IT WASN’T EXACTLY BORING, Sarah’s trip west. In fact, there were some interesting patients and she liked Emerald as a town.
But something was missing and, loath as she was to admit it, she knew it was Harry’s presence—Harry’s lovemaking, and just Harry himself.
Stupid, really, because now that she’d rediscovered her sexual self, she could enjoy a relationship with anyone she fancied.
Providing, of course, they fancied her back.
Not that she’d be slipping straight into bed with them as she had with Harry. No, she could take her time, get to know someone, let a relationship build.
Perhaps that was why she was missing Harry—because the time they’d spent together could hardly be called a relationship. They’d done it all backwards.
Maybe, given time, she’d have got over the need to brush her fingers across his skin, or trace the tiny scar beside his ear, or stroke her hand down his firm thigh.
Got over the need to touch him at all.
‘You want to come into town for a bite to eat? There’s that great Indian restaurant just off the main drag.’
Ben had knocked on the door of her motel room and poked his head through the gap.
He’ll want to talk about his book, Sarah thought, and shook her head, then regretted it when she saw the disappointment on his face.
But tonight she just wanted to brood.
To try to work out why a certain Rahman al-Taraq had stirred the embers of her dead emotions back to smouldering life.
In five days?
Well, less, in the end.
The attraction had begun, on her side anyway, from the moment she’d helped him from the water with the stonefish sting.
And the discomfort—the shock, really—of that slow burn through her body had made her hit out at him.
But he was wasted, doing what he did.
Thankfully, her mobile belted out a jaunty tune at that stage of her brooding over Harry, and a desperate search for it distracted her completely.
So when she finally found it and answered, and a deep, sultry, masculine voice said, ‘Sarah, I need you,’ she almost fainted on the spot.
Had she conjured him up out of her thoughts?
And was need the same as want?
But he was still talking, and she had to listen. Apparently, Harry had touched down in Ambelia to complete chaos. His youngest sister had just given birth to her first baby, and he suffered from exactly the same problem as the baby boy on Wildfire Island: pyloric stenosis.
‘She wants me to do the op, Sarah, and you know I can’t. But we’ve done it together once before and could do it again. Will you help me?’
‘Oh, Harry, how can I? We’re at opposite ends of the world.’
‘My plane is on the way to Cairns as we speak. Will you come?’
She had to go!
She’d needed him and he’d come.
‘Can your pilot fly into Brisbane? It’s easier for me to get quickly from here to there than from here to Cairns. I’ve one small op in the morning, then I’ll get an afternoon flight to Brisbane. Should get in around five in the afternoon.’
‘He’ll be waiting at the airport for you,’ Harry promised.
Sarah didn’t know what to say—even how to say goodbye. Not without sounding over formal, which would come across as cold.
Harry broke the silence.
‘Thank you, Sarah.’
Then he was gone.
Had that really happened? Or had she imagined it?
But, no, she was still holding her mobile in her hand so she’d been talking to someone.
And now excitement began to build. Changing her flight was easy on the internet and she messaged Harry to let him know her flight details.
Then she sat down, ran her hands through her hair, and considered what she’d agreed to do.
Which was when the enormity of it all hit her.
She’d see Harry again, see the desert and feel the sands run through her fingers like silk. Of course, she’d have to check she could fly from there to London, and if it was summer here would it be cold in...
She dug through memories of her time with Harry but nowhere could she find the name of his country.
Back on the net, she ran a search on Rahman al-Taraq and discovered the country was Ambelia and that Harry was heir to the throne.
A sudden sadness filled her when she saw Harry still listed as a gifted and world-renowned paediatric surgeon.
She shied away from that, looking up Ambelia instead, reading that the discovery of copper as well as the ever-present oil had made the country very wealthy.
‘The wealth is spread amongst the people,’ the article continued, ‘although many Ambelians live in traditional ways, with nomads following ancient trade routes in the desert, and fishermen using the traditional dhows to ply their trade.’
Excitement stirred, the thrill of the unknown mixing with the physical sensations she was experiencing at the thought of seeing Harry again.
* * *
It was only when he’d ended the call, heart hammering in his chest at the prospect of seeing Sarah again, that Harry realised it had a downside.
He had his own suite of rooms and his own staff in a section of the palace, but his mother would insist that Sarah stay in one of the guest suites.
On the far side of the rambling building!
And while jungle drums might be quick to pick up gossip, they were as nothing compared to the speed of palace gossip.
It came of having too many staff with too little to do, but most of them were fourth-or even fifth-generation retainers to the royal family, which made sacking any of them inconceivable.
So Sarah would be here, but not here for him—not close enough to touch, to slowly undress, to lie in his bed and make those little breathy moans when he pleasured her.
His body tightened.
There had to be a way.
But even reserving a suite for her in one of the six-star hotels was out of the question.
Hotels, too, had staff, and though he’d spent little time at home in the last years—in fact, since he’d been ten and had gone to boarding school—he was still easily recognisable...
He sighed, cursing himself for not thinking this thing through. To have her here, so close, but untouchable—
Hell and damnation, he couldn’t touch her anyway. His engagement was due to be announced, already postponed because of Miryam’s baby...
He had to see speak to his mother, ask her to speak to Yasmina—to explain.
Explain just what, exactly?
That a woman with whom he’d had a brief holiday romance was coming to the country and he’d like to continue their relationship?
Great thing to dump on any woman, but to someone who was related, whose family had already agreed to the marriage...
Impossible!
But it was equally impossible to marry Yasmina when he had feelings for Sarah. The exact nature of the feelings were a little confused, but they did exist...
Didn’t they?
He sighed.
Even with the little he knew of Sarah, he knew she’d laugh at the situation—the two of them close but not close enough...
He gritted his teeth and messaged her the name of the acting consul in Brisbane who would meet her plane and take her to the private section of the international airport. Youssef would see her onto the Ambelia-bound jet.
Damn!
He could have flown out with the plane, met her in Australia, then at least he’d have had the ten hours’ flight time to...
Make love to her?
Because that was all he wanted, wasn’t it?
Now uncertainty raised its head, but he decided to ignore it. He had enough to do organising someone to meet Sarah at the airport, visiting Miryam at the hospital, arranging staff to be on standby for the op on his little nephew.
More than enough to do, so why was his mind stuck on seeing Sarah again?
Perhaps because she might not be quite as excited about seeing him?
A brief affair, a fling, she’d said.
Finished when their time on the island ended.
But we didn’t have that final night, a pathetic voice cried in his head, and he quelled it firmly, called someone to take a message to the stables for his horse to be saddled.
He’d forget about Sarah, go for a ride and watch the sunset from his own beach—hundreds and hundreds of miles of it.
* * *
Sarah sat back in the plush leather chair in the luxury jet, playing with the buttons that made the chair lie flat or worked the small TV in front of her.
She’d been offered champagne, juice or water before the plane had even taken off, but had stuck with water, aware she could become dehydrated on the flight and wanting to arrive as alert as possible. The operation had already been delayed just getting her to Ambelia.
Ambelia—Harry’s home...
Once in the air, she was fed, the spices in the food, the little dishes of sauce reminding her of her last night on the island.
That last night they were supposed to have been together.
Reminding her of their mutual desire to drain as much pleasure as possible out of it.
But that had been then and this was now, and as it had been nothing more than a brief fling, it was best to tuck it away in her memory and think of the future.
Her future!
The four years in Australia had helped her heal, but maybe it was time to think of returning home permanently. Her parents weren’t getting any younger, and Australia was a long way off if she was needed urgently.
And operating on the baby had reminded her of her ambition...
She sighed and settled back into her seat, letting it recline so she could put her feet up and doze.
As if that was going to be possible, when Harry was at the end of this journey and memories of their short time together played like movies on the inside of her eyelids.
* * *
The ride had been a good idea—racing his stallion across the dunes behind the palace had been invigorating. The problem was, he shouldn’t have dismounted, shouldn’t have picked up a handful of sand and let it run through his fingers.
Was this to be his fate in life, that even the simplest of pleasures would remind him of Sarah?
He rode home less swiftly, and went to visit Rajah in his palatial enclosure. The big animal trumpeted softly in greeting, and not for the first time Harry wondered just how old his friend might be. He’d been born in the circus and the man who had owned him had been sure he was at least twenty when Harry’s father had bought him.
Too old, the man had said, to be retrained to live in the wild. But that was thirty-five years ago.
Could elephants live into their fifties and sixties?
Rajah’s trunk explored Harry’s pockets, seeking a treat that he’d usually find.
‘Nothing today, old boy,’ Harry told him, scratching at the more tender skin behind the animal’s ear. ‘I’m too out of whack to have thought of it,’ he continued. ‘There’s this woman, you see...’
And he poured out the story of Sarah, and attraction, and the frustration that lay ahead for him—perhaps for both of them—while she was a guest at the palace.
Rajah nodded wisely, but Harry knew he probably needed more than an elephant’s wise nod to sort out his mind and body.
* * *
The sun was rising over a distant horizon as they came in to land at Ambelia, and Sarah stared with wonder at the world she was about to enter. There were the dunes Harry had told her of, stretching to red and golden mountains, and there was the sea, dotted with fishing boats so small they looked like toys.
The tall towers of a modern city glinted in the early morning sunlight, but it was the large walled estate beyond the city that drew her eyes. Minarets reached towards the sky, round domed buildings stood among rectangular ones, courtyards seemed to be scattered like embroidered handkerchiefs between the buildings and the whole complex within the walls was ringed with more greenery and formally laid-out gardens.
Then it was gone, the city and the old walled complex, and they were coming in smoothly to land.
Now there were no distractions.
Very soon she would be seeing Harry again.
Or maybe he’d be at the hospital with his sister and her child, and she would have to put up with the flock of butterflies dancing in her stomach for even longer.
The crew unlocked doors and a stairway slid into place, then Harry was there, right in front of her, his face tense and pale as if he, too, was feeling uncertain about this meeting.
Only it wasn’t Harry, it was Rahman al-Taraq, a gold-braided circlet holding his snowy white checked headcloth in place, more gold dribbling down the front of his immaculate white gown, tiny embroidery stitches outlining an opening in the front.
And she stared—probably open-mouthed—at the man she knew yet didn’t know, then his eyes looked deep into hers and her lungs seized up.
A slight smile twitched on his lips.
‘Sorry about the regalia. There was stuff I had to do on the way to the airport.’
Still trying to regain control of her lungs, and other rioting body parts, all Sarah could manage was a vague nod.
Had he read just how paralysed she was? He bent over, reaching out to undo her seatbelt, his voice shaking slightly as he said, ‘Thank you for coming, Sarah,’ in that deep, husky voice that played havoc in her dreams.
She had to get with it—she was here, this was Harry, they would operate on the baby and then she’d be gone.
His being dressed in his traditional garb reminded her of just how big a gulf lay between them culturally, and also reminded her he had a wife-to-be waiting somewhere in the shadows—possibly in one of the white buildings she’d seen from the plane, the ones in the walled complex.
So forget the husky voice and dreams and show some strength.
All she could muster was the smallest of smiles.
‘My pleasure,’ she said, as his hand took hers to help her to her feet. ‘I was coming in this direction anyway,’ she added, because if she didn’t talk she’d forget about strength and do something stupid like throw herself into his arms. ‘It’s on the way home to England, more or less, so it’s no trouble...’
Her voice trailed away as Harry pulled her towards him and held her in a gentle hug, then kissed her on both cheeks. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, probably in tune with hers, but the cabin crew was waiting for them to leave the plane, so there’d be no proper kiss.
Not in Ambelia! Not now she’d met Rahman al-Taraq and realised just how impossible this situation was.
Would there ever be a proper kiss again?
Hardly!
It had been a brief affair—they’d both understood that.
So why was her body betraying her with its heat? And, come to that, the tight grip on her hand felt like Harry’s rather than Rahman’s.
But this wasn’t Harry from the resort. Here he was the ruler-in-waiting, and here he had a woman pledged to marry him and subjects who’d take a great interest in every move he made.
The robes made those facts perfectly clear.
Sarah sighed.
Unless there were very roomy linen cupboards at the hospital they might have to forget the attraction side of their relationship—put it behind them.
For the duration of her visit?
She sighed again, but softly.
In truth, it was probably forever, given his position, and the wife in waiting, and the fact that it had only ever been a holiday romance.
Warmth hit her as she exited the plane, but it was pleasant, soft and dry as it enfolded her body. She was following Harry down the steps, and he stopped at the bottom and turned to take her hand, presumably to help her make the last step safely.
His fingers gripped hers hard, and she squeezed his in return.
‘This is possibly the most ridiculous mistake I’ve made in my entire life!’ he muttered angrily. ‘I must know at least twenty excellent paediatric surgeons in London that I could have flown in, but no, I had to complicate my life—and probably yours—by demanding you.’
And Sarah smiled.
At least they were both suffering.
No matter who he was—Harry, heir, husband-to-be—it was obvious their affair felt unfinished to him, too.
Not that that was much consolation so she forgot about the man who was now striding ahead to a waiting limousine, and forced her mind to think about what lay ahead—to think about a tiny baby who needed the expertise of both of them.
‘Did you sleep on the flight?’ he asked abruptly, opening a rear door of the car for her.
‘Most of the way,’ she replied. ‘I spend a lot of my time in planes far less comfortable than yours, and have learned to sleep on all of them.’
She looked directly at him, refusing to be distracted by the robes and headdress, and looking instead at his pale, hypnotic eyes and the grim set of his lips. At the tiny scar she’d traced with her fingers, and which she knew grew paler when he was stressed.
Very pale. The way it was now.
His tension was evident, but she was here to do a job, not to dally with this man, no matter how appealing more dallying might be. So right now she had to make it plain that the visit was for work.
She took a deep breath and, well, prattled...
‘I think we learn to sleep at any time in any place during our training, don’t you? It’s probably nearly as important as learning anatomy, given the lives we lead, especially during our early days in hospitals.’
Now it wasn’t just his lips that looked grim. He was positively glowering at her.
But she wasn’t to be put off by a glower.
She waited until he’d stalked around the car and got in the other side behind a silent driver, then, determined to keep things as casual as possible between them, she asked, ‘How’s the baby? Is the op urgent? I’m confident I could go straight into Theatre, although a shower and a cup of tea would be a nice way to relax first.’
‘A shower and a cup of tea?’ he repeated, the disbelief in his voice so strong it was like a physical force. ‘Is that all you can say?’
She turned towards him and, hoping the driver who was now concentrating on getting the vehicle through the airport traffic wouldn’t see the motion, she took his nearest hand and held it in both of hers.
‘What else is there to say, Harry?’ she said softly. ‘Or should I call you Rahman here?’
She squeezed his fingers.
‘What we had was wonderful, but I know, and you know, that we can’t take it further—not now you’re home and definitely not here, where word of any relationship between us would get back to the woman you are going to marry and so, I’m sure, shame your family as well as hurting her.’
He bent his head, his hand still in hers, although now his fingers gripped hers as if he thought she might let his go.
‘The baby,’ she repeated quietly. ‘Tell me about the baby. Let’s concentrate on that and think about the rest later.’
He raised his head but didn’t look at her.
‘He’s doing well. He arrived fourteen days early, which was hardly a problem, but the stenosis wasn’t picked up until the projectile vomiting started three days ago. I think the pylorus wasn’t totally blocked at first. Since the diagnosis, he’s been having limited amounts of parenteral nutrition, and the doctors are keeping a constant check on his electrolyte balance and hydration.’
‘And his mother, your sister?’
Now he turned to look at her, and she saw the ravages that concern for his sibling and her child had left on his face.
‘Miryam’s been wonderful. She stays by his bedside night and day, her gloved hand through the window in the sterile crib, touching him, talking to him. Her husband is there as well, most of the time, but I’ve learned women are far better than men at handling things like this.’
His face lightened and he almost smiled.
‘You’d have thought I’d have worked that out long ago, but until it becomes personal there are things you don’t see. Miryam’s husband has to leave the room to go into a corner somewhere and cry from time to time. It’s the only way he can keep going for his wife and child.’
Harry squeezed her fingers, adding, ‘I’ve felt for him—felt his tears—teared up myself. Pathetic, really.’
‘Nonsense,’ Sarah said, removing her hand before he broke the fingers she’d need for the operation. ‘This is your family, people you love, in pain and trouble. You’re entitled to get emotional about it because you’re human. Miryam probably cries sometimes as well, and her husband holds her and gives her strength to continue. But, being a man, he won’t let her see his tears in case she loses faith in his strength.’
Grey eyes studied her face for a moment, then the slightest of smiles touched his lips.
‘Maybe I was right to call you...’
Was that a compliment? Sarah wondered, then told herself to stick to the plan—be practical, do the job, go home to England...
‘We’re nearly at the hospital. If you’re sure you’re happy to go ahead—after your shower and cup of tea—I’ll let them know.’
He lifted a cell phone out his pocket and spoke words Sarah didn’t understand. Soft, strange words that touched her heart, while her eyes were on the man himself, on the hand that held the phone and the fingers that had brought her body such pleasure, on the lips she’d kissed, the neck—
‘They’ll be ready. I didn’t know what tea so they’ll make a selection and you can choose.’