Falling for the Sheikh She Shouldn't

The lift doors closed silently, though the cage remained stationary, and he returned to contemplate the lights on the panel above the door despite the insidious desire to study the woman called Carmen more closely.

She stepped back and seemed to lean into the wall.

He knew she was tall because her head came above his shoulders and her knot of hair had been near his nose as she’d drifted orange blossom his way. The lift still didn’t move. Seconds to go and he would be able to breathe properly again.

He glanced at her from under his lashes and saw her eyes were shut. He frowned. Not a usual occurrence when he shared space with a woman. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been ignored. In repose she appeared weary. Too weary?

His concern increased. ‘Are you unwell?’

Her eyes flew open and she straightened. ‘Good grief.’ She blinked at him and then focussed. ‘A micro-sleep. Sorry. I’ve been on night shift. It’s been a busy week.’

Suddenly he felt empathetic to a perfect stranger because he could remember that weariness from a string of busy days and nights during his internship. Lack of sleep he’d grumbled about, but now the choice was no longer his, he’d love to suffer from that inconvenience again.

That was the problem with returning to Sydney. It reminded him that he wasn’t living the life he’d once loved. Made him feel frustration he shouldn’t feel towards his duty to Zandorro.

The elevator jerked, ground upwards for a few inches. The sooner the better, he thought, then the lift bounced suddenly as the cable stopped.

His breath caught as he waited. The doors didn’t open and the light sat on neither five nor six. Midway between floors. Stopped.

This was not good. He felt his heart rate shift gear, double before his next breath, his chest tightened, and air jammed in his lungs.

‘I am so not in the mood for this.’ Zafar heard her in the distance as he tried to loosen his throat. He sank down onto his haunches and put one hand on the wall to give himself more blood to his head. With his other he loosened his collar.

The lift was suddenly the cabin of the private jet. His family would plunge in a few spiralling seconds and there was not a thing he could do about it. So now it was his destiny to die. It was almost a relief. And he’d complained about being in line for the throne.

Distantly he realised she’d picked up the phone and spoken to the operator. When he heard her re-seat the instrument she bent down to him. ‘You okay?’

He didn’t refocus his eyes off the floor until he felt her hand on his arm—warm, firm, comfort personified—and not letting go. He had the bizarre idea he couldn’t fall anywhere while she held him. Yet all she did was share touch without moving. He breathed with difficulty through his nose and inhaled drifts of orange. Incredibly steadying, like a shot of Valium through his bloodstream.

He sucked air through clenched teeth and the light-headedness faded a little. This was ridiculous. Irrational. Acutely embarrassing. He forced himself to look into her face. She had dark golden eyes, like burnt twisted treacle, calm and wise and filled with compassion. Mesmerising up close. ‘You’re a nurse?’

Her eyes crinkled and his chest eased a little more. ‘Sort of. I’m a midwife. Do you need some deep breathing?’

‘I’m not in labour.’ But this was hard work. He shut his eyes again. ‘Possibly.’

‘Do you have a phobia?’ The same gentle conversational voice as if she’d asked if he needed sugar in his tea.

The demons from the past battered against him. He strove to keep his voice level. ‘So it seems.’

She sank down. He heard the rustle of fabric and felt the slight brush of her leg as she settled herself beside him on the floor. Her hand rested still on his arm, not moving, as if to transfer energy and calmness from her to him. It seemed to be working. ‘What’s your name?

He had many. ‘Zafar.’

She paused and he felt her appraisal until he opened his eyes again. Her golden interest captured his. ‘Well, Zafar. I’m Carmen. I’ve been stuck in this lift three times this week. Big, deep breaths should help.’

Deep breaths might be difficult. ‘It is a battle with small ones.’

Coaxing. ‘You can do a couple.’

He wasn’t sure but the fact that she’d lived through this three times did help. He was feeling faint again. ‘A rule of threes?’

‘In through your nose…’

Intolerably bossy woman. ‘Out through my mouth. Yes, I know.’

Her voice firmed. Like his mother’s from the distant past. The time of orange trees. ‘Then do it.’

He humoured her. And felt better. Actually, quite a lot better so he did it again. With her sitting below him he had a delightful view down the valley between her breasts. He glanced away politely but could feel himself improve every second with the picture in his mind. Surely a harmless medicinal remedy.

Imagine if the lift had still been full. He mentally shuddered. There was just her to see this weakness. Thankfully he’d sent his bodyguard and secretary to the suite. In future the stairs would be good for his fitness. Once free, he’d never see this woman again. A good thing, and a shame.

At least it seemed his brain had accepted death was unlikely.

And she had the most incredible breasts but he wasn’t going to look again—his gaze travelled back to her face—and a delightful mouth. Those lips… His body stirred. A mouth designed by angels and plump for surrender if he was willing to risk life and limb for it. She may be calm but she looked very capable of protecting herself despite the weariness. His lips twitched.

‘Are you feeling better?’

‘Much.’ Better than she knew. He watched with some amusement as she slowly recognised the direction of his fascination until she stared straight back at him and raised her brows.

She removed her hand from his arm and she shook her head. ‘Tsk tsk.’

The lift jerked and resumed its ascent. Zafar shut his eyes briefly but the panic had gone.

It seemed she was good at her job. He straightened until he stood with his feet firm beneath him, reached down and took her hand to help her up. Such a lovely hand, but workworn. She rose fluidly into his space, as he’d intended.

For that moment as their glances met he forgot the lift, the heights, the strain his life was, all except this unexpected awareness between them that swept away their surroundings, so enmeshed in this unexpected connection that when he said, ‘Thank you,’ the words hung in the air between them like mist.

An imp of mischief drew his head closer. He expected her to pull away. ‘You’re very kind… and incredibly beautiful.’ He stroked her cheek, his gaze drawn once more to her ripe and luscious mouth.

She did the unpredicted. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’ He heard it in her voice, a note of sympathy that horrified him. Pity?

He recoiled. He needed no one’s compassion.

The elevator jolted and the doors opened on seven. They’d missed six altogether. She turned away from him with a frown on her entrancing face.

There was some consolation in the way she compressed her lips together as if to hide the way they’d plumped and reddened in anticipation… of what? The almost brush of his lips on hers? So she had felt something too?

‘You certainly look better.’ Her comment made him smile again, the dryness hiding undertones he couldn’t identify, but there was a subtle flush of colour to her cheeks and her wide eyes searched his face as if seeking a hint of what had passed between them during the last few frozen moments.

Despite his urge to throw himself out of the lift to safety, Zafar stretched his hand across the doors to allow her to precede him. ‘My apologies for my weakness earlier.’

She assessed him with a clinical scrutiny he wasn’t used to getting from a woman and strangled back a half-laugh. ‘I doubt you’re a weak man so I’m sure you’ve good reason.’

He inclined his head.

She glanced around. ‘And I should have got out at level six.’ She turned swiftly out to the left of the lift and pulled open the door of the fire escape to go down a flight before he was fully out of the lift himself.

He started to hum. The day was not as bad as it had started out.