Challenging the Doctor Sheikh Page 13

  She fixed her gaze on the ceiling and waited as he angled her toward the light. Even then she couldn’t make her heart slow down, and with the feel of his hands on her body—even moving clinically as they were—it took all her concentration to try and breathe normally.

  Carefully he ran his hands over her from her collarbone down, skipping the breasts, but cupping his hands again around her ribs to continue feeling down her. He hit sore spots several times, and she was grateful for them. At least the soreness helped negate the tingling warmth that radiated from wherever his hands touched her.

  A few questions, blessed yes or no answers, and he turned her around. “You have a lot of bruises but your sore arm is the worst of it. I’m not sure it’s not fractured.”

  Now that he was behind her, it was safe to pull her gaze from the ceiling. She looked down her body and suddenly felt much worse. No wonder she was sore. “Please tell me some of that’s dirt.”

  “Some of that’s dirt,” he obligingly repeated, whether he meant it or not. Then his hands were in her hair, brushing the back of her neck as he dragged the heavy mass over her shoulder. His fingers traced down her spine and that feeling raced back through her body, with goose-bumps following closely behind.

  That reaction was hard to miss, and he missed nothing. His hands slowed and his touch changed—instead of feeling with his palms and the tactile working side of his fingers, she felt the light bump of knuckles and then a soft, gentle smoothing of what could only be the backs of his fingers down the last portion of her spine.

  “I need...” His voice sounded strangled and he took a breath, cleared his throat, and tried again. “I need you to lie down so I can examine your belly for signs of internal bleeding.”

  Was that some sign of desire? Or had he just inhaled too much dust in the rubble? “My belly doesn’t hurt,” she murmured weakly, not trusting her voice to remain steady.

  “Please, Nira, I need to make sure you’re all right.”

  Something in his voice made her look over her shoulder at him. He looked worried and more than a little upset, probably the only thing that could make her agree.

  A moment later he’d helped her to the exam table and was palpating her abdomen. The air between them had changed again, now somewhat awkward because of the sensuality clogging the air and his attempt to remain professional despite it.

  Once satisfied, he picked up her dress and then helped her sit up, slipped it back over her head and helped her get into it fully.

  “X-ray of arm,” he said, and once again led her out of the curtained bay. “Then we’ll go back to the penthouse and rest.”

  * * *

  The penthouse had never looked so good to Nira. Tahira eyed them both worriedly, but spirited away the battered sketchbook they’d dug from the rubble.

  Nira gave a slapdash attempt to wash her face, at least getting what was around her mouth clean, but she’d gotten into something sticky along the way and so when she returned and sat down to dinner it was with a still grimy face. Eating was likewise mechanical. She didn’t taste a bite, but once she’d had enough and tried to rise, she really felt the soreness setting in.

  A mildly frowning Dakan watched her as she rose, like she might fall at any second and he’d need to catch her.

  She touched his shoulder as she passed but didn’t say anything. If she wasted a drop of energy on words, she’d probably pass out and drown in the bath.

  A few minutes later, when the water was adjusted as hot as she could stand it and she was ready to get out of the dress, she remembered the zip. Negotiating it with an injured—but thankfully not broken—arm was inconceivable.

  She opened the door to call for Dakan, and nearly ran into him. “I was coming to ask you for help.”

  He gestured her back into the bathroom and once there moved her hair off her back again and unzipped the dress.

  This time he didn’t let her do any of the work to take it off, just edged the sleeves back down her arms, and let the dress fall.

  “Thank you,” she said, her state of near nudity along with her conflicting emotions giving her enough nervous energy to speak. “I didn’t say that earlier, did I?” She turned toward him and murmured, “If I had clothes on, I’d hug you. You didn’t have to come in there after me. After us. You probably saved my life. Thank you.”

  She let herself look him in the eye, so he’d know she meant it. He’d risked himself and was still looking after her, and it wasn’t just doctorly instincts. He cared.

  That knowledge eased the worry from her mind and she stepped in to lean against him, taking whatever comfort and strength he offered.

  When he’d appeared beside her in the rubble, all she’d been able to see had been his eyes above the material covering the lower half of his face—dark pools of worry and tension, and that look hadn’t left him until after he’d examined her and been satisfied she wasn’t badly injured.

  Her relief had come while she’d still been under that beam, the moment she’d looked into his eyes. He hadn’t left her down there. He’d risked himself to crawl into the dark insides of a collapsed building for her.

  What she felt for him was real. It was love, and she knew it now as surely as she’d known he’d get them out of there. Her feelings were real, and so were his. It might not be love that he felt for her, but he’d put himself in jeopardy to protect her—and a man like that could never be a betrayer.

  This wasn’t the same as her mother’s Middle Eastern folly. They might never have anything more than these few weeks together, but she’d take whatever she could and let it sustain her afterward, not tear her down. Nira was a builder, and all building required a leap of faith.

  Dakan held her for a moment, then eased her around in his arms until her back touched his chest again, and he wrapped his arms back around her while burrowing his nose under her hair.

  The same hands that had medically pressed and explored her belly not an hour ago now flattened out, fingers splayed, pressing her back against him.

  “You don’t have to thank me,” he finally answered, his words caressing her ear, then nuzzled and kissed the back of her neck.

  Immediately, goose-bumps returned, and she tilted her head slightly forward, giving him whatever access he wanted.

  His hand slid up her belly, found the front hook of her bra and flicked it open, then let his hands slide up to cup and gently knead both breasts.

  Needing to get rid of the rest of her clothes, she pulled her arms free of the bra straps. He released her and knelt to slide down to her knickers, finishing undressing her as he couldn’t before.

  When they touched the floor he turned her toward him again, at eye level with her sex. He pressed a quick kiss atop the small mound of flesh, rose and helped her into the hot steaming water.

  This was happening. He needed her too, she could see it in the pained look in his eyes.

  It only took him a moment to shed his ruined clothes, baring a body that was beyond perfection to her eyes. Tall and muscled, brown skin, fine black hair over his chest, and down over his belly, a slowly engorging manhood that left her feeling short of breath...

  Dakan grabbed towels from a nearby closet and washcloths, and put them all within easy reach before stepping into the bath with her. “Lean forward, habibi.”

  He settled in behind her, and she turned toward him, tucking her nose under his chin as she snuggled in.

  Gently, he stroked her hair away from her face and rested his chin on her head. Her dirty head...

  This was definitely happening.

  Nira would’ve never thought that having a man bathe her could be sexy, but the tenderness in his eyes confirmed all she believed to be true. It was love, though that sexy intensity he could flatten her with appeared when he helped rearrange her on his lap so that she straddled his thighs, and she s
aw a flash of something playful when he had to work to get off a particularly stubborn patch of sticky grime on her cheek.

  When he’d rinsed her face clean, he took another cloth, scrubbed it over his face, wiped it clean, and then urged her back so she lay in the bath between his legs, him bent over to run his fingers through her hair.

  Heavy sensuality blanketed every touch. He washed and rinsed her hair with care that left her feeling cherished. Sooner than she’d have liked, he’d washed them both clean and drained the tub.

  “I don’t want to get out yet.”

  “Neither do I.” He turned the water back on as soon as the murky dregs drained away, adjusted the temperature, and set it to filling again with them in it. “I just want to be able to see through the water.”

  Before the water even reached her hips, he’d moved her higher on his lap, high enough that he could complete promises. His mouth dragged across her still damp skin, sucking, licking, nipping, but over any bruise he merely stopped to stroke his lips against the battered flesh.

  Reverence and love, heat and need. It left her feeling breathless and aching, and it gave her strength to come together when her energy had long since left her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DAKAN HADN’T INTENDED on taking Nira to bed, or to bath.

  Well, he had, but as soon as he’d learned who she was he’d tried to talk himself out of it and had stayed away as much as he could. It hadn’t helped.

  Dakan never deprived himself of whatever woman he wanted—he didn’t know how.

  It’d be too simple to blame some primitive need for conquest, like touching and tasting her was fun. But that’s not how it was. The usual excitement paled before the hunger to consume her that ripped through him even while he wanted to walk away.

  He leaned her back, turned the water off, and then pulled her more fully against him, letting his hands slide over her slickened skin to find and squeeze sweetly plump curves as he finally got her mouth to his.

  Water sloshed in the tub as she leaned away, arching perfect breasts toward him, her green eyes dark and pleading, her fingers curled into the hair on the back of his head, urging him forward, her voice low and throaty. “Do you want me to beg?”

  Dakan shook his head. “You don’t have to ask for anything.” He kissed his way to a taut nipple, then sucked it greedily into his mouth.

  A tremor rattled her and she ground her sex against his hardness so that he felt her heat, her wetness...slicker than the water.

  Releasing her nipple, he pulled her back up against him and then flailed with one hand at the side of the tub. Where were his trousers?

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Condom,” he panted, and she leaned out to find and pick up his discarded clothing. A moment later he had the foil package in hand but no dexterity. Wet fingers didn’t want to open it up.

  “Is it safe?” Nira asked breathlessly. “In the tub, I mean?’

  Dakan thought for a moment, then, locking one arm around her, he dragged them both out of the bath. Her legs wrapped around his hips and gripped him, and he rolled her to the rug. Nira grabbed a towel, wiped her hands, and took the condom from him. A moment later, after employing her teeth to get the job done, she had it out and strong little hands unrolled it onto him.

  It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t a game. The pleasure of her hand squeezing and stroking him was too much, too heavy, too raw. He pulled her hips back to his, and nudged his way into her. Not a virgin, thank merciful God. He didn’t want to be the first. He wanted her to have memories of other men, in case this seared into her the way he felt it searing him. He didn’t want her to love him.

  “Is this all right?”

  His voice sounded strangled even to his own ears. She nodded, grabbed his head and pulled his mouth back to hers, her soft body taking everything he gave her, returned every kiss, every thrust.

  Not the first. And he prayed not the best even if he couldn’t imagine anything better.

  Don’t love me. The words ran round and round in his head, in his heart, a silent prayer he let echo and repeat even as he wanted it ignored.

  Don’t love me.

  Don’t love me.

  Don’t love me.

  He felt her tighten around him and then the blessed clenching that shredded the last of his self-control. He breathed in her every gasp and the words she whispered into his mouth. Words he’d ignore. Words he’d pretend not to have heard.

  When the tide had passed, with what little strength remained in him Dakan rose with her still sealed to him and staggered to the bedroom. The bed bowed as he laid them both down and started all over again.

  She couldn’t mean it. It was just the emotion of the day.

  She didn’t really love him.

  * * *

  Rapid, near-frantic knocking on the bedroom door pulled Dakan out of sleep. Nira, still groggy from all the sleeping they hadn’t had, grumbled something and tucked her face back in against his chest.

  That level of urgency at a bedroom door was always worrying.

  Dakan reluctantly pulled himself from the bed, grabbed a discarded blanket from the floor and covered himself before opening the door. Tahira stood there, looking so wild-eyed he knew immediately what was wrong.

  He hadn’t taken Nira to the palace last night, and though the message he left had said as much, someone had come to collect them.

  “Make tea,” he said, just to give the frazzled-looking housekeeper a direction, then ducked into the second bedroom—never so thankful for a hallway in his life. Pajamas laid out for him the night before still lay on the bed. He grabbed the bottoms, tugged them on, and went to face the messenger after making certain Nira’s bedroom door was closed.

  So Mother had come to collect Nira. Could’ve been worse.

  He rounded the corner and found his father standing at the wall of windows, overlooking the city.

  “Father,” he said, mentally scrambling to work out what to say. Something he could never do was speak candidly with the King, and it was probably that difference Nira saw in him from when he was a royal envoy to the times he could be himself. He could talk to his mother, be honest, but he always felt the weight of expectations in his father’s presence. “I left a message. She was banged up pretty badly when the building collapsed on her.”

  The King turned and leveled a steely look at him. “And you needed to stay with her all night to monitor her health?”

  He knew. So much for not speaking candidly. At least it’d be easier to know what to say if he didn’t run his thoughts through that father-filter first.

  “I just needed to stay with her. It was a bad day.”

  “You made her feel better, then?” the King asked, shaking his head. “I have come to bring her to the palace. Where is the maid?” His voice rose and Dakan felt that familiar headache blaze into existence—the one he always got when his father got demanding.

  “I’ll bring her later.” He tried again.

  Tahira came scurrying and bowed, and the King went on as if Dakan had said nothing. “Get the girl up. Get her dressed and presentable. Then pack her bags. She’s coming with me.”

  “Father, please.” Dakan held a hand out to Tahira. “She can’t handle you swooping in on her today.” He lowered his voice to a loud whisper. “I haven’t even told her yet. Let me tell her first.”

  “Tell me what?” Nira’s voice came from the hallway and he turned to see her peek around the corner, looking worried and exhausted.

  Dakan immediately moved to guide her back down the hallway.

  “Prince Dakan Al Rahal.” His father’s words stilled his feet as effectively as they caused his head to throb. “You will not be alone with her.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, taking her hand to bring her back into
the sitting area, but in the next heartbeat all will to do as expected evaporated.

  Anger rose and he faced his father. The man had never even met Nira before today. He was the one who knew what was best for her. “I will be alone with her. She doesn’t need a royal audience for this—it’s too much. I’m taking her to her bedroom to speak privately.”

  “I’m putting an end to this impropriety.”

  “Yes, you’ve made that perfectly clear,” Dakan bit out. “All celebrate! We’ve reached the end of impropriety! But I’m still going in there with her. Unless you want to execute your wicked son today, stay here. What can you possibly think is going to happen if we’re alone together? We just need to talk.” Dakan didn’t wait for an answer, just returned to Nira to guide her back to the bedroom, intent on ignoring his father if he shouted any argument.

  Surprisingly, none came.

  He closed the door, focusing on her extremely worried face.

  “Am I being kicked out of the country because we spent the night together?”

  “Of course not.”

  “He probably thinks I’ve got no morals now that we’ve...”

  “Don’t worry about him.” Dakan urged her to sit on the edge of the bed and sat beside her, taking one of her hands in his. Speaking candidly with Nira had been easy from almost the beginning, but words that would hurt her didn’t come easily. “Between the times we kissed, I realized I couldn’t pursue you. Last night should’ve never happened because I know who you are.”

  “I’m no different from who I was when we met,” she said, a frown line creasing her forehead. “What does that have to do with the King? And why does he want you to bring me somewhere?”

  “He wants to take you to the palace and not as punishment. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s about who you are. I know who your father is.” He spilled the words in a rush.

  All traces of anger left her face, and she went from tense and pained to every feature frozen with shock. He waited an eternity for some sign that what he’d said had sunk in.