The Sultan's Bed

“Work that will have to be done from bed, young lady.”

She had to bite her tongue to keep from laughing. The twelve-year-old doctor had actually called her “young lady.” “I’m an attorney and I have a huge case to prepare. Lives are at stake and all that,” she said, trying to appeal to him in a way he’d understand. “If I can’t get up and get to work, I can forget about court in three weeks, and getting a wonderful mother of two custody and child support.”

The doctor tried to look sympathetic. “I understand, Miss Kennedy. But if you want your ankle to heal, you will do as I say. And you will need someone to help you.”

Zayad turned to her. “Your roommate is returning—”

“In a week.”

His lips thinned. “Do you have a friend to help you?”

“Not really.” Jane was her best friend. She’d allowed no one to get close to her since Alan. Of course, she had her work colleagues, but no one who she’d feel comfortable asking for help.

“Family?” Zayad asked.

Mariah shook her head.

“A man?” asked the doctor.

Heat rushed Mariah’s cheeks. “No. No man.”

Zayad felt relieved at the news, though he did not wish to examine why. He had more important matters to see to than his attraction to this woman, such as seeing to his sister.

Beside him Mariah shifted on the bed. She looked so beautiful, so soft and needful, lying there still draped in her large white towel, her legs exposed. It took all he had to force his mind to shut down, to remind his body that it would be foolish to climb in beside her, remove that towel and explore.

She was injured, and he had to think of his mission.

Right now he should be following his sister to Los Angeles, finding out about her passions and pursuits, as he should have done so many years ago. He should be telling her the truth. But he had given it much thought on the way to get the doctor and he knew that wouldn’t be wise. He would look like a stalker, following her from Los Angeles back to Ventura, and he would never get the answers he needed.

Mariah looked up, found his gaze.

Answers Jane Hefner’s best friend might be able to reveal as she recovered from her injury.

Zayad paused, his mind circling a new path.

He was no nursemaid, but his need to uncover the truth about his sister and her past and present could force his hand—could draw him in to Mariah Kennedy’s world for a few days.

An interesting, though risky prospect.

He turned to Dr. Adair, the son of his physician in Emand. “I will care for the girl myself.”

Adair’s eyes went wide. “Your— Sir, I do not think…”

“It is done,” Zayad said swiftly.

“Excuse me?” Mariah fairly sputtered.

Zayad continued speaking to Adair. “I live next door. I will cook for her, bathe her—”

“Are you certain that is wise, sir?”

“I am.” His answer was firm, unmovable, and the doctor nodded.

“Excuse me.” Mariah actually sat up, her anger evident in those beautiful tiger’s eyes and irritated tone. “First of all, I’m not a girl. And second of all, there’ll be no bathing by anyone other than me.”

Zayad began, “I was merely suggesting that I remain on hand to assist—”

“I don’t need any extra hands,” she uttered through pain.

“I am afraid you do, Miss Kennedy.” The doctor eased a brown brace that resembled a boot over her foot and ankle and set the Velcro straps in place. “As I said, you must remain in bed, off that ankle for at least two days. If Mr. Fandal does not help, who will?”

She opened her mouth, then promptly shut it. What a question. And one that made her feel like a gigantic loser. Seriously, Jane was gone and Mariah couldn’t ask her to come home—not with that kind of money at stake.

Mariah frowned, winced. Her ankle hurt. Dammit! There really was no one who could come to her rescue. Except…she lifted her lids, found his black gaze, and her belly softened and warmed.

“Why in the world would you want to do this?” she asked him. “You hardly know me.”

Zayad sat beside her on the bed. Behind him Dr. Adolescence discreetly left the room.

“Have you never felt compelled to help a stranger in need, Mariah?” he asked.

Every day of her life since she’d climbed out of the depression-coma her ex had sent her reeling into after he’d not only cheated on her with his fitness instructor but also had announced he wanted to marry the woman. From that day on she’d felt compelled to help others in similar situations—hopeless and alone and without much in the way of funds. She’d gone back to school, passed the bar with flying colors and opened up her own practice a few months later.

She dropped back against the pillows and sighed. “After our conversation tonight in the yard, I think you know I fight for the underdog. And I bet you can also guess that it’s become a passion of mine.”

A passion Mariah had hoped would help her heal a little with each case she took and won. Sad thing was, she didn’t think she had healed all that much.

“I will see the doctor to the door,” Zayad told her. “And when I return, we will talk about dinner, yes?”

“Listen,” she said as he stood up. “I’m sorry if this seems ungrateful, because I really do appreciate what you’re trying to do—”

“But?”

“But I don’t trust you.”

“I understand.”

She lifted herself up on her elbows. “You do?”

“It is your nature.”

“It’s my past,” she corrected.

He nodded.

She said, “You’re clearly after something here, and I don’t know if it’s me or Jane or if it’s a way of repenting for some horrible sin you’ve committed, but know this—I’ll be watching you like a hawk.”

Sensuality fairly dripped from his smile. “I would expect nothing less from you, Mariah.”