Maggie Cox - The Sheikh Who Married Her - One Desert Night / Strangers in the Desert / Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh

At breakfast out on the terrace, she ate very little. Her obvious lack of appetite even prompted Jake to comment.

‘Are you feeling all right, Gina? You’ve got dark circles under your eyes and you’ve barely touched your food.’

‘I’m fine,’ she murmured. ‘Just a little tired.’

‘The heat can do that. Best take things easy today,’ her companion responded consolingly.

Beckoning Jamal over to the table, after Jake had returned to his rooms to locate a book, Gina nervously enquired about Zahir’s condition. The taciturn servant told her that His Highness was ‘comfortable’ and back on his feet, but she should be prepared for the possibility that she might not see him at all that day. His physician had told him that he must rest.

She then politely asked if she could use the palace library. Informing her that he was instructed that she and her colleague Dr Rivers should be aided wherever possible to undertake their work, he agreed. If the man had any thoughts about why the Sheikh should have summoned her last night to his private rooms when he had just been injured, neither by word nor deed did he give them away.

A library had always represented a comforting safe place to Gina. Often, during her childhood, she had taken refuge there when life had felt hard and there hadn’t seemed to be a lot of love or affection going round. Books were her friends—constant loving companions that didn’t let her down.

Zahir’s library took her breath away. It was a repository for the written word that only the richest and most devoted imagination could conjure up. Shelf upon shelf of books ancient and modern confronted her, practically reaching up to the sky. Amid the shelves of books were sumptuous couches and chairs in which a browser could relax and peruse the book they’d selected. The ambience was not unlike that of a breathtaking cathedral, with a high-vaulted ceiling made of sandstone and granite interspersed with mosaic.

Gina had a plan. She was going to try and delve more deeply into Zahir’s family, going right back through as many generations as possible. There must be hundreds of history books on the region here, chronicling the dynasty through the centuries. If luck was on her side she might even come across old family journals … they would be her primary sources. She wanted to discover as much extra information as she could on the family’s association with the famed Heart of Courage, but she had to be discreet. If Zahir found out what she was doing he could very well put her on the next plane home and forbid her from visiting Kabuyadir again …

‘There you are’

Immersed in the pages of a fascinating book she’d pulled from a shelf, Gina spun round in shock at the sound of Zahir’s voice. He was as imposing as usual, in his dark robes and broad leather belt, his ebony hair like a velvety dark river rippling down over his shoulders. Straight away she noticed there was a light sheen of sweat on his brow, and she realised he must be in pain.

‘What are you doing up and about? Shouldn’t you be resting after what happened?’ Anxiously she clutched the dusty volume she’d been examining to her chest. A ray of sunlight beamed in through the cathedral-like narrow windows and warmed her back.

‘I’ve been walking in the garden, getting some air. I cannot stay confined to my bed for twenty-four hours a day just because I took a couple of small flesh wounds. Jamal told me I would find you here. What do you think of my library?’

‘It’s truly magnificent. A person could spend a lifetime in here and barely get through the books on even one shelf.’

Her comment drew the hint of a smile to his lips. Moving towards her, he moved his hand briefly to his side.

‘Are you hurting?’ she asked. The distressed catch in her voice sounded loud to her own ears.

‘That question is a double-edged sword. The truth is that my pride is stinging just as much as my physical wounds.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I …’ He seemed to swiftly reconsider what he’d been going to say and lightly jerked his head towards the book Gina pressed to the white silk of her blouse. ‘What have you got there?’

‘It’s a history of the Byzantine empire.’ She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he hadn’t discovered her with an incriminating family journal, but she still couldn’t help colouring guiltily.

‘A little light reading, eh?’ he joked, brown eyes twinkling.

Her insides melted like butter over a hot stove. Staring back at him, she fell into a hypnotic semi-trance.

‘I am sorry I treated you as I did last night,’ he murmured, ‘my behaviour was reprehensible.’

Now he was tipping up Gina’s chin, gazing at her as though he, too, was hypnotised.

‘You were hurt and angry … I understand, Zahir. I understand and I forgive you. But right now you clearly should be resting—not up and about like this, putting a strain on your wounds.’

She held her breath as his fingers moved across her cheek and into her hair. ‘Could any man blame me for wanting you so much?’ he said, and his usually strong voice sounded distinctly unsteady.

THE spell he cast was so profound, so intense, it was as if the rest of the world suddenly ceased to exist. There were no boundaries or walls any more—just Zahir and her, suspended in a weightless loving universe where who you were and the roles you assumed in life—whether antiquities expert or sheikh—ceased to matter. All there was were two souls recognising each other and silently rejoicing.

Her eyelids drifted closed as every cell vibrated with anticipation, waiting for the kiss that was bound to come.

It felt as though everything in his life had been teetering on the brink of disaster for a long time. Now, studying the entrancing beautiful features before him, Zahir thought that here was one thing that was right … that made him feel good … after talking to his sister even hopeful.

From his head to his feet his body yearned for this woman. He could scarcely think of anything else but losing himself inside her. His longing overrode even the unholy biting sting of his gunshot wounds. And then he saw it … A slightly raised scarlet abrasion on the plump pink flesh of her lower lip. Her mouth was naked this morning—free from make-up—so it was plain to see. Instantly he recoiled—the memory of the savage kiss that had been his parting shot last night dousing the heat that enveloped him like ice-water.

‘I did this?’ He winced as he stroked the pad of his thumb over the lightly swollen wound.

The incandescent long-lashed eyes appeared startled. Realising what he meant, she coiled her slender fingers gently round his wrist. ‘You didn’t mean to.’ Her tone was warm and whisper-soft. ‘It’s nothing to be concerned about.’

‘I meant to make you pay for my frustration, and that is not the action of a man who is honourable. A thousand apologies, Dr Collins … it will not happen again.’

He made himself withdraw in every way—physically, psychologically, mentally. It was agony, but Zahir had to do it.

Her face was a picture of confusion. ‘It’s nothing to feel guilty about. It happened in the heat of the moment.’

‘Even so …’ Inside, he was thinking, I do not deserve her forgiveness. I acted like an arrogant fool . ‘The reason I came to find you,’ he continued, ‘is to ask something of you that will mean a lot to me.’

‘Tell me.’

‘My sister Farida informs me that you have already bumped into each other. It appears she has taken a great liking to you. It’s the first time she has shown an interest in anyone or anything outside of the palace since she lost Azhar, so naturally I want to encourage it. She wants me to ask if she can help you with your inventory of some of the more important palace artefacts. I know I have not officially asked you to undertake such a project, but I am asking you now. Will you do it? Both conduct an inventory and allow Farida to assist you?’