Meredith Webber - A Wife For The Surgeon Sheikh

The fear she’d felt earlier turned to terror and she dropped the remote as if it would burn her fingers. She parked behind the ominous car, only too aware of who would be inside it.

Or inside her house?

Dear heaven, surely not!

She shot from her car, and strode towards the limo, hauling open the driver’s door so suddenly a slim man in a blue suit and matching cap almost fell out, his cap coming askew on his head.

‘Who are you and what are you doing here?” she demanded, hoping Joe was inside with one finger poised above the alarm.

‘He’s my driver. He owns the hire car.’

Sheikh whatever was emerging from the back seat on the passenger side. ‘I had no time to waste finding my way around your city, small though it might be.’

‘Oh, and I suppose your city is ginormous!’ Lauren shot at him, and immediately regretted it as this wasn’t the argument she should be having.

Especially as the wretched man had the nerve to smile.

Well, she supposed it was a smile—he’d definitely moved his lips and revealed a dazzling array of perfectly aligned white teeth, but it was a crocodile that came to mind rather than rapprochement.

‘Would you feel easier discussing the situation here?” he continued, as smooth as custard.

‘There is no situation to discuss,’ she said, hoping she sounded a lot more determined than she felt. Seeing the man who might just be a murderer standing outside her home had brought back all her fear, yet in some offbeat section of her brain she was simply seeing the man.

Bizarre, to say the least.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t see dozens of men every day, but this was definitely not that kind of seeing.

He’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves a little to reveal smooth olive skin that gleamed in the sunlight, while his shirt clung to a body she guessed had been shaped through exercise—not too much, just enough to give definition to hard pecs and wide shoulders beneath the snowy-white material.

She wouldn’t look at his neck, rising from the now tieless shirt—well, only to see it as a strong column...

Ye gods! What was the matter with her? She was standing in the street mooning over a man who was undoubtedly her enemy?

‘I don’t want you in my house,’ she finally said, meaning, I don’t want you anywhere near me, not now, not ever, but especially not now when I’m so damned confused I can’t think straight.

Fortunately, Joe appeared in the doorway at that moment, preceded by Ghost, Joe’s pale German shepherd, and with Nim no doubt right behind, probably peering through Joe’s legs, for all he was supposed to stay inside when people came.

‘The gentleman’s just leaving,’ Lauren said, speaking to Joe but with her eyes on the Sheikh.

‘We need to talk,’ he said to her. ‘It’s imperative. I will not invade the sanctity of your home—’ was there a ‘not right now’ hovering behind the words? ‘—but I shall call for you at seven.’

‘Get into a car with a stranger? I think not! If we do need to talk, then we can talk at your hotel. Where are you staying?’

‘The Regal.’

Lauren nodded.

‘I’ll meet you there at eight,’ she said, hoping she’d spoken loftily enough for him to assume she dined at The Regal regularly, and at the same time wondering desperately what she might have in her wardrobe that she could wear to such a place. And whether Joe would be back from training, or, if not, there was always Aunt Jane who’d stand in...

The Sheikh nodded graciously, before pointing a finger at the gathering in the doorway.

‘Security’s a little lax. I could have shot the dog, then the nanny, and grabbed the boy.’

‘You wouldn’t!’ Lauren whispered, then slid limply to the ground, a black cloud closing over her as the events of the afternoon finally caught up with her.

Joe darted forward but Malik was there first, lifting Lauren into his arms and marching towards the front door, telling the dog to sit in such a firm voice it dropped to his haunches.

‘Get a cool, wet cloth,’ he said to the so-called nanny. ‘It’s just a faint. I can feel her coming round already, so I’d better put her down because if she realises it’s me holding her she’s likely to hit me.’

‘You can put her on the couch,’ a small boy said, his eyes wide with unshed tears as he saw his mother in such a helpless state.

‘She’ll be better soon,’ Malik assured the boy who was, without doubt, Nimr, for he was the dead spit of Tariq at that age.

Tariq, the brother Malik had worshipped all his young life and followed around like a puppy.

‘Here!’

The nanny had returned, and the hoarseness in his voice made Malik turn to look at him—to see a face distorted by the scars of operations that had somehow put it back together.

‘I am Malik,’ he said, holding out his hand.

‘That’s Joe,’ Nimr said, looking up from where he was wiping his mother’s face with the damp hand towel. ‘Joe looks after us.’

‘I noticed that,’ Malik told the boy, although his eyes were on the mother now—Lauren—dark lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she slowly became aware of her surroundings. Something that wasn’t entirely guilt fluttered inside him, moved by her paleness—her vulnerability...

Her eyes opened, deep grey pools of fear and confusion—and he had caused the fear, first by arriving as he had and then with his foolish words about their protection.

Although that part was deadly serious. If there really was a threat against his nephew, he’d be better off back in Madan.

He should take the boy home, no matter what.

She sat up so suddenly he was knocked from where he crouched by the couch, landing awkwardly on his butt.

At least it gave Nimr a laugh.

‘You’re in my house!’

Outrage vied with disbelief as Lauren took in this man’s presence. He was so close she could hardly not notice that his eyes were not the black she’d thought them but a surprising warm toffee colour, and right now were looking intently at her.

‘You have to go,’ she said, unable to tell if her hyper-awareness of him—the unsettled feeling in her chest—was to do with the shock she’d had or the man himself.

Whatever it was, she wanted it gone too.

He hesitated, aware of the nanny standing behind him, ready to break him in two if he so much as touched the recovering woman.

He moved back a little, and said gently, ‘I’m sorry, but we do have to talk, and I think the sooner the better.’

Lauren forced her fuzzy brain to sort out the words, and one thing became perfectly clear. This man was not leaving until he’d said what he’d come to say.

And considering that, wouldn’t it be better to listen to him here and now—well, not right now as she had to get Nim’s dinner, her own dinner, too, given that lunch had been a snatched apple and cup of coffee and her stomach was making her aware that she was famished.

She heaved herself upright on the sofa, Nim slipping up to sit beside her and take her hand.

‘I’m all right,’ she assured him. ‘I just forgot to have my lunch and that’s what made me faint like that.’

Lying to her son? She knew full well it was the man’s suggestion that it would have been easy to abduct Nim that had made her mind shut down.

Which left her with the man—the Madani man!

He was standing back—against a window once again—and, much as she hated having him in her house, she knew she wouldn’t be rid of him until she’d listened to what he’d come to say.

‘I have to give Nim his dinner and I usually eat with him so you might as well stay and eat with us. That way we can talk when Nim’s gone to bed. I’ll just have a quick wash—Nim, you need to wash your hands for dinner so you come with me.’