Well, it was caved in enough that she’d have been seriously injured, if not killed, if she’d still been in the car.
A bright spike of adrenaline went through her, an aftershock to the first wave from the intersection. She’d seen that blue car at the last moment, and her foot on the gas pedal had a mind of its own. And then the children—oh, god, all the children standing on the sidewalk. There had been no other choice. Column or children, and she’d prayed there were no children behind the column.
She sucked in a deep breath, and the man holding her tightened his grip.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I—” A full awareness came over her. He was holding her in his arms like the hero on the cover of a romance novel. A blush rose to her cheeks, and she took in another deep breath. Whoever he was, he smelled good. Fresh from the shower. A hint of a masculine cologne. “I’m all right.”
It was very nearly true. Her shoulders felt tight, as if she’d tried to brace herself for the impact and overdone it. She wriggled her ankles to make sure her legs were all right, then shifted her weight. The man let her down onto the sidewalk, and Mackenzie’s heart raced. She looked past him—no children on the sidewalk. A few men had gathered near the column and were surveying the damage done to her car, but other than that—
“Was anyone hurt? Was anyone—”
The crowd descended upon them then, men from the mosque coming out to clap her hero on the shoulder, ask him how he’d pulled it off.
Mackenzie dragged her eyes from the sidewalk to his face.
Her stomach lurched. The man was Sheikh Issam, member of the royal family.
And the exact person she’d come here to meet.
He was looking at her, his dark eyes piercing. The photographs she’d found of him in preparation for her visit had not done him justice. He was far taller than he’d seemed in the pictures. And his muscles—she could hardly look away from his muscles, despite the fact that he wore a white dress shirt. Her mouth watered at the sight of him.
But no—no. She was there to negotiate a deal, not fall hastily in lust with the handsome sheikh who’d saved her life. Her heart battered against her rib cage. That’s what had happened. He had saved her life.
He put a hand in the air to still the chatter of the other men and took a step closer to her.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
The options raced through her brain, lightning fast. She could pretend to be utterly shaken, pretend she didn’t know who he was, or—
He narrowed his eyes, then raised a gentle hand to where her hair had fallen over her cheekbone, brushing it back with a movement that seemed almost professional. “Wait. You’re Mackenzie Peters.”
Busted.
“We’re supposed to be meeting this afternoon. I’m Sheikh Issam.”
“Yes—of—of course you are. I’m pleased to meet you.” She stuck out her hand for him to shake. “Though not under these circumstances. I’m really sorry about the column.”
“I’m only glad there were no serious injuries.”
It was her moment. Mackenzie felt the opening in the conversation, and why not? Let him see her here, vulnerable like the women and children who were being housed in that ancient fort, and her argument might hold more sway.
“Sheikh Issam,” s
he began quickly as the men around him began talking again, recounting what had happened. “I wanted to speak with you about the fortifications in—” She needed to get through to him. It had not gone well with her brother-in-law the past couple of days.
“Sheikh Issam.” A voice cut in, and the crowd separated to let a man through. Mackenzie guessed he was someone with some degree of power—the imam at the mosque, perhaps. He placed his hands on Issam’s broad shoulders. “Are you all right? What about your nephew?”
“I’m okay,” piped up the boy, who stood with his hand hooked in one of Issam’s pockets.
“I’m so very glad to hear that, Inan.”
Inan, Mackenzie thought. She’d done some research on the royal family before setting off for Al-Dashalid. This was Kyril’s son, and she’d very nearly run him down with her car. She swallowed hard. This was not a good start. And the way things had gone with her brother-in-law had been dismal, too.
“Everyone else?” called the imam. He moved through the crowd, checking on person after person.
“Sheikh Issam,” Mackenzie tried again. “There are women and children in need of—”