The Desert Surgeon's Secret Son. Оливия Гейтс
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of obscuring, showcasing each long limb and ripe curve, each undulation of feminine assurance and fluid grace. The severe bun he just knew would cascade to a waterfall of gleaming butterscotch when released. The eyes deep-set in self-possession. The features sculpted by a god of beauty. She had the bearing of someone who knew her worth, her effect, exuded it with each breath.
His lungs burned, imploded.
This woman was nothing like the woman who occupied his memory, the creature who’d seemed to have been powered by the sun itself, the intensity and instability of its solar flares emanating from every move of her extra-slim, deeply tanned body, from every flash of her golden eyes, every ripple of the untamed layers of her sun-blazing hair.
But there was no doubt. Not for a second.
That goddess in the distance was her.
Viv.
The woman who’d shown him what being totally loved felt like, who’d taught him what surrender to emotional and sensual overload meant. The woman he’d thought he’d never be able to live without. The one he’d rushed to that fateful day seven years ago to offer a life by his side here in Omraania, risking so much, only to overhear her saying he’d meant nothing to her.
Viv. The woman he’d been struggling to forget every day of those years. Here. Walking into his center as if she owned it, head held high, looking ahead like a princess in a royal procession, turning every head and turning to no one herself, uncaring of everyone’s scrutiny. And unaware of his.
What was she doing here?
“Ah, there’s Dr. Vivienne LaSalle, right on time.”
Adnan’s pleased words pummeled him.
She was the woman he’d picked to be his co-head of surgery?
Ghaleb staggered back into the shadows, his heart battering his ribs. Adnan turned to him in alarm.
“Maolai? Are you all right?”
No, he was not all right. He’d never been so shocked in his life. After all these years he’d remained secure she’d forever reside within the boundaries of bitter memory, she was here. In his kingdom, invading his territory, emerging from the shadows of addiction to become reality once more.
Ya Ullah, how had this happened? She’d applied for the job? Why? She was Adnan’s choice? How?
There could be one answer. She’d managed to fool him. Just like she’d managed to fool him when she’d made him pick her for the position of his research assistant. It hadn’t been on merit he’d chosen her back then either. He’d taken one look at her, had felt her eating him alive with her eagerness and singeing him with her energy, and he hadn’t considered anyone else. He’d been smitten with a glance.
He’d still resisted. How he remembered how he had. He hadn’t had time let alone a place in his life for her. But she hadn’t taken no for an answer and within days his resolve had disintegrated. He’d touched her and had been consumed body and reason in the conflagration that had followed.
This time he’d relied on Adnan’s reason, though she’d clearly tampered with his, as well.
Anger, bitterness and shock roiled with the surge of unquenched hunger. And among the seething, reason struggled to be heard. It cried that the sane course of action was to send her out of Omraania on the spot. Without letting her know he’d seen her.
Without letting her see him.
He was in no condition to listen to reason.
She had a plan, coming here. No doubt the same one she’d had when she’d pursued and seduced him in the past. She’d wanted a life of luxury as his mistress. She’d even begged him for it when he’d come to his senses. Why not give her the chance to play it out? After all, he had to reward such effort, didn’t he?
But what he really needed was to see her for what she really was, to erase her generous, guileless image, the persona that existed out of bounds of logic, retaining a viselike hold on him.
What he needed was closure.
He knew how to get it.
He turned on Adnan. “Restart your search for a co-head of surgery. Now.”
After a moment of shock at his viciousness, Adnan rushed to say, “Maolai, I realize her looks are deceiving. I had the same reaction when I first saw her, thought she couldn’t possibly have the experience and stamina to hold such a position, but—”
“But she convinced you otherwise,” Ghaleb spat, his vehemence purging a measure of shock and anger, accessing his misplaced equilibrium. “Now she’ll have to convince me. Send her to scrub and gown.”
Adnan was at a loss now. “So you will still interview her?”
“I will start my list,” Ghaleb tossed over his shoulder as he strode back to his office. “You will restart your search.”
Vivienne walked deeper into the medical center touted as the most advanced on the planet, escorted by the four behemoths who made her feel like a head of state who might be assassinated—or a fugitive who might make a run for it—at any second.
She concentrated on regulating her breathing, her steps, stared ahead to ward off the curiosity bombarding her, fought down the waves of nausea and anxiety. And exhaustion.
She’d been in surgery till she’d gone to collect Sam and Anna for the trip here. Then, throughout the thirteen-hour nonstop flight aboard Ghaleb’s flying palace, she hadn’t had a wink of sleep. She’d set foot in Omraania two hours ago, had barely deposited her family in the lavish accommodation he’d provided before rushing here without pausing.
She’d been stunned by the royal treatment, but Adnan El Khalil, her recruiter, had enlightened her. This wasn’t personal. Being Omraania’s foremost surgeon and the crown prince’s co-head of surgery was a huge deal. Ghaleb would have treated anyone he gave the position to with the same extravagance.
She’d been stunned he’d given it to her, even if she did fit his requirements to a T. She’d applied expecting to be rejected out of hand. When she’d been chosen, she’d been forced to conclude either Ghaleb had forgotten who she was or he didn’t consider their past liaison, insignificant to him as it had been, a reason not to accept her when she was the best person for the job.
Now she was in his territory. And though the job description assured her of minimal exposure to him, she was bound to see him.
And she didn’t want to see him. Not in this life, not in the next. The man she’d once loved beyond sanity and self-preservation, the man who’d taken everything she’d had to give then walked away, not even sparing her a goodbye.
But anguish at losing him, agony and anger at being so cruelly discarded, had soon ceased to matter. Pregnancy changed a woman’s priorities. Having a baby had changed her, period. Forever.
Still hurting from their breakup, she’d forced herself back to her feet. She’d no longer been a woman who’d been trampled on. She was a doctor who’d fought to be the best she could be to provide the best life for her son, and a mother whose life revolved around him.
She’d agonized over whether to tell Ghaleb he’d fathered a son or not. But she couldn’t risk it.
As the heir to the throne of a conservative kingdom, Ghaleb had had no place in his life for her beyond the stolen, secret months they’d had together. She hadn’t been able to predict what he’d do if he’d learned about Sam. The possibility that he might have taken him away to have him raised to his specifications away from the winds of scandal, had kept her silent. And just like she’d forced herself to realize she hadn’t needed him, she’d become convinced Sam wouldn’t either. She’d been determined she’d be all the family Sam needed. And that had been before she’d been blessed to have her aunt become a part of their tiny family, too.
But as Sam