A Wife For The Surgeon Sheikh. Meredith Webber
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humanity and understanding as a statue’s blank gaze.
* * *
Malik was only too aware he’d made a mess of this. First the fawning executive, setting up the meeting with this woman as if he was conferring a great honour on her.
And then underestimating the stubborn female who’d had the guts to adopt his nephew. There might not be much of her, and most of what he could see was tired and grubby, but despite the dark shadows beneath her large grey eyes, and the fear, which had been an almost palpable thing in the room, she’d stood up to him.
Though with what she’d been through he could understand that fear...
Coming here, he’d thought she’d be willing to hand the boy over to him—perhaps with due recompense—but every word he’d heard held the cadences of her love for Nimr.
Had he been judging her by her sister, that he’d thought this way? One look at her had dispelled any physical resemblance, and he doubted Lily would have stood up to him the way Lauren had, or taken the extreme measures he now knew of, to keep his nephew safe.
No, Lily had been beautiful, captivating, and could charm birds from a tree, but how much more attractive was the courage and quiet determination of this sister?
Something he hadn’t felt for a long time stirred inside him, something he’d have to think about later, because his business was far from finished.
As far as she was concerned, Nimr was her child and she’d probably have killed him if he’d mentioned recompense.
He looked down at her, close now as she tried once more to get out the door, and he was almost sure he detected a tremble in her body, and definitely saw fear behind the defiance in her eyes.
He touched her gently on the shoulder—felt the tremors running through her and the coldness of her skin and knew he hadn’t imagined the fear, knew he’d caused it, and that wounded him.
‘I’m sorry. This has come as a surprise for you, but I have had top private investigators looking for Nimr for two years now and to suddenly have him so close—well, I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought meeting you publicly through the hospital might be easier for you, but all I’ve done is barge into your life and upset you.’
She’d stepped away from his hand.
‘I have to go,’ she said, slipping behind him as he moved forward, escaping this time, though not for long.
He caught up with her by the time they’d reached the elevator.
‘We need to talk!’ he said, probably too loudly from the stares he got as they entered the already packed space.
She was pressed against him so he couldn’t see her face, but the shake of her head, dark curls moving beneath his chin—brushing his skin—gave him his answer.
Soft dark curls from what he could see, giving off a hint of something he recognised but couldn’t name.
Rosewater?
Back home, it was used in many local dishes—but in hair?
He breathed in the scent again as the elevator reached the ground floor—whatever it was that had stirred inside him earlier stirring again—and they led the exodus out into the corridor.
Expecting her to make a dash for some bolthole he’d never find in the big hospital, he caught her arm.
She spun towards him.
‘I’ll call Security,’ she warned, but his mind was still on rosewater.
‘Is it rosewater I can smell?’
The words were out before he considered how inappropriate they were.
‘Rosewater?’ she demanded, outrage warming her cheeks to a rosy pink. Grey eyes spitting fire, all fear gone. She probably had some kind of emergency call button somewhere on her person—
‘I could smell rosewater,’ he said, aware of how lame it sounded. ‘The women use it in cooking at home.’
‘The women, huh?’ she said, but a lot of her tension was gone, and he kind of thought her soft pink lips might be trying hard not to smile.
Pleased they’d seemed to reach some kind of armistice, he raised both hands in surrender.
‘I will not get into an argument with you about women’s rights! I’m a believer in them myself. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m so anxious to take Nimr home. My country needs to be dragged into the twenty-first century, and as his regent I could at least begin the task.’
She studied him for a moment, not bothering to hide the suspicion that had flared in her wide eyes.
‘And you can’t do that without him there—a boy of four? Surely, if you’re related and next in line after him, you can get started without his presence.’
Malik sighed. He’d had a long journey, spent far too long convincing the finance man to arrange his meeting with this woman, thinking it was better to do it with an authority figure to introduce them—as it would have been at home. And now she was demanding answers to questions that could take hours to explain.
‘I’ve got to get home,’ she said, halting any further conversation. ‘Joe goes to swimming training and I have to be there for Nim.’
‘Nimr,’ Malik corrected automatically, giving the ‘r’ on the end of his nephew’s name the slight roll it required.
‘Whatever!’ his companion snapped. ‘But we’ll never get through any conversation if you’re going to correct his name every time I say it! And you know nothing about Australian kids if you imagine he could get through childhood with a rolled “r” on the end of his name without incessant teasing, so here he’s Nim!’
And she stalked away, her anger back, and clearly seen in the straight shoulders and swift strides that somehow drew his attention to strong, shapely legs and a trim figure.
Kept his attention for an instant too long...
He sighed again.
He had more important matters at hand than a woman with grey eyes and a trim figure. Although Tariq had always been the practised negotiator—when he’d bothered—he, Malik, had stepped in often enough to be a competent one. But he’d blown it this time. He could understand her fighting him if she’d grown fond of the boy—that would be understandable—but part of her resistance had definitely been fear.
At least he knew where she lived.
In fear?
* * *
Rattled by the encounter, Lauren made her way out of the hospital by the nearest exit, finding herself in the wrong car park, so by the time she’d found her small vehicle she was shaking with the tension the stranger’s appearance had generated.
Tension and fear—and something else, something she really didn’t want to acknowledge.
She unlocked the door and slumped gratefully into the driving seat, opening windows and starting the air-conditioning as the vehicle, after standing in the summer sun all day, was like an inferno. Even the steering wheel was too hot to touch, so the idea of resting her forearms on it and having a wee cry had to be denied.
Not that she’d let that man make her cry! She’d shed enough tears four years ago—enough to last a lifetime. Although admittedly there’d been more, when Nim had been a baby and, teething or not well, impossible to settle, she’d felt totally alone.
Then Aunt Jane had sold her parents’ house for her, found the duplex for them on the other side of the country, set up the security, and made it safe enough for her to finally give Nim a home.
It was time to get home to her son. She couldn’t let Joe down. Without Joe she’d be lost, she and Nim.
And no matter what that man said, Nim was hers and hers he