The Sheikh's Captive American (Zahkim Sheikhs 1)

Dr. Al Din glanced from Tarek to Sheikha Amal and then nodded. "That would be excellent. Be alert for headaches, nausea, dizzy spells, or any confusion. Monitoring for the next two days is advised. The potential still exists for bleeds in the brain. If you will excuse me, I will authorize her discharge."

Tarek glanced at his grandmother. In truth, he had no objection to Tess coming to the palace, as long as his grandmother didn’t fill her head with rubbish about fate and prophecies. He gave her a warning look then headed back to Tess's room.

He found her sitting on the edge of her bed, her IV removed, and her bare legs visible. Those legs stopped him in the doorway. Smooth, tanned, and long, those legs left his mouth dry and his heart beating fast. He could only stare, caught by the sight of so much bare skin, as stunned as if he'd been hit by lightning.

Tess sat up straighter and tugged at the hem of her hospital gown. That simple motion freed Tarek's gaze. "The doctor said I could leave, but I want to see Phil before I go. Can you recommend a hotel?"

He blinked and had to pull his mind from the image of having those legs wrapped around his waist. "We will not hear of you going to a hotel. My grandmother is right that you deserve the respect due to a woman who has survived a near tragedy. You saved your and your pilot's lives. I insist you do me the honor of accepting my hospitality."

She wiggled her feet. That had him staring again. She did not paint her nails, and she had shapely, elegant feet. "I don't want to impose…"

Dragging his gaze back up to her face, he forced a smile. His hand tightened on the doorknob. He would keep himself in control. She was his guest. "It will be no imposition at all, I assure you. And the doctor says you need care for a few days. I will also enable visits to see how your pilot fares. So you see, you must come."

Smiling, she tipped her head to one side. Her hair swung down slightly, the red highlights flashing. She had a dimple in her left cheek. "To your desert?"

"I do have an actual house. Although 'house' might not be the most precise word for it. I will have clothes sent to you at once—yours are somewhat the worse for wear. Then a wheelchair and a visit to your friend before we go."

She pushed off the bed and stood. "I need to move and make sure all the sand is out of my joints. I'm not using a wheelchair."

Tarek crossed his arms. She was almost as stubborn as he was. "You will use a wheelchair. It is hospital policy. Or you will not see your friend. Nor will you leave here."

She locked stares with him, her green eyes sparking with challenge. Her chin rose, and for an instant, he was reminded of how his grandmother had stared at him. He was not about to yield, however. He was not only ruler of his country—he was not a man to cross.

At last, she gave a nod. "Yeah, okay. You're probably right. I've got a feeling I'd get two feet down the hall and keel over. I'll be good. I promise."

Chapter Three

Tess would never admit it, but she was hurting. Everywhere. From her hair to her toes. She'd already discovered the bruises on her chest from the harness straps—and she was really hoping Tarek had not been around for her change from clothing to hospital gown. Heat spread up her neck at the thought of him.

Okay, so he was more than cute. Tall, dark, and with that way-too-sexy beard of his that made her think about how it would feel for him to rub his chin over her skin. She'd never been with a guy with a beard before, and she could only wonder what it'd feel like. The current hipster lumberjack trend turned her off, but Tarek's well-trimmed facial hair might change things. If it ever went that far. And maybe it would. She shivered and tried to focus on getting into the clothes provided.

Loose white trousers, tunic, robe, and some kind of headscarf. The fabric was soft—cotton probably—the cut pretty much one size fits everyone, and it left her feeling exotic. It was better than a hospital gown, for sure. She glanced at herself in the bathroom mirror and pulled a face.

She'd always lived by the walk-it-off philosophy of dealing with injury or illness. It had served her well up to now. For the moment, however, it was going to be more about creaking around. A faint headache lurked behind her temples. She had the dry taste of sand still in her mouth. How much of her stuff had been salvaged from the plane's wreckage? Clothes maybe. Perhaps the gifts she'd brought for Riya and her team in Mumbai.

Her birth control pills.

Her face flamed, and the corner of her mouth curled up. Okay, thinking way too much about Sheikh Tarek.

Did they even have birth control here? The Middle East wasn't known for its progressive values. She hit the nurse-call button and finished dressing. The nurse, a skinny woman with dark brown hair piled high and scrubs too big for her, arrived in less than thirty seconds. Tess wondered if she and Phil were the only patients or if being a sheikh gave Tarek enough clout to keep the staff hopping.

With a smile and accented English, the nurse asked, "How may I help?"

"Do you know if my belongings were brought to the hospital? I have a…prescription I take. If it was lost, I was hoping I could get a supply."

"I understand your luggage was retrieved from the plane. All should be waiting for you at the palace."

"Palace? Guess it's good to be a sheikh." She brushed off the nurse's words. Tarek probably had some kind of villa or large house. The nurse left and came back with a wheelchair.

Tess rolled her eyes, but sat down and said, "I need to see Phil." And if the nurse didn't take her to Phil's room, she was going to stand up and find it on her own.

“Of course, miss.”

The nurse wheeled her into a room down the hall where she found Phil hooked up to more monitors and tubing than Tess liked to see. He opened his eyes and smiled, and Tess figured those pupils of his meant he was feeling no pain.

"How you doing?" she asked.

Phil wa