Healing The Sheikh's Heart. Annie O'Neil

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СКАЧАТЬ him back to his senses. He had no one. Amira’s care was his and his alone.

      “I can get you anything or anyone you like to work with in Da’har. What does it matter where the surgery takes place?”

      “Everything!”

      They both froze. Idris felt his features recompose themselves into the unreadable mask he’d worn for so long while the tiniest of twitches on Robyn’s face betrayed a fight against the unwelcome sting of tears. His chest tightened. Yes, he wanted control—but not on these terms.

      “Isn’t a surgical theater the same anywhere?”

      Robyn shook her head, clearly not yet trusting herself to speak.

      “My daughter’s welfare is paramount. She is happiest in Da’har.”

      “My patient’s welfare is paramount and, as such, I am happiest operating at Paddington’s.”

      “Tell me, what’s so special about it?”

      * * *

      His softer tone suggested a change of tack. One Robyn felt herself drawn to. Even so, she didn’t share. Not even her colleagues knew about the ectopic pregnancy that had ended her dreams of having a family of her own. All they knew was that Robyn poured her heart and soul into Paddington’s and was as much a part of the place as the very bricks and mortar.

      “Spend time in Da’har with us.” A smile—one he should use more frequently—accompanied Idris’s words. “If you meet my terms, I will meet yours.”

      “You mean the operation will be at Paddington’s?”

      “So long as you join us in Da’har. The sooner, the better.”

      A trip to Da’har.

      Her lungs strained against the thought. Even so...something told her this was a throw-caution-to-the-winds moment. It was not like she was facing a life or death decision. What harm could seeing a children’s musical and a couple of days in Da’har do in the greater scheme of things apart from scare her witless by yanking her straight out of her comfort zone?

      So she’d have a handful of days not knowing if she was coming or going. Days that could change the face of things at Paddington’s, making every moment of scrutinizing looks from the desert kingdom’s leader worth it.

      Idris’s eyes bore down on her as he waited for an answer, a shift of his jawline betraying his impatience.

      Her tummy flipped.

      And...breathe.

      See? Survived the first step.

      Robyn gave a quick nod and stuck out her hand in as businesslike a fashion as she could muster. “I trust there will be chocolate-covered ginger biscuits where we’re going?”

      Maybe not quite as grown-up as she’d been aiming for.

      “More than enough.” Idris’s voice deepened as he mirrored her nod, engulfing her hand in both of his as he did. Why hadn’t she noticed how large his hands were before? And how strong. And gentle enough in their strength to make her feel...delicate.

      Crikey. If only she could take a pile of those ginger biscuits back with her and curl up in a corner until every last crumb of them had disappeared. A sugar high might be the only way she’d have the strength to go through with this harebrained scheme.

      “Kaisha,” Idris called over his shoulder, hands still encasing hers as if they were precious jewels, “can we get the rest of Dr. Kelly’s biscuits put in a basket or something so that she can bring them back to the hospital. To share.” He arched an eyebrow at her, all but proving he’d read her mind.

      * * *

      A few moments later, a flame-faced Robyn was jabbing at the lift buttons, a wicker basket swinging from her arm laden with enough ginger biscuits to feed an army.

      C’mon, c’mon, c’mon! Where was the elite and exclusive service when you needed it? She could feel the Sheikh’s bodyguards train their eyes on her, hoping they read nothing into the jiggling she could feel beginning as a hit of nerves overtook her entire upper body.

      He’d seen into her soul.

      How was that even possible? Less than an hour with Idris—Sheikh Idris Al Khalil. Her polar opposite if ever there was one, and yet...

      She shot a glance over her shoulder again and grimaced. If the muscle men evaporated she could start banging her head against the controls hoping to knock some sense into herself at the same time. What on earth was she doing? Agreeing to up stakes and hang out in a desert kingdom with the cool-as-a-cucumber mind reader? Her private life was exactly that and she didn’t know how many more X-ray vision looks she could deflect.

      A low groan filled the space around her. A droning moan of despair. Oh, wait. She was making that sound. Oops.

      She turned around and flashed the bodyguards a quick smile, which grew brighter when she heard the lift ping and the doors click-clack open.

      The sooner she could get back into the comforting surrounds of Paddington’s, the better.

       CHAPTER THREE

      “HE SAID WHAT EXACTLY?”

      Robyn scanned the sea of expectant expressions, wishing she weren’t the center of attention. Limelight and Robyn were not a good combination. But these people were her friends as well as her colleagues. The surgeons and doctors who were pouring their hearts, minds and endless energies into keeping the doors of Paddington Children’s Hospital open.

      “Well, Dominic, um...” Why did they send me? “Biscuit, anyone?” She pushed the basket of sweets to the middle of the surgical ward’s central desk and forced on what she hoped was a winning smile.

      “Claire said you said he said you’d have to go to Da’har.”

      “Hold on a minute, Alistair. You know how I feel about riding the gossip train.” She tsked, then gulped as the sea of expectant faces grew more impatient.

      “For heaven’s sake, Robyn! I’m not engaging in idle gossip, I’m trying to learn if there is even the smallest sliver of a chance we can save Paddington’s from this ridiculous move out to Riverside!”

      “You know, you have a lovely voice, Alistair. Is that what drew you to him, Claire? The voice?” The more the group stared at her, the more tongue-tied she became. “Can’t I just send out a memo or something?”

      Rosie Hobbes—still glowing from her recent engagement to Dr. Marchetti—turned her flame-haired bob and made another stab at extracting information from Robyn. “You don’t need to give us a blow-by-blow account of what happened with His Excellency, but the key details would be useful.”

      “You mean Idris?” Robyn crinkled her nose. Rosie’s fiancé was, after all, a duke and no one went around calling him His Excellency.

      A general “ooh” that said, Look who’s СКАЧАТЬ