The Sheikh Who Married Her: One Desert Night / Strangers in the Desert / Desert Doctor, Secret Sheikh

‘That’s what I love about the people here. Family is really important to them.’

‘And that is not so where you are from?’

She shrugged and glanced away. ‘For some, maybe … but not for everyone.’

‘Now I have made you sad again.’

‘No … you haven’t. I mean I’m sad that my mother is ill, but to tell you the honest truth our relationship is not the loving, affectionate one I could have wished for. My parents are devoted academics … they deal in facts, not feelings. To them, feelings just get in the way. Anyway, I’ve bored you with my troubles for long enough. It was very nice meeting you … but I think I should go back inside now.’

‘There is no hurry. Perhaps you would consider staying out here for a while with me? Whatever is taking place in our lives, it is a beautiful night, no?’

Zahir’s hand reached out lightly to detain her, and the vivid blue eyes grew round as twin full moons. But, aside from being mesmerised by her startled glance, the feel of Gina Collins’s flawless satin-textured skin made him feel almost dizzy with want. He hadn’t expected that. It was as though a hot desert wind had swarmed into his bloodstream. He could hardly take his eyes off her.

‘All right, maybe I’ll stay for just another moment or two. You’re right—it is a beautiful night.’ Folding her arms, she stepped back a little, as though suddenly aware that the distance that separated them was minuscule. ‘Are you related to Mr Hussein’s family?’ she asked quietly, and Zahir saw the flare of curiosity in her limpid blue eyes that she couldn’t quite quell.

‘I am not related by blood, but Amir and I have been friends for a long time. I have always thought of him as my brother. My name is Zahir,’ he volunteered with a respectful bow.

From beneath his luxuriant dark lashes he saw that she blushed. Was it because he had bowed, or because he had only delivered his first name? It might be the way they would have done things in the West if they had met informally at a party, but it was definitely not the way men of his rank conducted themselves here in Kabuyadir—especially not when they were destined to inherit the rule of the kingdom after their father!

‘Zahir …’

She echoed his name softly—as though it were something wondrous. The sensuous sound caused a cascade of delicious shivers to erupt down Zahir’s spine.

‘Even the names here have a ring of mystery and magic,’ she added shyly.

‘Come,’ he invited, his blood heating even more at the idea of having her to himself for a while. ‘Let us walk together in the grounds. It would be a shame to waste such a glorious full moon on an empty garden with no one there to witness it, don’t you think?’

‘Won’t you be missed if you don’t go back inside soon?’

‘If my hosts are troubled by my unexplained absence they will be too polite to say so. Besides, I do not have to give an account of my actions to anyone save Allah.’

The woman in front of him fell silent at that. Zahir glanced down at her small slender feet, with toenails painted the same captivating shade as her dress, and a frisson of disturbing awareness rippled through him.

‘You will need your shoes if we are to walk together.’

‘They’re over by the bench.’

Moving back towards the stone seat, with its shield of glossy green leaves and intoxicating white-flowered jasmine, Gina collected her flat tan sandals and slipped them on. When she glanced up again at Zahir, a tendril of golden hair fell forward onto her brow. She brushed it away and smiled. A woman’s smile had never had the effect of rendering him speechless before, but it did now. Clearing his throat, he didn’t even think twice about extending his hand to take hers. When she wordlessly and trustingly placed her palm inside his Zahir lost all track of space and time, and the grief and turmoil he had been so racked with since his mother had died melted into the ether…

Studying the strong-boned face, with fathomless dark brown eyes and long glossily black hair that was parallel with his shoulderblades, Gina knew she was captivated. With his full-length dark robe—the jalabiya, as it was called—and his lean waist encircled by a light brown wide leather belt, he might have been an imposing inhabitant of a bygone court of a wealthy Caliph … a highly trained soldier or a bodyguard, perhaps? He was built as if he could take care of himself and many others besides.

It might be an entirely dangerous action, putting her trust in a man she had only just met, but since such an overwhelming compulsion had never seized her before Gina could only believe it was meant to be. Kismet as they often called it in this part of the world. Right then she needed the reassurance of a strong, understanding figure. Something told her that Zahir was a man who did understand feelings … the thought was quite intoxicating.

As they walked the meandering paved paths enclosed by a high stone wall that made the building very close to a fortress, with the shining moon benevolently following their progress, she wondered even more how she would endure the stultifying pattern of her day-to-day life when she got home.

When her mother recovered she had no doubt that its pattern would resume—just as though a false note had inadvertently been played, been quickly righted and then forgotten. But Gina couldn’t forget or deny her growing yearning to connect with something deeper and more real in her life. She might have fooled herself for a long time that diligent study and adding more and more academic credits to her name, the perusal of dusty old tomes and cataloguing times long past was enough to engage her, to help her feel fulfilled, but since she had come to Kabuyadir she had started to question whether that was the right path for her.

Oh, she still loved her work, but travelling to the other side of the world, discovering a sensual paradise of sights, sounds and scents she had never experienced beyond the descriptive pages of a history book, had forged in her a restlessness and a desire that would never again be subdued.

Her parents—both professors in their chosen fields—had found academic study more than enough to fulfil them and to cement their relationship. Their marriage had come about through mutual interest and professional admiration, but they hardly ever expressed more profound feelings and emotions towards each other. They had raised Gina responsibly, protected her from harm and danger and done all the right things. It had been a given that she be steered towards a career in academia. Rarely had they told her that they loved her.

Now her mother was ill, and she knew in her bones that her father’s way of dealing with it would be to retreat even more into the world of the intellect instead of feelings and emotions. Gina would sit awkwardly by her mother’s hospital bedside and hardly know what to say or talk about. Yes, her heart would swell with sympathy, but she should have rebelled long ago against the path that had been laid out for her. She should have given academia and books a very wide berth. What had it done for her? She was dull, dull, dull! A twenty-six-year-old singleton who lived on convenience foods because she’d never learned how to cook—a pattern she’d inherited from her busily studying parents—and who had never had even one relationship with a man that meant anything.

She had a couple of similarly situated friends, who scorned the very idea of a meaningful relationship because it would undoubtedly be messy and distracting and take their concentration away from their studies. But since coming to Kabuyadir Gina knew that the ‘distracting’ and totally wonderful concept of a mutually loving relationship was crystallising more and more into a longed-for desire in her heart. So much so that she could no longer ignore it.

‘Did you know that the ancient seers and astrologers used to track the destiny of kings through the stars?’ Her companion pointed up towards the navy blue bowl of sky that was liberally arrayed with clusters of tiny winking diamonds.

A totally helpless shiver briefly convulsed Gina. Not only were Zahir’s darkly handsome looks mesmerising, but his voice was imbued with power and magic, too. Coupled with the dreamlike atmosphere of a still-warm desert night, enchantment was being woven round her heart with delicate but unbreakable gossamer threads that would hold it willing prisoner for a long, long time.

‘What about those of us who are merely ordinary, and not kings or queens or anybody special? Do the stars show us our destiny too?’

Gina’s heart missed a beat when Zahir captured her free hand and turned both her palms upwards. His dark gaze looked to be deeply examining the fine lines—some with intricate little chains—that mapped her otherwise smooth skin. The playful caress of a soft breeze lifted a fiercely shiny coil of his hair and let it drop back against his cheekbone. Heat invaded her insides like a wild summer storm that plastered her clothes to her frame and ripped her hair free from its usual neat arrangement as though it wanted to free her soul, too.

‘I do not believe you are ordinary in any way. Your destiny is beautiful, rohi. How could it be otherwise?’

‘You’re just being kind. You don’t know me. Nothing extraordinary ever happens to me … apart from coming here, I mean.’

‘It grieves me that you clearly have no sense of your own great worth, Gina … your incandescent loveliness.’

‘No one has said such things to me before.’

‘Then the people in your life must be blind … deadened to beauty and grace.’

She stared wide-eyed as he bent his head towards hers, with no thought of trying to struggle against a tide that now seemed inevitable. Her sadness and frustration with life was completely banished, to be replaced by the most ridiculous hope and longing as his large strong hands settled firmly on either side of her hips. The intimate contact was like a sizzling brand, burning through the thin material of her dress. When Zahir’s mouth descended on hers, his lips were softer than down and more tender and erotic than Gina could have imagined.

He gentled her as though she were a nervous lamb, or a small bird he didn’t want to scare or overwhelm with his powerful strength. Beneath his mindful gentle exploration a melting heat drowned her insides in a sea of sensuous honey. The dark trimmed hair that covered his chin and the space above his upper lip was far softer than she would have expected. It was a pleasurable sensation like no other. She would never forget it. As his masculine heat and scent invaded her blood like a drugging opiate, she sensed her knees tremble violently. It shocked her to realise that she wanted more … much more of this potent magic he was delivering.

‘You are cold?’ he asked concernedly, his hands still clasped round her hips as his eyes smiled down into hers.

‘No, not cold … I’m shaking because I’m nervous, that’s all.’

‘I have overwhelmed you …’

When Zahir would have respectfully withdrawn, Gina reached out to lay her hand over his heart. The fine cotton of his robe was as sensuous to the touch as the most luxurious velvet. Beneath it she sensed muscles that radiated the masculine strength and energy of a trained warrior contract. The instant flaring of his inky-dark pupils easily confirmed just how he felt about her touching him. In a trice his arms came around her waist, and suddenly her trembling body was on shockingly intimate terms with the hard male reality of him.

Her thoughts careened into an abyss as pure compelling sensation took over. How could something she’d never even come close to experiencing before suddenly be as essential to her as breathing? If he let her go now she would have to beg him to keep holding her. She would risk everything—her pride, her fear, her very heart.

Just before his lips claimed hers, the mingling perfumes of jasmine, rose and orange blossom was carried on the air from the flowers that abounded in the garden, heightening moments that would be imprinted on Gina’s mind and heart for an eternity. There was a sense of wildness—a raw, elemental hunger about Zahir’s passionate kiss. The suggestion of bare control thrilled her, echoing as it did her own helpless urgency and gnawing need. As her mouth cleaved to his, their tongues swirling and entwining hotly, it made her cling to him to keep her balance.

He tore his lips away from hers, his breath ragged, his glance molten. ‘You are leaving tomorrow, and I …’ He shook his head, his expression torn. ‘I do not know how I can bear to let you go.’

‘I don’t want to go … but I have to, Zahir.’

‘Must we part this way? On my honour, Gina, I have never felt like this with any other woman before … As if … as if she were a part of me that I never even knew I had lost until I saw her.’

Devouring him with her eyes, Gina felt her heart squeeze with anguish at the mere thought of them being separated. Would people judge her as heartless—as cold and unfeeling—because she preferred to stay here with Zahir instead of going home to see her sick mother? Right then she didn’t care. How could she when she’d been so bereft of love—of warm, human touch—for too long? Why should she feel guilty and weigh herself down with painful responsibility when his impassioned confession echoed the heartfelt yearning in her to reach out for something wild, warm and wonderful beyond imagining?

‘You are staying in one of the houses in the grounds, I presume?’ He drew her with him beneath the shelter of a shady tree, glancing behind them as if to check whether they were being observed. But the shadowed fragrant garden was empty and still except for the hypnotic drone of the cicadas and the soft gushing of the water fountain.