The Desert Surgeon's Secret Son. Оливия Гейтс
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tempted to tell him his father was dead, to close that chasm once and for all. But she couldn’t bring herself to say the words, had spent the last months in an agony of doubt.
Was she being selfish? Was she heeding her scars and disregarding Sam’s needs? If she took what Ghaleb had done to her out of the equation, could she believe he’d want to know his child? And if he did, surely now that Sam was this old and attached to her, he wouldn’t consider taking him away from her? Maybe they could arrange something so he’d be in Sam’s life? Would Sam’s life be better if Ghaleb was in it? Was it time to find out the answer to these questions? If it was, how could she find them out?
Then Ghaleb had started combing the medical world for a co-head of surgery. Everybody thought the job an incredible professional and financial opportunity, which it was.
But to her it was a sign, an unrepeatable chance to enter Omraania for a while, be in Ghaleb’s milieu, to make an informed and final decision, one she wouldn’t regret. To bring father and son together, or not.
And she was here, and she’d see him again, even if in passing and mainly from afar, and maybe one day soon she’d tell him…
What if his reaction was to treat her with the same contempt he had when she’d offered him carte blanche with her life? What if he didn’t believe her and all she managed was to sustain another humiliating blow? She couldn’t afford injuries now that both Sam and Anna counted on her. What if he did believe her and her worst fears came to pass? What if he snatched Sam and kicked her out?
Had she made a mistake coming here? Was it too late to turn around, take Sam and Anna and run back home?
Stop it. Breathe. You’ve been over this a thousand times.
There was no other way to settle Sam’s mind, his future.
She unclenched her fists, inhaled a tremulous breath.
She’d do this. It would be okay. After a no-doubt brief meeting with the insanely busy Ghaleb, who wouldn’t give her the time of day anyway, she’d take on the responsibilities of her temporary position where she’d begin gauging his personality unblinded by the passion that had once swallowed her whole or by the hatred that had in the intervening years. She’d observe him from afar, in his working environment, analyze his character and predict his actions through his behavior, through others’ view of him. She’d take her time about coming to a decision how to proceed…
“Dr. LaSalle. If you’ll come this way, please?”
She rose from the depths of chaos to find Adnan two feet away from her. She’d been looking through him for what seemed like a while now.
She blinked, croaked, “What?”
“I’m sorry if I’ve spoken too fast, Dr. LaSalle,” the lanky, dark man said in an impeccable British accent much like Ghaleb’s, though his was devoid of the exotic inflections and intense undertones that had turned Ghaleb’s into a hypnotic weapon. “I was anxious to inform you of the surgery list awaiting you.”
“Surgery list?” she rasped, her voice roughened by disuse and confusion. “But we were supposed to have a reconnaissance tour—”
“We will have one later,” Adnan cut in smoothly. “Right now there’s been a change of plan.”
But there couldn’t be, she almost cried out.
She had counted on everything going according to plan. If that was changing already, she didn’t know what she’d do, and it had to be Ghaleb who’d changed them… God, why?
Calm down. “Is there an emergency?” she asked.
“No, Dr. LaSalle.” Adnan gestured for her to precede him.
So it wasn’t a situation where he needed every surgeon around to pitch in. So maybe he wanted her to get to work at once?
No matter what his reasons were, she had no choice but to comply.
Her love for Sam made sure of that. It would make her do anything. Even letting Ghaleb pull her strings again.
She gritted her teeth and let herself be pulled.
Ghaleb looked down at his hands, gripping the edges of the stainless-steel sink, fascinated by how white his knuckles were.
Any minute now his plan would unfold.
If he could call the impulse he’d acted on a plan.
Not that ten more days of contemplation would have afforded him a better course of action.
After all, Viv was here to be co-Head Surgeon no less, wasn’t she? Then she had to abide by the test he’d had in store for said co-Head. Let them meet across the operating table so she’d show him her qualifications, or lack of them, at once.
He had no doubt it would be a lack he’d uncover.
During their time together they hadn’t worked together much, and never in the OR. He’d heard of her proficiency as a surgeon but hadn’t seen evidence of it himself. He’d concluded it had been her father’s influence as financial director of the hospital where she’d worked that had gotten her good reports and opportunities. She’d boosted the latter with her beauty and charisma. Hadn’t she made him give her a position he could have given to a dozen others who would have done it more justice? A position it had become clear she’d fought for to be near him, to seduce him? And once she had, work had been the last thing on his mind, too.
Now she’d conned her way into another position. One he didn’t believe for a second she fit, as she’d proclaimed she did. Still, with him there to make sure she did no damage, he was interested to see her try to live up to her claims.
And fail miserably.
That way, it wouldn’t be personal history or preconceptions that decided him against hiring her. He wanted it to be her inadequacy. He’d see for himself how much of that résumé of hers was fabricated. Then he’d close her chapter forever….
All his hair stood on end, as if he’d been doused in a field of static electricity. A presence. Unmistakable even after all these years. Viv.
Every caution told him not to move, to let her initiate the confrontation. Every instinct screamed for him to turn, catch that moment when she was as off guard as he was. It was the hot, sharp sound that spilled from lips he knew to be rose-soft and cherry-tinted, which had once wrung incoherence from him in soul-wrenching kisses and moans, that shattered the stalemate.
He swung around. And déjà vu engulfed him whole.
Time rewound to that moment he’d first laid eyes on her. When she’d gotten him alone in another scrubbing/gowning anteroom, in another life, to convince him to choose her.
Had he brought her here to reenact their first meeting? Had she somehow made him do it?
Anything seemed possible as some override function inside him ignored mental commands, urging his senses to roam her, feast on her, relive again the unrepeatable attraction. It was as if everything that had happened since the last time he’d left her arms had been erased. It was as if it would be the most natural thing in the world to surge toward her, that she’d rush to a halfway melding, all the sooner to get lost in each other’s arms.
She stood as transfixed as him, her eyes wide in shock as great as his. And, he could swear, as genuine.
The conviction jogged him out of the surreal timelessness where nothing had gone wrong between them to the distasteful present with its preposterousness.
Shocked? When she was here in full premeditation?
But no. She was shocked. This was no act. Not any more than his own loss of control, his own plunge into that time warp.
So what did it all mean?
He exhaled the breath trapped in his lungs, admitted he had no grasp of this situation, much less control over it. He turned fully to her, stood straighter,