Children are my concern, however, and if you can’t take proper care of these children, I shall report you,” she replied hotly. The foolishness of the comment struck her. Surim was the leader of the entire country. To whom would she report him?
Surim narrowed his eyes, anger threatening to choke him. Then the absurdity of what she’d just said penetrated. His anger immediately cooled. For a moment he thought he’d challenge her on that. He looked at Melissa, then at the children. They shrank away from him. He was not a monster. He would never strike a child. Yet they walked as if on eggshells around him.
No wonder—he had no clue how to care for children. He’d hired Annis to watch them. But they were proving too much for her. Not that he had any intention of sharing that information with his guest. Maybe boarding schools were the answer.
He looked back at Melissa. She might be petite, but she looked as if she’d fight him to the death. And she didn’t even know the children.
“These are my cousin’s children. Nadia, Hamid, and Alaya. They have come to live with me recently and we haven’t found our way yet. I would prefer you not report me.” Surim let the humor of the situation defuse the tension. He had never heard anyone in Qu’ Arim threaten to report him before. The novelty was priceless.
“Perhaps they should return home,” Melissa said.
“Unfortunately, their parents were killed in a car crash and they have no home to return to. As their guardian, I now provide for them.”
Surim watched as Melissa shifted Hamid in her arms. He had to be growing heavy. At least she had been able to stop his crying, for which Surim was grateful. The nightmares came regularly and Annis seemed incapable of doing anything to stop them. Not that he himself had been any help. Yet Max’s little friend seemed to have the knack of quieting the child. He’d take any help he could get at this point.
He looked at her once more, surprised to see she was in a gown and robe. Her hair looked soft and touchable, her eyes sparkled with righteousness indignation. And the color that rose in her cheeks intrigued him.
Max had asked if his assistant could come, more for a holiday than for needed work. Was there something between the two of them? Surim had not seen anything. Which didn’t mean she was totally unattached. Was there a man waiting for her in London?
“Perhaps you’d help get the children settled for the night,” he said, dragging his speculation back to the matter at hand. With a glance at Annis, he shook his head. The nurse had proved most ineffective when dealing with these children. How hard could it be to put three children to bed at a reasonable time each night? Weren’t nurses supposed to be able to deal with nightmares and other problems Hamid seemed to have?