The Sheikh Surgeon's Proposal

She surged up, shaking with horror, her hand begging permission to approach, to defuse the shock waves of his revisited anguish. He caught it, buried his face there, nuzzling her clammy flesh with the fierceness of a tiger seeking solace, the blackness of his voice, his pain, lancing through her.

“Majd was far frailer than I am, always pushed himself to fill his big-brother role.”

“Aneurysms don’t rupture on exertion and you know it!” Her vehemence was instant, final.

His let go of her hand, let his fall to his side, his lips twisting in self-revulsion. “If I didn’t tire him to death, I caused his death in a different way. I’m the doctor in the family. Ever since I became one the whole family has let me take care of their health, make their every medical decision. Majd was not only the brother I worshipped, he was this land’s crown prince. I should have checked up on him routinely. A simple CT or MRI to the brain would have detected the aneurysm in time to do something about it. He trusted me, and he died because of my negligence. I failed him.”

This was what he lived with?

She caught his hand and squeezed it. She had to stop him doing this to himself. “You can’t even let yourself think that. Since when are CTs and MRIs routine or done without serious indications? If he didn’t have symptoms to warrant them, you know it’s contraindicated to have them! There was no negligence on your part. You didn’t fail him. It was fate.”

His pupils dilated, like a black hole consuming the sun. She squeezed his hand harder, desperate to yank him out of his mire of guilt and self-hatred. He resisted her for a moment. Then he succumbed, snatched her hand to his lips, his eyes burning with gratitude, acknowledging her intentions, if not their validity.

She’d thought his name so fit him, lord and owner of her heart, king of all men in her eyes. How little she had known.

And though she’d never thought he’d ever be within reach again, it was only now that she felt him … vanish. Forever. She withdrew her hand, let it fall, a useless, lifeless thing by her side.

It didn’t seem he noticed her withdrawal, pressed closer, intent on sharing the rest of his torment, unable to stop now he’d started. “As a younger son, the odds were that the throne would never fall to me and I was left free to pursue my goals. Then the unthinkable happened and I’m no longer free. This mission is my last indulgence in my old life, my old purpose, before I’m forced to relinquish my vocation to take on the mantle of diplomacy in preparation for the time when I’m forced to ascend to the throne. But that isn’t why …”

His words halted, something imploring entering his eyes. She heard the rest loud and clear.

This isn’t why I tried to push you away.

She felt a strange detachment descend on her as she watched him struggle with revealing just why, her mind a blank.

“Majd had two daughters, so now I, next in line to the throne, must choose a possible future queen from the list of acceptable women from our major tribes. I must choose a bride to produce an heir. At the time the succession fell to me, I considered it just another duty I’d have to fulfill. But now, though this won’t happen a minute before I’m forced to, months—years if I can at all help it—after I take the throne, I still—still …”

And he said no more.

And she still couldn’t get why he’d felt the need to push her away.

Had he thought she’d expected commitment from him and pushed her away because he couldn’t promise any? Didn’t he know she’d never entertained the possibility, even when she’d thought he was only one of the many thousands of royals around?

The only explanation was that he had no idea what she thought, and his acute sense of honor had refused to raise her hopes in vain. Or maybe he knew she’d realized all she could ever have with him would be fleeting yet felt he owed his destined status more caution and the wife looming in his future more fidelity.

Whatever he thought, it distressed him. And she wanted to release him, give him peace. She tried to.

“Malek, I—I ache for your loss, for your burdens. I sensed them, wanted to do all I could to make them hurt less that day when we came back from Mejbel. But that’s all I wanted. I never expected anything in return—or anything at all. Believe me. You don’t need to explain your obligations or feel bad about me or about anything you did. You never led me on.”

He rumbled something harsh, laden in fury and disbelief. “I didn’t? Strange. I led myself on.”

A gasp scraped her throat. What did he mean?

“I led myself on all the way,” he growled, turning on her, ferocity blasting off him. “All the damned way to no return.”

Oh, God. Is he saying he—he feels the same?

No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly have fallen in love, too.

Yes, love. Far beyond love. She hadn’t dared name the immense, all-consuming feelings she had for him, which had been building since the first moment she’d laid eyes on him, wishing to keep even a shred of herself un-surrendered. But it had been an exercise in futility. Reality would have remained the same no matter the lack of label or the escape from self-confrontation.

“Malek—don’t …” She had no idea what she wanted to say. Elation and desperation were hacking away at her, and she couldn’t bear that he’d be feeling the same.

He wouldn’t let her find words. He snatched her off her feet, making her feel weightless, powerless, soaring, then his arms pulled her against his hardness, crushed her to his chest where she’d dreamed of being.

She moaned her surrender, her greed, her welcome, clawed back at him. He took her to the trailer’s wall, pushed her against it, dominated her. But he was also a supplicant, worshipping, devouring, his lips wrenching hot, blind, desperate kisses from hers, every convulsive press of his hands, every molten glide of his lips, every invasive thrust of his tongue showing her how much—just how much—she would be losing. Would never have.

But she had it, him, now. He was there, losing himself in her. She had to hoard all she could of him.

She’d barely started when he tore his lips away. She cried out, surged up, desperate for his breath so she could breathe, for his heartbeat so her heart wouldn’t stop, needing one more plunge into his taste and potency to fill up for the desolate future without him.

He thwarted her, his hands shackles on her shoulders holding her off, his face contorted in agony. Her hungry sobs became ones of answering agony, tears that felt like acid eating their way out of her eyes and down her face.