Praise for Meredith Webber:

‘Medical Romance™ favourite Meredith Webber has penned a spellbinding and moving tale set under the hot desert sun!’ —Cataromance on THE DESERT PRINCE’S CONVENIENT BRIDE

‘Medical Romance™ favourite Meredith Webber has written an outstanding romantic tale that I devoured in a single sitting—moving, engrossing, romantic and absolutely unputdownable! Ms Webber peppers her story with plenty of drama, emotion and passion, and she will keep her readers entranced until the final page.’ —Cataromance on A PREGNANT NURSE’S CHRISTMAS WISH

‘Meredith Webber does a beautiful job as she crafts one of the most unique romances I’ve read in a while. Reading a tale by Meredith Webber is always a pleasure, and THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE is no exception!’

—Book Illuminations on THE HEART SURGEON’S BABY SURPRISE

He’s just a man! she told herself, but that didn’t stop a tremble in the pit of her stomach as he looked around the room, dark eyes taking in the newcomer, his head nodding in acknowledgement, his eyes holding hers—a second or two, no more—and causing heat to sear downwards through her body.

‘So, we have a stranger in our midst,’ said this man who was causing the problems, his voice reverberating through her like the echoes of carillon bells. ‘And you are…?’

‘Marni Graham, sir,’ she said, hoping she sounded more in control than she felt.

‘In here I’m Gaz—just Gaz, Marni Graham,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the team.’

She really should say something—respond in some way—but her voice was lost somewhere in the general muddle of the new and unbelievably vital sensations she was experiencing right now.

Lust at first sight?

It can’t be, Marni argued with herself—but silently, and very weakly.

The man in question had pulled his mask up to cover his nose and mouth and seemed about to turn away, but before he did he smiled at her.

Of course she couldn’t see the smile, not on his lips, but she was certain it was there, shining in his eyes and making her feel warm and very, very unsettled.

Dear Reader

My fascination for desert regions still has me in its grip, so it’s not surprising this is another book set in one of those fascinating places.

People ask where my ideas come from and I really cannot answer that. It seems to me that they come not as a full-blown notion but as little snippets of this and that. Some of these snippets came as I walked on a beach with Marion Lennox, a dear friend and a tremendous support from the day I started writing. So there we were, coming up from the beach through the native shrub, where I know bad snakes are known to lurk. Being terrified of snakes, I talked to keep my mind off it, prattling on about a young woman who was brought up by her grandfather, and as I talked they came to life in my head and their journey stretched before them.

As always, it didn’t follow the original path, but hopefully the path it did follow proves enjoyable for you.

Meredith Webber

MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Once I read an article which suggested that Mills & Boon® were looking for new Medical Romance™ authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’

Date with A Surgeon Prince
Meredith Webber

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Meredith Webber

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Copyright

PROLOGUE

‘ARE YOU COMPLETELY mad? Bonkers? Round the twist?’

It wasn’t often Marni yelled at her grandfather. In fact, if she’d been in any fit state to think about it, she’d have realised it was probably the first time. But this was just too much.

‘It says here the man’s a prince. Just because he hasn’t married doesn’t mean he’ll be interested in some cockamamie story about being betrothed to me when he was three!’

She was still yelling, and brandishing the newspaper Pop had been reading at the same time, while the voice that lived in her head told her it would be a bad idea to bash an ailing eighty-four-year-old man to death, especially as she loved him to bits and couldn’t bear the thought of life without him.

Except that she had to start—start imagining it, that was. Eighty-four, with a blocked valve in his heart and blocked stents in the vital arteries that fed the heart muscle.

The specialist wanted to do open-heart surgery to replace the valve and, at the same time, the surgery necessary to bypass the stents. Pop was vacillating, another cause for anger because as a nurse she thought he should have the operation. Of course he should, he was a man who enjoyed life, and, selfishly perhaps, she really, really didn’t want him dying of heart failure.

‘You finished?’ Pop retrieved the flapping paper from her now limp grasp, and opened it up to fold it at a different page. ‘For your information, he was six, you were three. Now, look at this page near the back.’

Ignoring a momentary pang that she could no longer see the photo of the strong-featured face, framed by a white headdress, that had started the conversation, she peered over Pop’s shoulder to read what he was showing her.

Not that her mind would take in much—she was still struggling with the little gem the old man had delivered earlier, finger pointing at the picture, voice full of wonder as he’d said, ‘That’s Ghazi. His father and I pledged the two of you would marry. Says here he’s still single. You should get in touch.’

Forget this prince business and get with it, the inner voice in her head said firmly. Pop’s made it clear he doesn’t want you hanging around here while he’s getting over the op, no matter how much you might want to be with him. Perhaps a short contract job somewhere else?

‘See,’ Pop was saying, and for a moment Marni wondered if he could hear her thoughts because he was pointing at a job advertisement. ‘Theatre nurses wanted for new children’s hospital in Ablezia. That might be why Ghazi’s out here. He’s looking for nurses.’

Yeah, right, she thought. Of course the crown prince of any country would have to check out hospital staff!

But Marni ignored the voice in her head this time, intent on reading exactly what was on offer in this place she’d never heard of, which, presumably, was far enough away from the Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia for her not to be tempted to ignore Pop’s plea to keep away while he went through his operation.

If he went through with the operation!

Six months’ contract’ extendable, the advertisement read, air fares and accommodation provided. Six months would bring her up to Christmas and if Pop had the operation as soon as possible, then he’d be well on the way to recovery by the time she got home.

Six months! It was the answer to the other problem plaguing her too—her virginity! Given six months, thousands of miles from home—surely in six months she’d meet someone…

She sighed as she looked blankly at the paper, sighing because the virginity thing, as she thought of it, shouldn’t really be a problem. It wasn’t as if she’d held onto it deliberately, she’d just put things off for various reasons—Pop, Nelson, her mother’s behaviour—then the cruel words of the last man she’d become involved with had made her realise it was a burden as well as an embarrassment.

Read the ad!

The pay scale seemed staggeringly generous, but it was the thumbnail description of the country that made her heart flutter. Set by the warm waters of the Ablezian Sea, the country was well known for its underwater wonders—coral reefs, abundant marine life, nesting turtles on the beaches…

This idea could actually solve some problems. She could make Pop happy by taking the job and getting out of the way while he recovered, make him even happier by at least meeting this prince guy—she owed Pop that much—and maybe, as a bonus, find someone with whom to have a holiday romance, or a work romance, or even just a little fling…

‘I’ll get the picture,’ Pop said.

Marnie lost herself in thoughts of diving into warm gulf waters and playing with the fish and turtles. She barely heard Pop as he left the paper in front of her at the breakfast table and disappeared into his study.

Nelson, who’d been with her grandfather as long as Marni could remember, as valet, butler, cook and probably secretary, appeared in his usual silent way.

‘I don’t know, Nelson,’ she said quietly. ‘It seems wrong to even think of going away. Pop’s taken care of me and been there for me all these years, surely now I can be there for him?’

Nelson shook his head.

‘You know he probably won’t have the op if you’re around, because he doesn’t want you to see him weak and sick. He wants you to remember him as the strong, active man he’s always been, and can be again. He’s far more likely to agree to the procedure if he knows you’re not fretting over him.’

Nelson paused then, with only the slightest quaver in his voice, continued, ‘You know I’ll take good care of him.’

Blinking back the tears that had filled her eyes, Marni got to her feet and hugged the man she’d known since the age of two, when she’d been dumped on her grandfather because her mother’s third husband hadn’t wanted a kid around the place.

‘I know you will, Nelson, and I know you’re right about him recovering more quickly if I’m out of the way. If he’s so set on me leaving, I’ll do it. I’ll take this job and check out this prince bloke, say hi to him from Pop, and report back. Can’t you just imagine it—me rocking up to a palace in the desert to tell the local ruler he’s betrothed to me! I’d be arrested and thrown into the deepest, darkest dungeon, or fitted with a straitjacket, or at the very least deported on the first plane out.’

Nelson’s serious brown eyes studied her for a moment.

‘It would make your grandfather very happy if you did meet the guy,’ he said, so seriously that Marni groaned.

‘Not you too!’ she protested.

‘Well, he was a really nice little kid and he was very good to you, although in those days you were a right little tantrum-throwing madam.’

‘I met him? I knew him? When was all this?’

Marni frowned, trying to remember, to place a time she might have played with a prince.

Not something everyone would forget!

‘It was shortly after you first arrived to live with us,’ Nelson explained. ‘Your grandfather had only recently moved into this apartment and Ghazi’s father booked out the entire hotel section for himself, his family and his staff.’

‘The whole hotel?’

‘He had a lot of wives and daughters,’ Nelson said, as if that explained everything.

The Palazzo Versace was the first six-star hotel built on the Gold Coast, her grandfather’s apartment one of a few privately owned condominiums included in the ritzy complex. As residents, they were free to make use of all the hotel facilities, the beautiful pools, the restaurants and the day spa, so she’d often played with the children of hotel guests as she had been growing up.

But one called Ghazi?

She had no memory of it at all, even when Pop returned with a box of photos showing her as a very small child with a boy who stood much taller. the photos told her they’d had fun together, two children at play while slender, black-robed figures sat in the shade by the pool.

‘This is the one,’ Pop, who’d been sifting through the photos, declared.

He handed it to her.

It was a more formal shot showing a tidily dressed little girl, blonde hair in pigtails, pale blue eyes looking up at the boy sitting on the arm of one of the big lounge chairs in the hotel’s foyer—a white-robed boy, who was holding her hand and smiling down at her.

Even then you could tell he was going to be good looking, although the miniature white headdress he was wearing in the photo concealed all but his profile. Strong nose and jaw, a high forehead, shapely lips widened in a slight smile—

‘Hey, I was looking at that,’ Marni protested as Pop turned the photo over.

He ignored her, pointing at the writing on the back. The top line was in his handwriting and, sure enough, there was this nonsense about the two of them being betrothed, Pop’s signature at the end of the statement.

Beneath that was a line of beautiful, flowing, Arabic script, and presumably another signature.

‘Honestly, Pop, you can’t read Arabic so for all you know the man’s written something like, “This nonsense should make the man happy!”’

Marni regretted her words the moment they’d popped out of her mouth and she caught the hurt in her grandfather’s eyes, hurt that prompted a quick hug and a totally impulsive promise to go right now and apply for the job in a country called Ablezia.

‘And I’ll do my best to see this guy but only if you agree to have the operation,’ Marni added. ‘Deal?’

‘Deal!’ Pop agreed, and they shook on it, the slight tremble in her grandfather’s hand reminding her just how frail he had become.

CHAPTER ONE

WAS IT THE subtle scent that perfumed the warm air—salt, spices, a fruit she couldn’t identify—or the air itself that wrapped around her like the finest, softest, mohair blanket? Or was it the mind-boggling beauty of a landscape of red desert dunes alongside brilliant cobalt seas, the dense green of a palm grove in an oasis at the edge of the desert, or the tall skyscrapers that rose from the sand like sculpted, alien life forms?

Or perhaps the people themselves, the shy but welcoming smile of a headscarfed woman, the cheeky grin of tousle-haired boy, pointing at her fair skin and hair?

Marni had no idea. She couldn’t give an answer to the question of why she’d fallen in love with this strange, exotic land within hours of stepping off the plane, but in love she was—flushed with excitement as she explored the narrow market lanes that sneaked off the city highways, trembling with delight the first time she dived into the crystal-clear waters, and shyly happy when a group of local women, fellow nurses, asked her to join them for lunch in the hospital canteen.

This was her first day at the hospital, her schedule having allowed her four free days to explore her new home before starting work, and today was more an orientation day, finding her way around the corridors, feeling at home with the unfamiliar layout and the more familiar hospital buzz. Now her new friends were telling her about the theatres where they all worked, which surgeons were quick to anger, which ones talked a lot, which ones liked music as they worked, and which ones flirted.

Hmm! So there were some flirts!

Would they flirt with her?

Seriously?

The young women giggled and tittered behind their hands as they discussed this last category and Marni wanted to ask if they flirted back, but felt she was too new to the country and understood too little of the local ways. So she listened to the chat, enjoying it, feeling more and more at home as she realised the women’s words could be talk among theatre nurses anywhere in the world, except that it was never personal—no mention of family or relationships—usually the main topics of conversation among nurses back home.

But for all the ease she felt with her fellow nurses, nerves tightened her sinews, and butterflies danced polkas in her stomach when she reported for duty the next day.

‘Welcome,’ Jawa, one of the nurses she’d met the previous day, said as Marni pushed through the door into the theatre dressing room. ‘This morning you will enjoy for Gaz is operating. He’s not only a good surgeon, but he takes time to tell us what he is doing so we can learn.’

Aware that many of the staff at the hospital were imports like herself, she wondered if Gaz might be an Australian, the name a shortened Aussie version of Gary or Gareth. Not that she had time to dwell on the thought, for Jawa was handing her pale lavender—lavender?—theatre pyjamas, a cap and mask, talking all the time in her liltingly accented English.

‘So we must hurry for he is not one of those surgeons who keep patients or staff waiting. He is always on time.’

Jawa led the way through to the theatre where they scrubbed and gloved up, ready for what lay ahead. The bundle of instruments on the tray at Marni’s station—she would be replenishing Jawa’s tray as Jawa passed instruments to the surgeon—looked exactly the same as the bundles at home, and relieved by the familiarity of that and her surroundings she relaxed.

Until the gowned, capped, gloved and half-masked figure of the surgeon strode into the room, when every nerve in her body tightened and the hairs on her arms and back of her neck stood to attention.

He’s just a man! she told herself, but that didn’t stop a tremble in the pit of her stomach as he looked around the room, dark eyes taking in the newcomer, his head nodding in acknowledgement, the eyes holding hers—a second or two, no more—yet causing heat to sear downwards through her body.

‘So, we have a stranger in our midst,’ the man who was causing the problems said, his voice reverberating through her like the echoes of carillon bells. ‘And you are?’

‘Marni Graham, sir,’ she said, hoping she sounded more in control than she felt.

‘In here I’m Gaz, just Gaz, Marni Graham,’ he said. ‘Welcome to the team.’

She really should say something—respond in some way—but her voice was lost somewhere in the general muddle of the new and unbelievably vital sensations she was experiencing right now.

Lust at first sight?

It can’t be, Marni argued with herself, but silently and very weakly.

The man in question had pulled his mask up to cover his nose and mouth, and seemed about to turn away, but before he did so he smiled at her.

Of course, she couldn’t see the smile, not on his lips, but she was certain it was there, shining in his eyes and making her feel warm and very, very unsettled.

What she had to do was to appear totally unaffected by the man, which, of course she was, she told herself. The reaction had been nerves, first day on the job and all that. Yet she was aware of this man in a way she’d never been aware of anyone before, her skin reacting as if tiny invisible wires ran between them so every time he moved they tugged at her.

Was this what had been missing in her other relationships—the ones that had fizzled out, mainly, she had to admit, because she’d backed away from committing physically?

She shook the thought out of her head and concentrated on the task at hand, on the operation, the patient, a child of eight having a second surgery to repair a cleft palate.

‘This little boy, Safi, had had his first repair when he’d been six months old,’ Gaz was explaining, his voice like thick treacle sliding down Marni’s spine. ‘That was to repair the palate to help him feed and also to aid the development of his teeth and facial bones.’

He worked as he talked, slender gloved fingers moving skilfully, probing and cutting, everything done with meticulous care, but Marni gave him more points for knowing the child’s name and using it, humanising the patient, rather than calling him ‘the child’.

‘Now we need to use a bone graft to further repair the upper jaw where the cleft is, in the alveolar.’

Marni recited the bones forming part of the maxilla, or upper jaw bone—zygomatic, frontal, alveoal and palatine—inside her head, amazed at what the brain could retain from studies years ago.

‘If we had done this earlier,’ Gaz was explaining, ‘it would have inhibited the growth of the maxilla, so we wait until just before the permanent cuspid teeth are ready to erupt before grafting in new bone.’

He continued speaking, so Marni could picture not only what he was doing but how his work would help the child who’d had the misfortune to have been born with this problem.

It had to be the slight hint of an accent in his words that made his voice so treacly, she decided as he spoke quietly to the anaesthetist. So he probably wasn’t an Australian. Not that it mattered, although some contrary part of her had already wound a little dream of two compatriots meeting up to talk of home.

Talk?

Ha!

Her mind had already run ahead to the possibility that this man might just be the one with whom she could have that fling.

You’re supposed to be concentrating on the job, not thinking about sex!

She hadn’t needed the reminder, already shocked by how far her mind had travelled while she’d worked.

And where it had travelled!

The man was a complete stranger…

A complete stranger with mesmerising eyes and a sexy, chocolate-syrup voice!

The operation, which seemed to have gone on for ever, wound up swiftly. The surgeon and his assistant left, although Gaz did turn at the door and look around, frowning slightly as he pulled his mask down to dangle beneath his chin, revealing a sculpted line of barely-there beard outlining a jaw that needed nothing to draw attention to its strength.

He nodded in the general direction of the clump of nurses where Marni stood, before disappearing from view.

There was no rush of conversation, which seemed weird as either the surgeons or their skills usually came in for comment during the post-op clean-up. But here the women worked competently and silently, Jawa finally telling Marni that was all they had to do.

‘We have time for lunch and you’re back in Theatre again this afternoon—you and me both, they have paired us for a while.’

‘I’m glad of that,’ Marni told her. ‘I still need someone to lead me around.’

She opened her mouth to ask if the surgeon called Gaz would be operating again, then closed it, not wanting to draw Jawa’s attention to the fact the man had affected her in some strange way.

A very strange way!

The afternoon operation was very different, removal of a benign cancer from the ankle of a little girl. The surgeon was French and seemed to think his nationality demanded he flirt with all the nurses, but his work was more than proficient and Marni decided she’d enjoy working here if all the surgeons were as skilled as the first two she’d seen.

A minor operation on a child sent up from ER, repair of a facial tear, finished off her shift, but as she changed into her outdoor clothes she wondered about their first patient, the little boy who’d been born with a deformity that would have been affecting his life. No child liked to look different from his mates…

Uncertain of protocol but needing to know how he’d come out of the operation, Marni asked Jawa if she’d be allowed to see him.

‘Just a brief visit to see he’s okay,’ she added.

Jawa consulted her watch and decided that, yes, he should be well and truly out of Recovery and back on the children’s post-op ward.

‘Of course you can visit him,’ she assured Marni. ‘I would come with you but I have an appointment.’

The faint blush that rose in her cheeks as she said this suggested the appointment was special, but Marni forbore to tease, not knowing Jawa or the local customs well enough.

The post-op ward was easy to find. The hospital was set up rather like an octopus with all its tentacles spread flat on the ground. The operating theatres, recovery rooms, the ICU and the administration rooms were all in the tall body of the beast, while the arms supplied different wards.

In the post-op ward, bright with murals of colourful forests and wild animals, Marni found most rooms occupied not only by the patient but by a clutch of family members as well—black-robed women, white-robed men.

‘Can I help you?’ a passing nurse inquired.

‘A little boy who had a cleft palate operation this morning. I was one of the theatre staff and wondered how he was doing.’

‘Ah, you mean Safi. Do you wish to visit him?’

‘I wouldn’t want to intrude on his family,’ Marni said.

‘You won’t,’ The nurse told her. ‘In fact, it would be good if you could visit him. He’s not local but has come here for all his surgery. The hospital takes many children from neighbouring countries because we have the doctors with the skills to help them, and this wonderful facility where they can recover, but often the parents cannot afford to accompany the child. The nurses will do their best to see these children are not too lonely, but most of the time—’

‘You’re too busy,’ Marni finished for her. ‘I understand, but I’m far away from home myself so I’ll be happy to visit Safi when I can.’

Following the nurse’s directions, she found Safi’s room, knocked quietly then went in. The little boy turned wide, troubled eyes towards her.

‘Hello,’ she said, aware he probably had no idea of English but not knowing what language he might speak. ‘I’ve come to visit you.’

She sat beside him and held his hand, wishing she’d brought a toy or a book. Although this boy was eight and she’d been only two when she’d first gone to live with her grandfather, she remembered how Pop had helped her feel at home—he’d sung to her.

Dredging back through her memory, she sang the nursery rhymes of her childhood, using her hands as she had back then, making a star that twinkled in the sky and an itsy-bitsy spider climbing up a water spout.

Safi regarded her quite seriously but when she sang ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ for the fourth time, he joined in with his hands then smiled at her.

The smile made her want to cry for his aloneness, but apparently the music had soothed him and he fell asleep.

Not wanting to disturb him too soon, she sat by the bed, holding his hand, her mind drifting through the memories of the tumultuous few weeks since she’d made the decision to come to Ablezia, stumbling out of the drift when she thought of her goal—her goal, not Pop’s.

Could she do it? Go cold-bloodedly into a relationship with a man simply to rid herself of her virginity?

Hot-bloodedly if it was Gaz! The thought popped into her head and Marni knew heat was colouring her cheeks.

Think sensibly!

It wasn’t that she’d thought it precious, the virginity thing. It had just happened, partly, she knew, as the result of having a wayward mother who flitted like a butterfly from man to man. But the biggest hurdle had been growing up with two elderly men who thought the world of her, and not wanting to ever do anything that would make them think less of her.

So she’d pulled back through her late teens when her friends had been happily, and often unhappily, experimenting with sex, although, to be honest, there’d never been a boy with whom she’d desperately wanted to go to bed.

At university, her lack of experience had embarrassed her enough for her to be cautious, then, probably because of the virginity thing, she’d virtually stopped dating, somehow ashamed to admit, if a relationship had developed, her intact state. Until Jack—

Enough brooding!

But Marni still sighed as she lifted the little fingers that had been clasped in hers and kissed the back of Safi’s hand.

Who would have thought it could be so hard?

She stole silently out of the room, turning her thoughts back to the child, knowing she’d return and wondering just where she could buy toys and books to cheer the little boy’s recovery.

Nelson would send whatever she wanted but he was busy with Pop—she’d check out the internet when she went back to her room.

As she passed the nurses’ station, nerves prickled along her spine and glancing over her shoulder she saw the back of a tall, dark-haired man bent slightly to listen to what the nurse at the desk was saying.

Of course it’s not him, she told herself, though why had her nerves reacted?

Surely she wasn’t going to tingle when she saw every tall, dark and handsome stranger!

CHAPTER TWO

NO GAZ IN Theatre the next day or the next, and Marni decided, as she made her way down the children’s ward to visit Safi, that she was pleased, she just had to convince herself of the fact. But the sadness in the little boy’s eyes as she entered his room banished all other thoughts. She sat beside him, took his hand, said ‘Hello’ then ‘Salaam’, one of the few words she’d managed to remember from Jawa’s language lessons.

Safi smiled and repeated the word, then rattled off what might have been questions, although Marni didn’t have a clue. Instead she opened up the folder of pictures she’d printed off the internet, showing Safi a map of Australia and pointing to herself, then one of Ablezia. Using a cut-out plane, she showed how she’d flown from Australia to Ablezia.

The little boy took the plane and pointed from it to her. She nodded. ‘Aeroplane,’ she said. ‘A big jet plane, from here…’ she pointed again ‘…to here.’

Safi nodded but kept hold of the plane, zooming it around in the air.

Marni flipped through her folder, bringing out pictures of a koala, a wombat and a kangaroo. She put them all on the map of Australia and when Safi picked up the picture of the kangaroo, she hopped around the room, delighting the little boy, who giggled at her antics.

‘Kangaroo,’ she said, hoping the books and toys she’d ordered would arrive shortly—she’d paid for express mail. She’d actually found a female kangaroo with a joey in its pouch among the soft toys for sale, and had made it her number-one priority.

Safi was jumping the picture of the kangaroo on the bed now and pointing towards her, so Marni obligingly jumped again, her hands held up in front of her like the kangaroo’s small front paws. Unfortunately, as she spun around to jump back past the end of the bed, she slammed into an obstacle.

A very solid obstacle!

Stumbling to recover her balance, she trod on the obstacle’s feet and mashed herself against his chest, burning with mortification as she realised it was the surgeon—Safi’s surgeon—the man called Gaz.

‘S-s-ir!’ She stammered out the word. ‘Sorry! Being a kangaroo, you see!’

Marni attempted to disentangle herself from the man.

He grasped her forearms to steady her and she looked up into eyes as dark as night—dark enough to drown in—felt herself drowning…

Fortunately he had enough presence of mind to guide her back to the chair where she’d been sitting earlier and she slumped gratefully into it, boneless knees no longer able to support her weight.

He spoke to Safi, the treacly voice light with humour, making the little boy smile and bounce the picture of the kangaroo around the bed.

‘I am explaining to him you come from Australia where these animals are,’ Gaz said, turning to smile at her.

The smile finished her demolition. It lit fires she’d never felt before, warming her entire body, melting bits of it in a way she didn’t want to consider.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said, so suggestively she had to wonder if he’d read her reaction to him. Surely not, although the smile playing around his lips—gorgeous lips—and the twinkle in his eyes suggested he might have a fair idea of it.

‘You’re the new surgical nurse.’

A statement, not a question.

‘Marni Graham,’ she said, holding out her hand then regretting the automatic gesture as touching him, even in a handshake, was sure to cause more problems.

You’ve fallen in lust! Twenty-nine years old and you’ve finally been hit by an emotion as old as time.

‘It’s not lust,’ Marni mumbled, then realised she’d spoken the words, although under her breath so hopefully they hadn’t been audible to the surgeon, who was bent over Safi, examining the site of the operation and speaking quietly himself in the soft, musical notes of the local language.

The little boy appeared to know the man quite well, for he was chatting easily, now pointing to Marni and smiling.

‘You have visited him before?’ Gaz asked as he straightened. ‘For any reason?’

‘Should I not have come? Is it not allowed?’ The man, the questions, her silly reactions all contributed to her blurting out her response. ‘Jawa said it would be all right, and the nurses here don’t have a lot of time to spend with him.’

The tall man settled himself on the bed, his knees now only inches from Marni’s, although she could hardly push her chair back to escape the proximity, tantalising though it was.

They’re knees, for heaven’s sake!

Marni forced herself to relax.

‘Of course you are welcome to visit. Safi appreciates it and looks forward to your visits, but I wondered why you come. You are a stranger here, are you not being looked after? Have you not made friends that you spend your spare time with a child?’

The man had obviously painted her as pathetic.

‘Of course I’ve made friends, and everyone has been very welcoming, and I’ve done a lot of exploring, both on my own and with others, but…’

She hesitated.

How to explain that while she loved theatre nursing, the drama of it, the intensity, she missed patient contact?

He was obviously still waiting for an answer, the dark eyes studying her, his head tilted slightly to one side.

‘Like most nurses,’ she began, still hesitant, ‘I took it up because I felt I could offer something in such a career. I enjoyed all the facets of it, but especially nursing children. Early on, I thought I’d specialise in paediatric nursing, but then I did my first stint in Theatre and I knew immediately that’s where I really wanted to work. But in Theatre a patient is wheeled in and then wheeled out and somehow, even with the good surgeons who use the patient’s name, they don’t become real people—there’s no follow-up to find out if the operation was a success, there’s no person to person contact at all—’

Aware she’d been babbling on for far too long, she stopped, but when her companion didn’t break the silence, she stumbled into an apology.

‘Sorry, that sounded like a lecture, sorry.’

He reached out and touched her lightly on the knee, burning her skin through the long, loose trousers she was wearing.

‘Do not apologise for showing humanity. It is all too rare a trait in modern medicine where everyone is under pressure to perform and seek perfection in all they do, so much so we have little time to think about those under our care as people rather than patients. In this hospital we allow the families to stay, so our patients have them to turn to, but children like Safi, who have come from a neighbouring country, often have no one.’

‘Except you,’ Marni pointed out. ‘The nurse told me you’d been in earlier and that you stayed with him that first night.’

‘I was worried he’d be afraid, alone in a strange place, and I’ve learned to sleep anywhere so it was no hardship.’

Not only gorgeous but nice, Marni thought, and she smiled at him and told him so—well, not the gorgeous bit.

‘That was very kind of you,’ she said, ‘but have you done it every night? Surely that would be too much if you’re operating every day?’

Gaz returned her smile, but it was absent-minded, as if it had slipped onto his lips while he was thinking of something else.

‘Not every night, no, but an old friend of mine comes in now and stays with him. It was she who heard the story of a foreign woman visiting.’

‘So you came to check?’ Marni asked, not sure whether to be pleased or put out. Pleased to have seen him again, that was for sure…

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Not because I doubted your good intentions, but to see who it was willing to put herself out for a child she did not know.’

The smile this time was the full effort, its effect so electrifying in Marni’s body she hoped he’d go away—disappear in a puff of smoke if necessary—so she could sort herself out before she tried standing up.

‘And now that I do know,’ he continued, oblivious of the effect he was having on her, ‘I wondered if you’d like to have dinner with me, a kind of welcome to Ablezia and thank you for being kind to Safi combined. There is a very good restaurant on the top floor of the administration building right here in the hospital. We could eat there.’

So it would seem like colleagues eating together if your wife or girlfriend found about it? Marni wondered. Or because you have rooms here and it would be convenient for seduction? Well, the seduction part would be all right—after all, wasn’t that one of the reasons she was here?

Although annoyed by her totally absurd thoughts, Marni realised her first question had been plausible enough—a man this gorgeous was sure to be taken!

Taking a deep breath, she put the whole ridiculous seduction scenario firmly out of her head.

‘I’d like that,’ she said, and was surprised to find her voice sounded remarkably calm. ‘That must be a part of the building I haven’t explored yet. My friend Jawa and I usually go to the staff canteen on the ground floor.’

Shouldn’t you check whether he’s married before you get too involved? Marni thought.

Having dinner with a colleague was hardly getting involved!

Or so she told herself!

Until he took her elbow to guide her out of the room.

She knew immediately there was a whole lot wrong with it. She’d made a serious mistake. It was utter madness. That, oh, so casual touch made her flesh heat, her skin tingle and her heart race.

Although wasn’t that all good if—

She had to stop thinking about seduction!

He dropped her elbow—thankfully—as they walked back up the corridor to the big foyer in the middle of the building, which, again thankfully, gave Marni something to use as conversation.

‘It’s been beautifully designed, this building,’ she said—well, prattled really. ‘I love the way this atrium goes all the way up, seemingly right to the roof.

‘You’ll see the top of some of the taller palms from the restaurant,’ Gaz said. ‘In arid countries we long for greenery so when there’s an opportunity to provide some, either indoors or out, we make the most of it.’

The pride in his voice was unmistakeable and although Marni knew from Jawa that the locals didn’t encourage personal conversation, she couldn’t help but say, ‘So, you’re a local, are you?’

The lift arrived and as he ushered her in he smiled at her.

‘Very much so.’

The slightly strained smile that accompanied the words told Marni not to pursue the matter, so she talked instead of her delight in the markets, the colours, the people, the aromas.

Still prattling, she knew, but the man made her nervous in ways she’d never been before.

The lift doors slid open, and they stepped out into a glass-sheathed corridor, the inner wall displaying, as Gaz had said, the tops of the palm trees in the atrium.

Drawn to the glass, Marni peered down.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, turning to him to share her delight.

He was staring at her, a small frown on his face, as if something about the sight of her bothered him.

‘What?’ she asked, and he shook his head, before again, with another light touch on her elbow, guiding her forward, around the atrium to the far side, where a restaurant spread across the corridor so the atrium was indeed visible from the tables.

The place was dimly lit and quiet, only a few tables occupied.

‘Are we too early or too late for the usual dinner hour?’ Marni asked, desperate to talk about something—anything—to distract herself from the effect this man was having on her, especially with his casual touches and watchful dark eyes.

‘Early for the diners coming off late shift, late for those going on night duty,’ Gaz told her as the young man on the reception desk greeted Gaz in his own language then bowed them towards a table close to the atrium.

Gaz held up a hand and said something, and the young man bowed again and led them in a new direction so they crossed the room.

‘You have seen the tops of the palms in the atrium,’ Gaz explained, ‘but possibly not the desert in the moonlight.’

The table was beside a wall of glass, so Marni felt she was seated in space above the long waves of dunes. The moon silvered the slopes it touched, and threw black shadows in between, so the desert seemingly stretched away for ever with a patterned beauty that took her breath away.

‘I hadn’t known—hadn’t realised…’

‘That it could be so beautiful?’ Gaz asked as her words stumbled to a halt.

She smiled at him, but the smile was an effort because something in the way he said the word ‘beautiful’ made it seem personal—although that could hardly be true. The women she’d met here were so stunningly attractive she felt like a pale shadow among them, a small daisy among vibrant dark roses.

Answer the man, her head suggested, and she struggled to get back into the conversation—to at least act normal in spite of the chaos going on in her body.

‘Yes, that,’ she said, ‘definitely that, but I hadn’t realised the hospital was so close to the desert. I’ve always come to it from the direction of the city, from the sea side, but the desert’s right there—so close you could touch it—and so immense.’

‘And dangerous, remember that,’ Gaz said.

‘Dangerous?’ Marni repeated, because once again there seemed to be an underlying message in his words.

It’s the accent, you idiot, she told herself. Why should there be some sensual sub-text when the man barely knows you?

‘You have deserts in Australia—inhospitable places where a man without water or transport could perish in a few days.’

‘Of course. I hadn’t thought about it but it would be the same in any desert, I imagine.’

She’d caught up with the conversation, but it hadn’t mattered for Gaz was now conferring with a waiter, apparently discussing the menu. He turned to her to ask if she’d like to try some local dishes, and if so, would she prefer meat, fish or vegetarian.

‘Meat, please, and yes to local dishes. I’ve tried some samples of the local cooking in the souks. There’s a delicious dish that seems to be meat, with dates and apricots.’

‘And to drink? You would like a glass of wine?’

And have it go straight to my head and confuse me even further?

‘No, thank you, just a fruit juice.’

Her voice was strained with the effort of making polite conversation. Her nerves were strung more tightly than the strings of a violin, while questions she couldn’t answer tumbled in her head.

Was the attraction she felt mutual?

Could this be the man—not for a lifetime, it was far too early to be considering that—for a fling, an affair?

Worse, could she go through with it if by some remote chance he was interested?

The waiter disappeared and Marni took a deep breath, knowing she somehow had to keep pretending a composure she was far from feeling. But how to start a conversation in a place where personal conversations just didn’t seem to happen?

Gaz saved her.

‘You mentioned the souks. You have had time to see something of my country?’

She rushed into speech, describing her delight in all she’d seen and done, the beauty she’d discovered all around her, the smiling, helpful people she’d encountered.

Gaz watched her face light up as she spoke, and her hands move through the air as she described a decorated earthen urn she’d seen, or the tiny, multicoloured fish swimming through the coral forests. He saw the sparkle in her pale, grey-blue eyes and the gleam where the lights caught her silvery-blonde hair, and knew this woman could ensnare him.

Actually, he’d known it from the moment he’d seen her—well, seen her pale eyes framed by the white mask and lavender cap on her first day in Theatre.

There’d been something in those eyes—something that had caught at, not his attention but his inner self—a subliminal connection he couldn’t put into words.

At the time he’d dismissed the idea as fanciful—the product of a mind overburdened by the changes in his life, but now?

Impossible, of course! He had so much on his plate at the moment he sometimes doubted he’d ever get his head above water.

He groaned inwardly at the mess of clichés and mixed metaphors, but that’s how his life seemed right now. He’d stolen tonight from the schedule from hell, and by the time he had his new life sorted, this woman would be gone.

There’ll be other women, he reminded himself, then groaned again.

‘Are you all right?’

The pale eyes showed genuine concern, and a tiny line of worry creased the creamy skin between her dark eyebrows.

‘I will be,’ he answered. ‘There are some massive changes happening in my life right now, which, as far as I’m concerned, is really bad timing.’

He reached across the table and touched her hand, which was wrapped around the glass of pomegranate and apple juice the waiter had set in front of her.

‘Bad timing?’ she repeated.

‘Very bad timing,’ he confirmed, and said no more, because he knew that although an attraction as strong as the one he was feeling couldn’t possibly be one-sided, there was nothing to be gained from bringing it out into the open. He simply had no time! No time for them to get to know each other properly.

No time to woo her.

Instead, he asked how much diving she’d done, and listened as her quiet, slightly husky voice talked about the Great Barrier Reef, a holiday she’d had in the Seychelles, and compared other dives she’d done with the Ablezian Sea.

Was he listening? Marni had no idea, but she was happy to have something to talk about and as she spoke she relived some of her underwater adventures, and remembering the joy and fun she’d experienced eased the tension in her body so talking now was easy, her companion prompting her to keep going if she lagged.

The meal arrived—a covered earthenware dish set in the middle of the table, another dish of rice set beside it. The waiter added small plates of cut-up salad vegetables and a platter of the flat bread that she was beginning to realise was part of every meal in this country.

‘Traditionally, I would serve you, but perhaps you would prefer to help yourself,’ Gaz said, lifting the lid of the earthenware pot and releasing the mouthwatering aroma of the dish. ‘I would not like to give you too much or too little.’

Ordinary words—common-sense words—so why was she all atingle again?

It was his voice, she decided as she helped herself to rice then added a scoop of the meat dish, before putting a little tomato salad on her plate and taking a piece of bread. His voice sneaked inside her skin and played havoc with her nerves, but when she’d finished her selection and looked across at him, his eyes, intent on her again, caused even more havoc.

Totally distracted now, she picked up her glass of juice and took too big a gulp.

At least half choking to death brought her back to her senses. Marni finished coughing and, flushed with embarrassment, bent her head to tackle her meal.

Fortunately, Gaz seemed to sense her total disarray and took over the conversation, talking about the hospital, built within the last two years, and with the charge of looking after not only local children but those from nearby countries that did not have the facilities this hospital had.

‘We have a big oncology department, keeping children here during their treatment so they don’t have to travel to and fro. With those children, we try to make sure they have someone from their family travel with them—sometimes, it seems, the entire family.’

His rueful smile at this confession undid all the good concentrating on her food had done for Marni, mainly because it softened his face and somehow turned him from the sexiest man she’d ever laid eyes on to a real, caring human being.

All you’re wanting is an affair, not to fall in love, she reminded herself.

But at least hospital talk got them through the meal and when they’d finished, Marni sat back in her chair.

‘Thank you, that was utterly delicious. Wonderful. Perhaps I could pay the bill as thanks to you for introducing me to this place? Is that allowed in Ablezia?’

She offered what she knew must be a pathetic smile, but now they’d finished eating she had no idea how to get away—which she needed to do—or what was the polite thing to do next.

Say goodbye and leave?

Wait for him to see her back down to the ground floor?

And if he offered to walk her back to the quarters—through the gardens and lemon orchard, the scented air, the moonlight…

It was too soon even to think about what might happen and the man had already said he had no time.

‘You definitely will not pay when I invited you to dinner,’ Gaz was saying as she ran these increasingly panicked thoughts through her head. ‘It is taken care of but, come, you must see the desert from outside, where you can really appreciate its beauty.’

He rose and came to stand beside her, drawing out her chair, which meant his entire body was far too close to hers when she stood up.

Turning to face him, this time with thanks for the courtesy of the chair thing, brought her even closer—to lips that twitched just slightly with a smile, and eyes that not only reflected the smile but held a glint of laughter.

The wretch knows the effect he’s having on me, Marni realised, and found a little anger stirring in the mess of emotions flooding through her body.

Good!

Anger was good—not argumentative anger but something to hold onto. The man was a born flirt and though he obviously couldn’t help being the sexiest man alive, he didn’t need to use it to snare unwary females.

Wasn’t wanting to be snared one of the reasons she’d come here?

Marni ignored the query and allowed Gaz to lead her out of the restaurant and along another corridor that led to a balcony overlooking the desert—the magic sea of black and silver.

She sniffed the air, then breathed it in more deeply.

‘It’s strange,’ she said, turning to her companion, her reaction to him almost forgotten as she considered the puzzle the desert air presented. ‘I know the sea is just over there, but there’s no smell of salt in the air, no smell of the spices escaping from the restaurant or the lemon blossom that I know is out in the gardens down below us. No smell at all, really.’

He smiled again—a genuine smile this time, not a teasing one—but this one made Marni’s heart flutter.

‘The desert is a great cleanser. Over the centuries much blood has been spilled on the sands, and civilisations have risen and collapsed, their ruins buried by the sand. For people like me, with Bedouin blood, the desert is as necessary as water, for it is where we replenish our souls.’

He was serious, the words so graphically beautiful Marni could only shake her head.

And smile.

A small smile but a genuine one.

A smile that for some reason prompted him to inch a little closer and bend his head, dropping the lightest of kisses on her parted lips.

Had she started, so that he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her?

Marni had no idea, too lost in the feel of his lips on hers to think straight.

So when he started talking again, she missed the first bit, catching up as he said, ‘You are like a wraith from the stories of my childhood, a beautiful silver-haired, blueeyed, pale-limbed being sent to tempt men away from their duties.’

She was still catching up when he kissed her again.

Properly this time so she melted against him, parted her lips to his demanding tongue, and kissed him back, setting free all the frustration of the lust infection in that one kiss.

It burned through her body in such unfamiliar ways she knew she’d never been properly kissed before—or maybe had never responded properly—which might explain—

It sent heat spearing downwards, more heat shimmering along her nerves, tightening her stomach but melting her bones.

Her head spun and her senses came alive to the smoothness of his lips, the taste of spice on his tongue, the faint perfume that might be aftershave—even the texture of his shirt, a nubby cotton, pressed against the light cotton tunic top she wore, was sending flaring awareness through her nipples.

A kiss could do all this…

Gaz eased away, shaken that he’d been so lost to propriety as to be kissing this woman, even more shaken by the way she’d reacted to the kiss and the effect it had had on him. Heat, desire, a hardening, thickening, burning need….

For one crazy moment he considered taking things further, dallying with the nurse called Marni, seeing where it went.

Certainly beyond dallying, he knew that much.

Al’ana! Where is your brain? his head demanded. Yes, I thought so! it added as if he’d answered.

He looked at the flushed face in front of him, glimpsed the nipples peaked beneath the fine cotton tunic, the glow of desire in her eyes.

Yes, it would definitely have gone further than dalliance…

‘I had no right to do that. I have no time. None! No time at all!’ He spoke abruptly—too abruptly—the words harshly urgent because he was denying his desires and angry with himself for—

For kissing her?

No, he couldn’t regret that.

Angry at the impossible situation.

This time when he turned to lead her back inside, he didn’t touch her elbow and guide her steps but stayed resolutely apart from the seductive siren who’d appeared, not from the sky but in full theatre garb, then jumped like a kangaroo right inside his skin…

Obviously married, Marni told herself. Serves you right, kissing on what wasn’t even a first date.

But she was too shaken by the kiss to care what the sensible part of her brain was telling her. Too shaken to think, let alone speak.

Standing silently beside Gaz in the lift, the foot of space between them was more like a million miles.

Back in the foyer, he spoke to one of the young porters who seemed to abound in the place.

‘Aziz will see you back to the residence,’ Gaz told her, then he nodded once and was gone, seeming to disappear like the wraith he’d called her.

Aziz was beckoning her towards the door so she followed, deciding she must be right about his marital status if the man she’d kissed didn’t want to be seen walking her through the gardens.

So she was well rid of him.

Wasn’t she?

Of course she was!

The gardens were as beautiful as ever, the scent of lemon blossom heavy in the air, but the magic was dimmed by her memory of the kiss, and now that embarrassment over her reaction was creeping in, she was beginning to worry about the future.

She was a professional. Of course she could work in Theatre with Gaz without revealing how he affected her. Not that he didn’t know, given her response, but at least she didn’t have to be revealing just how hard and fast she’d fallen for the man.

Lust, her head reminded her, and sadly she agreed.

For all the good it was going to do her when he’d made it obvious he wasn’t available!

She sighed into the night air. It was all too complicated!

CHAPTER THREE

HIDING HER REACTIONS to Gaz in Theatre proved unnecessary, because although she worked for five straight days, he was never rostered on in the same theatre as her.

She didn’t kid herself that he’d had his schedule changed to avoid her, doubting she was important enough to cause such a change, and caution told her not to mention him to Jawa, not to ask where he was operating or seek answers to any personal questions about the man, in case she unwittingly revealed how she felt.

Besides, they just didn’t do personal conversations, these Ablezians.

But her reaction to Gaz had certainly put a damper on her virginity quest, other male colleagues seeming pale and uninteresting by comparison, although she did accept an invitation to the movies from a young doctor on Safi’s ward.

She’d even accepted a goodnight kiss but she had felt nothing, not a tingle, not a sign of a spark—and the poor man had known it and had avoided her ever since.

So she worked, visited Safi, and worked again until finally she had time off—three days.

Nelson had emailed to say Pop was talking to the surgeon but was still undecided about the operation, although now he could walk barely a hundred metres without tiring.

She had to forget about Gaz and find a way to see this prince! Once she’d kept her part of the bargain, Pop would have to have the operation. He wasn’t one to renege on a deal.

And at least sorting out how you’re going to approach him should get your mind off Gaz, she told herself.

And it did, the whole matter seeming impossible until she read in the English-language newspaper that the new prince had reintroduced his father’s custom of meeting with the people once a week. Each Thursday he held court in a courtyard—was that where courtyards got their name?—at the palace, hearing grievances or problems, any subject allowed to approach and speak to him privately for a few minutes.

Reading further, Marni discovered the custom had stopped while his uncle had been the ruler but had been reinstated some weeks previously and was a great success.

She wasn’t actually a subject, but that couldn’t be helped. If she tied a black headscarf tightly over her hair and borrowed an all-concealing black abaya from Jawa and kept her head down—maybe with part of the scarf tied across the lower part of her face—she could slip in with the locals, have a minute to introduce herself and show the photo, perhaps even have a laugh with the man who’d been kind to her as a child.

The planets must have been aligned in her favour—though they’d definitely been against her last week—for the next meeting was the following day.

She emailed Nelson to tell him she was keeping her part of the bargain and to warn Pop she expected him to keep his, then went to collect the clothing she’d need.

Which was all very well in theory!

In practice, once dressed and sitting in the back of a cab on her way to the palace, a building she’d glimpsed from afar in her explorations, she realised just how stupid this was, how ridiculous the whole thing—making a deal with Pop so he’d have a lifesaving operation—fronting up to the prince of a foreign land to show him a photo of himself as a child.

The enormity of it made her shake her head in disbelief.

Yet here she was!

Huge arched gates in a high, sand-coloured wall opened into a courtyard big enough to hold a thousand people. It was an oasis of green—she remembered Gaz telling her how important green was—with beds of flowering roses, tinkling fountains, fruit trees and date palms. The garden had been designed and planted to provide shade but also to form little spaces like outdoor rooms where one could sit and read, or think, or just do nothing.

In the centre, facing the immense, low-set building, was an open grassed area and here the supplicants were gathering, seating themselves cross-legged on the ground in neat rows. Thankfully, there were not as many as Marni had expected, although, contrarily, part of her had hoped there would be too many and she could put off her ridiculous venture for another day.

She seated herself beside the last man in the back row, pleased it was a man as she knew he wouldn’t attempt to make conversation with a woman he did not know.

An exchange of salaams was enough, Marni with her head bent, not wanting to reveal pale eyes surrounded by even paler skin.

Intent on remaining unseen, she barely heard the words from the wide veranda that ran along the front of the palace. Not that hearing them more clearly would have helped.

Really smart idea, this, she thought despairingly. Just pop along to a meet and greet without a word of the language to tell you when it’s your turn to front up to His Maj!

A long line was already forming and as it snaked towards the veranda the man beside her said something then stood and joined the line. Checking that it already held some women, Marni slid into place behind him, her heart beating such a crazy rhythm she was surprised she could stay upright.

The line inched forward until she could see, on a low couch on the veranda, a white-robed figure, bowing his head as a supplicant approached him, apparently listening to the request or complaint before assigning the person to one of the men who stood behind the couch.

Some people were led to the edge of the veranda and returned to the courtyard, while others were taken in through a door behind the couch, perhaps to sort out business matters or to leave more details. Whatever reason people had to be here, the line moved without a hitch, the meet and greet, as Marni thought of it, a smoothly organised process.

The man in front of her reached the steps, and although instinct told her to flee, the memory of the greyness in Pop’s face held her steadfast in the grassy courtyard.

He had to have the operation!

The man moved on and one of the flunkeys supporting the main act waved Marni forward. Following the actions of those she’d seen, she approached swiftly, knelt on the pillow set before the robed figure and bowed her head, then lifted it to look at the face she’d seen in the newspaper back home and on billboards around the city.

The face she’d seen in Theatre, only in his snowy headdress he looked so different…

‘But—you’re—you’re you,’ she managed to get out before words evaporated from her head.

Gaz was staring at her, as bemused as she was apparently, although once again she suspected there was a smile hovering somewhere in his eyes.

‘I am,’ he finally said. ‘Definitely me. How may I help you?’

The voice had its usual effect, and Marni dissolved completely into a morass of words and half-sentences that she knew were making no sense at all.

‘Stupid, I knew that—but Pop needs the op—and then the photo—photos really—you were in the paper—and the job there—here—and I know it’s silly but he really wanted—so I came—’

‘You came?’ Gaz repeated.

Marni took a deep breath, looked into the face of the man she lusted after and smiled at the absurdity of it all.

‘Actually,’ she said, almost totally together now, ‘I came to—well, to say hello and show you a photo. Apparently we were betrothed, you see, a long time ago, and I know it’s stupid but I promised Pop I’d try to meet you and—’

She was rattling on again so she stopped the babble and reached into the pocket of her borrowed abaya, but before she could pull out the photo the man she’d written off as a flunkey had grabbed her wrist in a grip of steel.

‘I think she wants to marry me, not shoot me,’ Gaz said, adding something in his own language so the man withdrew his hand and stepped away, leaving Marni burning with embarrassment.

Gaz took the photo, frowning at it, thinking back perhaps, looking from it to Marni, shaking his head, serious now, although a gleam of amusement shone deep in his eyes.

‘Oh, but this is wonderful!’ he finally declared, a delighted smile flashing across his face. ‘We cannot talk now, but you have no idea how fortuitous this is. Mazur will take you to a side room, get you tea or a cold drink. I will join you shortly.’

Marni was still trying to work out the wonderful and fortuitous bits when Gaz reached out to help her back to her feet, indicating she should follow the man who’d stepped forward on his other side.

Totally bewildered by the whole charade—Gaz was Prince Ghazi? How could that be?—she followed Mazur, stumbling slightly as she was about to enter the room and realising she hadn’t removed her sandals.

They entered a huge, open room, with high, arched doorways curtained in what looked like gold-coloured silk, the drapes pulled back and held with golden, heavily tasselled cords. The floor was of white marble, inlaid with coloured stones that made twining patterns of leaves and flowers, so brilliantly beautiful she had to pause to take them in.

Scattered here and there were immense carpets, woven in patterns of red, blue and green. Low settees were placed at intervals along the walls, cushions piled on them. Here and there, groups of people sat or stood, obviously waiting for further conversation with Gaz—Prince Ghazi!

‘This is the majlis, the public meeting room,’ Mazur explained. ‘but you will be more comfortable in a side room.’ He led her towards an arched opening to one side of the big area and into a smaller version of it—patterned marble floor, a bright rug and a pale yellow sofa with bright cushions scattered over it.

Mazur waited until she was seated on the softly sprung sofa before asking, ‘You would like tea perhaps? We have English tea or mint tea, cardamom, of course, and other flavours if you wish.’

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