The Black Sheep Sheik (4 page)

“You made it this far. You can do it.” Isabelle took him by the hand to pull him after her.

Male pride said he should pull away and make his way unaided. But her small hands felt incredible around his fingers, the feel of her warm skin giving him a jolt, bringing back memories. He left his hand in hers and ignored his screaming muscles.

The faces of their pursuers danced in his mind. This time, he’d made a point of taking a good look. He didn’t recognize any of them. They didn’t look Jamalan. They looked American.

Yet his secretary had said that Fahad had worked for the enemy. Did some xenophobic American group pay Fahad to sabotage the summit?

Isabelle pulled him forward relentlessly. He kept looking back, but the men must have gotten hung up somewhere, because they weren’t following. Maybe they were still searching the bar.

“Where are we going?” Again, it galled him that she would have to save him and take the lead. But it was obvious that she was familiar with this place as she made her way to a specific back door.

She had her key ring in her hand, picked a key and shoved it into the old lock, opened the door, pulled him in, then locked the door behind them. They were in a narrow white hallway, breathing hard.

He was tense and not sure if they could relax yet, if the building was safe. “What is this place?”

“My father practiced family medicine here before he retired. Hasn’t been rented out since. I keep forgetting to give back my duplicate key.”

She led the way and they reached a waiting room that was lit by the last of the setting sun. There were upholstered chairs stacked on top of each other, dust everywhere. The door to one of the exam rooms was open. He spotted a phone on the wall and went for it. He needed to reach Efraim, needed immediate backup.

No dial tone.

Just when he would have banged the receiver against the wall, Isabelle took it gently away from him. “I’m sure they canceled phone service when they closed the office. Would you sit down, please?”

That he needed to sit and rest annoyed him. In fact, annoyance and frustration seemed to be the main theme of the hours since he’d awakened. “How long before I’m back like I was before?”

“At least a couple of weeks. You’re doing amazingly well, all things considered. One might almost think you’re too stubborn to be sick.”

He couldn’t help a small grin. “Stubborn?” Yes, he’d probably been that way with her and worse. Not that she wasn’t impossibly stubborn herself, but he was going to be a gentleman and not mention that again. “You are not seeing me at my best,” he allowed.

She outright laughed at him. “Really?”

The sweet sound of her laughter had a way of sneaking straight into the middle of his chest. Her face lit up. Her silky hair had fallen across her forehead in their mad dash, but now she brushed the dark strands out of her face. Her blue eyes shone in the dim light of dusk.

“You’re beautiful.” The words just slipped out.

She raised an eyebrow. “I’m still not entering into some arranged marriage.”

“Nobody arranged anything for us. This is not something set up by our parents. We should both choose this marriage because it’s the right thing to do. It is the only honorable course of action. My country and my people expect no less from me.”

“Marrying for protocol’s sake? Living some happy royal farce for the media?”

He rose and strode to her, turned her to face him. Her amazing eyes were wary; her bottom lip was bruised from biting. Her face had been on his mind every day since she’d left him. Her body—sans clothes—had been a major player in his dreams.

“If I married for protocol, according to the wishes of the Council, I would marry for alliance. I would marry a princess for her father’s wealth and influence,” he informed her.

Nothing wrong with that. Last he heard, his friend Prince Stefan had been considering just such a marriage to Princess Daria. Alliances were important. Yet, he couldn’t say he was upset by the turn of events that would make Isabelle his bride. He could see them being happy. He could see them doing a great many things. A number of them involved being naked.

“Sounds good to me. You should try and keep this Council happy. They sound important.”

“They’ll be happy that I finally secured an heir.” They’d been bugging him about that from the moment he’d taken the throne. “This might not be the marriage they had in mind, but they won’t protest it.”

“
I
protest it. I’m not entering into a fake marriage so you can parade my son around as your heir.”

“Nothing about our marriage would be fake, I promise you that, Isabelle,” he told her before he kissed her.

His lips were firm on hers and warm, coaxing. If the kiss had been the claiming sort, him trying to prove that she
would
belong to him, she could have resisted. But Amir’s tender seduction had Isabelle’s head spinning.

His hands came to her nonexistent waist. Probably felt like he was hugging a whale. She shied away, but he pulled her right back, one hand moving to rest on her belly. The baby kicked against his palm. For a second he stilled; then he deepened the kiss with a surge of new emotion.

Her knees were as shaky as his had to be. She shouldn’t be doing this. Her giving in was bound to give him ideas that she was agreeing to his insane plans about them getting married. It gave the wrong impression altogether, not to mention that it was medically irresponsible. She was his doctor for the time being. He needed rest. Lots of it.

She pulled back once again, although with a reluctance that she couldn’t hide from him. “You should lie down.”

The roguish grin that split his face took her breath away. She knew that look. She’d seen that look on the prince of Persia’s face nearly nonstop for two days.

He moved toward the rolled-up carpet in the corner, capturing her hand and drawing her with him.

“Alone.” She dug her heels in and extricated herself, despite the thrill that ran through her. “If you overtax yourself, it will slow your recovery.”

“Let me worry about my recovery.” But he let her go with a displeased frown, stepped over to the carpet and folded it in two, sat down. “I don’t like this. I just woke up after a month of rest. How can I be this tired?”

“A little thing called muscle atrophy. It’s a miracle that you’re even out of bed. Believe me, this is not your usual coma recovery. Some people need weeks just to get on their feet. You should sleep.”

“And you?” He held out his hand again.

She couldn’t say she wasn’t tempted. Her back ached. Lying down for a while, curled up against Amir, sounded like heaven. Which was reason enough not to do it. So instead of stepping forward, she stepped away.

“You’re mad at me,” he said.

“No.” The response came on reflex. She was a doctor and she’d been taking care of him. Technically, he was her patient. A doctor didn’t get mad at her patient. Period. It would have been unprofessional. But the unqualified
no
was a lie. She drew a deep breath. “I don’t want to be.”

“Are you mad because I left the country without finding you, or because I came back? Or because I’m putting your life in danger?”

“Do you have an easier question?”

“Are you not the least bit happy that we’re together again?”

“We’re not
together
together.”

“Are you not happy that I survived the explosion and came out of the coma?”

“Very happy.”

A pleased smile stretched on his face. He held his hands out for her once again.

She took another step back. She wasn’t going to fall into some idiotic fantasy that he needed her, that he wanted her for anything but his precious heir. Whatever attraction there was between them, she was perfectly capable of ignoring.

“I’ll look around and see what I can find to make us more comfortable. We should stay put until morning. Whoever is after you, they know we no longer have a car to get away in. They’re probably watching the streets.”

He lay down and folded his hands under his head, stared up at the ceiling, his jaw tight with tension. “I should be fighting my enemies, not taking a nap.”

He wasn’t the easiest patient she’d ever seen. “I hope for the royal physician’s sake that you’re not often sick.”

“Never,” he said, as if that was a matter of pride. Then he turned to her. “How seriously was I injured in the explosion?”

She headed into her father’s office. “Bad enough to keep me worried, but not life threatening. Started with a pretty high GSC score and kept getting better. I didn’t think you’d take this long to wake. Respiratory functions were normal from the beginning, steady heartbeat, good BP. Some eye movement, muscle response to pain.”

She opened the desk drawers one by one and found them empty. “A light coma, all things considered. I couldn’t have kept you out of the hospital if you were any worse. I really shouldn’t have, anyway. Could have ended up being a huge mistake.”

Basically, she’d gambled with his life. She hated that, even if it was per his request. Providing less than the absolute best possible care went against her training as well as her personal moral code. But she had believed that he might be in even bigger danger if he wasn’t in hiding. That explosion had been pretty convincing. And now those men chasing them and shooting at them drove the point home, telling her that she’d done the right thing.

“You saved my life,” he said in a tone of absolute certainty that chased away the last of her lingering doubts.

“You really don’t know who wants you dead?” She opened the closet and found a white doctor’s jacket, ran her fingers along her father’s name on the pocket, blinking back sudden tears. She wished she could ask her father’s advice on the mess she’d gotten herself into. She wished she could ask him what he thought of Amir.

The two were nothing alike on the outside, yet similar in some ways on the inside. Her father had been an honorable man, a gentle man. Didn’t smoke, didn’t drink, didn’t cuss. The worst he ever said, if someone really got his dander up, was, “Tough chickpeas” or “Blazing buzzards.”

“I suppose, a lot of people want to see me out of the picture,” Amir was saying out in the waiting room. “Some extremists in my country would rather see me dead than sign a deal with the United States. Some people right here are convinced that I have some terrorist agenda just because the majority of Jamalans are Muslim.”

“So why did you come? Is whatever you’re trying to do here important enough to risk your life?” She couldn’t imagine that he didn’t have everything right at home that he needed for a life of amazing power and luxury. He had palaces to enjoy and a whole army protecting him. He was royalty. He probably had beautiful women lined up ten deep, hoping to marry him.

“I’m not going to ‘run and hide’ because there are people out there motivated by hate and fear who are all too willing to spread and believe lies about me.”

“I didn’t say ‘run and hide.’ Just keep a low profile.” She hated the idea of him getting hurt. Which didn’t mean that she was developing any kind of feelings for him. She hated the idea of anyone getting hurt. Plus, he was the father of her baby. “You don’t need to make yourself into a giant target.”

“Good people must never give up and lock themselves away from the world’s problems. Moderates from each side must cooperate. The truth must be put out there and repeated as many times as necessary. The radical voice cannot be the only one to be heard.”

Another closet held two nurses’ uniforms. One of them had a forgotten stethoscope in its pocket. She found a box of unopened tongue depressors on a shelf. She closed the door, frustrated, and moved on to the examining rooms. “We have a saying like that. ‘All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.’”

“Which is exactly why my friends and I all came despite the dangers. The exact reason why we refuse to be defeated. Once a person starts running from evil, there’s no stopping.”

She glanced at him through the open door. Even barely recovered from a coma and flat on his back, he was still the embodiment of heroic. She felt something deep inside her respond to him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
They barely knew each other. And if he got wind of any softening on her part, he would double his efforts to convince her to agree to the loveless marriage scheme his misplaced honor demanded.

Because, okay, he’d made his point about passion with that kiss. Their marriage wouldn’t be without passion. And, to be truthful, her body thrilled at just the thought of it. But what about love? That he hadn’t said a single word about love didn’t escape her notice.

She focused back on her search, turning her back to him, refusing to let him distract her. Empty drawers. Empty shelves. Stacks of marketing materials from pharmaceutical companies. By the time she was done looking around, finding nothing whatsoever that could help them in any way, Amir was asleep, his breathing even.

Darkness had fallen outside.

She stepped to the window, keeping in the cover of the dusty curtains. An old Ford pickup thundered up the street. Traffic had lessened, but by no means stopped. No black van. People were still out and about, and she had no idea whether their pursuers were among them. They could have ditched the van, could be looking for her and Amir on foot now. There were four of them. For all she knew, they were as familiar with Dumont as she was. She might have found shelter for the night, but she and Amir were far from safe.

She went to the back and cracked the door, looked out into the alley. The narrow, dark space was deserted and filled with the stench of garbage cans that had been heating in the sun all day. A neon light, advertising a popular brand of beer, flickered above the solid steel door of the bar across from her, the door propped open with a brick to let some of the smoke out. Country music wafted in the night air.

She stepped back inside, passed Amir quietly and went straight to the office to put on one of the nurses’ uniforms, Ashunda’s. Her father’s favorite, she’d been a no-nonsense gal from Detroit, as tall as an Amazon and voluptuous, which allowed Isabelle to fasten all but the middle button.

There was a small medical center a block away. Nobody at the bar would think that her uniform was strange. Clint’s was the only place that had takeout food in the neighborhood. Even her father used to grab lunch there.

She hung the stethoscope around her neck, then twisted her hair up into a bun to further change her appearance, grabbed her wallet, tiptoed by Amir. He didn’t even stir. She checked the back alley again. When she was satisfied that she wouldn’t be seen by anyone, she darted over to the bar’s back door and slipped in, hoping and praying that Amir’s enemies weren’t in there, waiting.

“Y
OU LOST HIM
.” The man stood in the shadows of the basement, the four idiots he’d hired for the job lined up under the single lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. Maybe he’d made a mistake in switching teams. But the Russians had gained too much visibility. The royals knew Aleksei Verovick was involved. And if they had a name, there was a risk that the job could be traced back to the source.

“They won’t get far.” The loser who was the local degenerates’ team leader dared to talk back to him.

“I’m afraid we have a matter of loss of confidence here.” He pulled his gun, silencer already in place, and put a bullet through the man’s head, his attention already on the others as the body folded to the floor. He aimed the gun at the next one. “Can you guarantee that the matter will be handled today?”

The shorter man paled in the dim light. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He put the gun away. “Congratulations. You are the new boss.”

The dimwit’s shoulders slumped with relief.

“Which means, the next time something goes wrong, you’ll be the one I’ll hold responsible.”

The fear flashed back into the man’s eyes. Good. A little fear was a healthy thing for business. A lot of fear was even better.

The man nearly stuttered as he rushed to say, “That won’t happen, sir. We’re watching their car and have it tagged, too. The second the sheik moves, we’ll have him.”

A
MIR WOKE TO
the smell of food coming from a container next to him. The place was dark, very little moonlight coming in the windows, so a moment passed before he could orient himself.

Isabelle was coming from one of the other rooms. She had her hair up, the slim curve of her neck revealed. “How do you feel?”

“Where did you get this from?” He sat up. “You shouldn’t have left.”

Anger took him swiftly at the thought that while he’d slept, she’d been out there unprotected. They couldn’t trust the police; they couldn’t even trust his own security. For the time being, they were all alone in this. She didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of their situation. The men who’d been shooting at them weren’t playing around. They shot to kill.

“I know this neighborhood,” she was saying with exaggerated patience, which set his teeth even more on edge. “I was careful. I only stepped over to the bar for some mild chicken wings. You need protein.”

“And you and my son need to be protected. You must accept my protection, Isabelle.” What little he could provide at the moment. Things would change once he put together a trustworthy security detail.

She stopped moving and pulled her shoulders straight. “We should probably talk about this. Look, the way I was during those two days in your suite…” She colored a little. “That was under extraordinary circumstances. I’m never that spontaneous. I’m never that irresponsible, never that easy to talk into doing wild things.
This
is how I really am.”

Her hands moved in an impatient gesture. “You must accept that I’m not some obedient little thing who will bow to your every whim. A person doesn’t get to be a surgeon if she’s a type-B personality. I’m stubborn, independent as hell, and value my freedom more than I value my life. Whatever happened between us all those months ago was the exception to the rule, an aberration. Consider it temporary insanity.”

He could do little more than stare at her. Her insubordination was extraordinary. Yet he wasn’t angry. He was turned on, immediately and completely.

In fact, his body was making all sorts of needs known to him all at once. His stomach growled as she pushed the bucket of wings toward him, along with a wad of paper napkins. He remembered those slim fingers caressing his heated skin and wanted that again with a fierce longing.

She could be as stubbornly independent as she wanted; he could handle that. But when he returned to Jamala, she would be going with him.

“I got a few bottles of water. Some to drink, some to flush the toilet.” She sat on the corner of the carpet, all business, oblivious to the storm that swirled inside him. “Now that you’re off the IV fluids, it’s important that you keep yourself hydrated.”