The Sheikh Surgeon's Proposal

He waved this hand of his, the epitome of strength and elegance, the very expression of power and entitlement. “You’ll have to forgive me for defying your wishes, but now I know your name, I can never call you anything but Janaan.”

She opened her mouth to contest his presumption, to insist on keeping the distance of formality—and realization knocked her mouth shut on the semi-formed protest.

He was an Aal Hamdaan. That was the name of the royal family of Damhoor. He was one of them!

Of course he was, moron.

Hadn’t she known she was on her way to meet some sheikh who had his position by having been born a royal? And though she’d had a ridiculously inaccurate mental image of him, that Malek was that sheikh should have been the first thing she’d realized the moment she’d heard his voice mocking her on the other end of the line.

But that was assuming she had any mental faculties left functional. She was sinking deeper into shock. And it only made her angrier that even now his effect on her was deepening.

“I may not be able to stop you from calling me whatever you want,” she quavered. “But don’t blame anyone but yourself if I refuse to answer to anything but the names I specified.”

He went totally still. He didn’t even give off any vibes. She couldn’t tell what his reaction to her impertinence was. Or maybe that stillness was answer enough.

Then he moved closer, and drawled, “Can you be this cruel? Depriving me of the pleasure of calling you by this name that so suits you?”

“Since it’s a stupid name, I now know what you think of me.” But he’d be right. She was being stupid. Big time.

She’d always held her tongue, never voiced her ready, blunt opinions. But now, when she should be exercising her lifelong restraint most, here she was doing her best to offend and alienate this man who must have oodles of power, who was the one who had the say in whether she’d stay in Damhoor. Where she so desperately wanted to stay.

But contrary to looking offended and alienated, he seemed elated. “How can you even think that a name that means one’s very heart and mind and soul is stupid? And beyond its evocative meaning, its very sound is exquisite—refined, flowing, feminine. Surely you know you more than live up to it, in every way?”

Did this guy have an advanced degree in flirtation? If there were some championship in it, he must hold the title. But was he flirting? It felt as if he meant every word.

Of course you’d like to think that, idiot.

And then what would she do with his sincere admiration? He was so out of her league and this was so transient that even letting herself feel good about it—if she could feel anything in her agitation, that was—was pointless.

Then he added to her agitation. “So, Janaan Latimer, now our appointment has become irrelevant, I can think of nothing better than to escort you to an early lunch.”

Jay gaped. This—this god was asking her out to lunch?

OK, so he was telling her he was taking her to lunch, but it amounted to the same thing. And she was certain he hadn’t intended to take the man he’d thought he’d meet out to lunch.

So was it because the unusual circumstances had broken the formality with which he would have received her had things gone to plan? Or was it that he wanted to prolong their time together as his eyes were telling her, as his words corroborated?

And just what was it with her today?

He was just being courteous, and she was constructing intricate delusions on what she thought she saw in his eyes, heard in his words. She’d been having what she could only call a breakdown of sanity since she’d laid eyes on him!

She shook her head to dispel the feeling of sinking deeper under a spell, his spell. “Thanks for the generous offer, but I have to decline. And I don’t see why our appointment has become irrelevant. We can still have the interview. We can even have it here. If you’ll just ask me what you intended to, then let me take a taxi back to my hotel, I’d be most grateful.”

Malek stared at Janaan as if she’d started talking in a language he’d never heard before.

She’d just refused him.

He’d invited her to lunch and she’d refused him.

So he hadn’t exactly invited her, he amended inwardly. He’d stated his desire to have her company, his intention to have it, not for a second thinking there was any possibility of her turning him down.

But she had. Not only that, but she’d done it with such an adorable mixture of resoluteness, hauteur and shyness that it was all he could do to stop himself from reaching out and hauling her into his arms. Which would be crazy.

But with every passing second it seemed less crazy, was becoming all he could think of doing … Ehda ya rejjal.

His self-rebuke to calm down wasn’t all that brought the overpowering urge under precarious control. Just the thought that he might distress her in any way—though he was certain she hadn’t feared him for a second—was enough to leash him in.

He still couldn’t stop himself from leaning closer into her aura, watching her, greedy for her every nuance as he murmured, “We’ve already discussed the impossibility of me leaving you here, or anywhere else. And we can conduct our interview all that much better over a meal cooked with passion and to perfection and served with all the charm and cordiality of my kingdom. As you’ve already pointed out, you’re a guest in my land. Let me show you how valued you are, let me give you a welcome worthy of you.”

He marveled at her reaction, at its explicitness. He could feel his every word’s impact on her, could sense her reeling, struggling to right herself. He was certain she was fighting the urge to blurt out an acceptance, was convinced she’d delivered her first refusal as an involuntary conditioning not to accept a man’s overtures at once. Yet from her reaction it was clear she hadn’t thought he’d press her, was flailing now that he had.

He was incapable of doing anything else. He had to have more of her. She had to accept. And any moment now, she would.

She inhaled a deep breath. He did, too, held it, waiting for the words that would assure him of more time with her.

“That’s very generous of you,” she started, a delightful wobble making a heart-tingling tremolo of every second syllable. Yes. Her next words would be the craved acceptance. “But I again insist on concluding this now.” What? “I am a guest in Damhoor only in terms of being new here, but I’m not here as a tourist. I’m here to work. So if we can just get down to business, this would be the only welcome I’d appreciate.”