Kitabı oxu: «Sheikh Surgeon Claims His Bride»
‘Where is the pain worst?’ Emily demanded, refusing to let herself think about the warmth of his oiled-satin skin as she ran both thumbs up his neck, one on each side of his cervical vertebrae.
Emily could feel the tension in every one of his muscles, but whether that was the result of the pain or because she was touching him she didn’t know. All she knew was that she needed to help him if she could…and if he would let her.
‘Relax,’ she urged as she began to gently massage the knotted muscles at the base of his skull. ‘Is it too painful to bend your knees up and rest your forehead on them?’
Relax?
Zayed stifled a groan. Didn’t the woman know she was asking for the impossible? He hadn’t been relaxed since he’d looked up and seen her standing in the doorway.
She’d been like a ray of sunshine with her blonde hair and pale summery clothes sprinkled with flowers, and as for those eyes…their limpid green had seemed cool and soothing as they’d taken his measure across the room, even as they’d sparked something impossible deep inside him.
Josie Metcalfe lives in Cornwall with her long- suffering husband. They have four children. When she was an army brat, frequently on the move, books became the only friends that came with her wherever she went. Now that she writes them herself she is making new friends, and hates saying goodbye at the end of a book—but there are always more characters in her head, clamouring for attention until she can’t wait to tell their stories.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE DOCTOR’S BRIDE BY SUNRISE*
TWINS FOR A CHRISTMAS BRIDE
A MARRIAGE MEANT TO BE
SHEIKH SURGEON, SURPRISE BRIDE
*Brides of Penhally Bay
Welcome to Penhally Bay!
Nestled on the rugged Cornish coast is the picturesque town of Penhally. With sandy beaches, breathtaking landscapes and a warm, bustling community—it is the lucky tourist who stumbles upon this little haven.
But now Mills & Boon® Medical™ Romance is giving readers the unique opportunity to visit this fictional coastal town through our brand-new twelve-book continuity… You are welcomed to a town where the fishing boats bob up and down in the bay, surfers wait expectantly for the waves, friendly faces line the cobbled streets and romance flutters on the Cornish sea breeze…
We introduce you to Penhally Bay Surgery, where you can meet the team led by caring and commanding Dr Nick Tremayne. Each book will bring you an emotional, tempting romance—from Mediterranean heroes to a sheikh with a guarded heart. There’s royal scandal that leads to marriage for a baby’s sake, and handsome playboys are tamed by their blushing brides! Top-notch city surgeons win adoring smiles from the community, and little miracle babies will warm your hearts. But that’s not all…
With Penhally Bay you get double the reading pleasure… as each book also follows the life of damaged hero Dr Nick Tremayne. His story will pierce your heart—a tale of lost love and the torment of forbidden romance. Dr Nick’s unquestionable, unrelenting skill would leave any patient happy in the knowledge that she’s in safe hands, and is a testament to the ability and dedication of all the staff at Penhally Bay Surgery. Come in and meet them for yourself…
SHEIKH SURGEON CLAIMS HIS BRIDE
BY
JOSIE METCALFE
MILLS & BOON
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PROLOGUE
THE pain was unrelenting, but Zayed was almost used to that by now.
What hurt his pride was to admit that, by this time in the evening, he had little chance of disguising the unevenness in his stride as he made his way down to the stretch of water-smoothed sand at the edge of Penhally Bay.
Anyway, there was nothing he could do to switch off the agony that came with the end of a busy day, other than taking large doses of analgesia, and he wasn’t going to start down that path. If using those means to relieve his pain left him unfit to take care of one of his little ones, there would be no point to his existence.
He swore softly as his foot caught on the roughness of the granite steps and forced himself to concentrate a little harder. At least, at this time of an August evening, with the sun sliding towards the ocean, there were few people around to notice if he stumbled about like a drunk.
He smiled wryly at the thought, unable to remember the last time he’d tasted alcohol. It must have been back in the days when he’d been in medical school, indulging in that brief spell of belated teenage rebellion…before his world had become such a dangerous place, before everything had finally spiralled out of control.
‘But Penhally isn’t such a bad place to end up,’ he murmured as he paused long enough to scan his surroundings, the perfect picture postcard of a Cornish fishing village. It had been only fairly recently that the influx of summer visitors drawn to the better-than-average surfing beach had expanded the place into quite a thriving little town. He’d first visited the area one summer, in his other life, and the serenity of this little place, where almost every building looked out towards the vastness of the ocean, had called to him.
Perhaps that was because it was so unlike his own country. ‘Apart from the sand, of course,’ he added with a half-hearted chuckle, glad that there was no one at this end of the beach to hear him talking to himself.
He leant forward to deposit his towel in the sand and the renewed stab of pain was enough to take his breath away for several seconds while he waited for it to subside.
‘Stupid!’ he hissed as he stripped off his cotton shirt and trousers and started the stretching routine that began every visit to the beach, knowing that it didn’t matter how careful he was, by the time he finished, every nerve and muscle would be screaming for him to stop.
It was a great temptation to give in to it—it would be so much easier not to put himself through this agony. But that way his mobility and stamina would never improve, and that was unacceptable. If he didn’t make the fullest recovery possible, then he wouldn’t be able to help the children who needed him so badly.
Anyway, the pain was a necessary part of his life. It was a reminder…a penance…a payment he had to make for the fact that he had survived while Leika, Kashif and so many others…
Zayed deliberately blocked the thought before it went any further. His nightmares were vivid enough without allowing himself to recall those events by day as well.
It was enough for him to know that he was guilty of having allowed them to die. The pain he felt could never be enough to balance the loss of everything he’d once held most dear.
‘That is one of the good things about coming back to Penhally,’ Emily murmured aloud, mesmerised by the changing colours in the streaks of cloud against the horizon while she waited for the sun to sink into the sea at the end of another perfect summer’s day.
And there was another benefit to coming back to her home town, she added silently as a good-looking man stepped into view on the sand and proceeded to strip his clothing off.
‘Oh, yes!’ she breathed as the last golden rays outlined each new vista, from broad shoulders and a wide chest decorated with an intriguing swathe of dark silky-looking hair to a tautly muscled belly and slim hips, all covered by darkly tanned skin. ‘That is definitely a good reason for living near a beach.’
As she watched, he began an obviously well-practised routine of stretches before progressing to a seriously strenuous workout. For just a moment she wondered if he was putting on a show for her benefit, but there was no way that he could know she was there. This little alcove at the base of the rocks was one of the first places to be thrown into shadow as evening began to fall, and had been a favourite spot of hers ever since she’d come to live with her grandmother in her teens.
It wasn’t until the man finally turned to walk into the sea that she noticed that he was limping fairly heavily, and her professional interest was raised. Had he injured himself during that punishing drill he’d just put himself through, or could the disability itself be the reason for the routine?
The light level had fallen too much by now for her to see any evidence of an injury, and while he had probably come to the beach at this time so that he could have some solitude, the idea of leaving anyone to swim alone when they might get into difficulties and need assistance wasn’t something she could contemplate.
‘Well, it’s no hardship to sit here a bit longer,’ she murmured. The air was still warm and even though a playful breeze had started up as the sun began to go down, she was perfectly sheltered where she was. Then, of course, there was the fact that she would have a second chance to look at that beautiful body when whoever he was finally emerged from the water.
In the meantime, she had some serious thinking to do and a mountain of guilt to come to terms with.
She’d been away for such a long time while she’d gone through her arduous medical training and had only realised that it had been far too long when a visit had revealed the dreadful secret her grandmother had been hiding.
‘I didn’t want you to come home just to watch me die, not when you had all those exams to take,’ she’d explained stubbornly when Emily had arrived for a long weekend visit to give her the latest good news in person.
She’d been so looking forward to seeing Beabea’s face when she told her that she’d just been offered the plum job she’d been after at St Piran’s Hospital. Admittedly, it was only a six-month placement, but she had high hopes that there might be a permanent position she could apply for at the end of that time.
The taste of triumph had turned to ashes in her mouth when she’d realised just how little time she had left with the only family she possessed in the world.
With her grandmother’s permission, she’d spoken to the oncologist at St Piran’s the next day, hoping against hope that there was room for some glimmer of optimism— an operation, perhaps, or chemotherapy—but, if anything, the prognosis was worse than she’d thought.
‘She could have several months, but I really think it’s unlikely,’ the kindly man had said, leaving Emily feeling sick to her stomach. ‘With this sort of thing, the patient is usually fairly well, despite the devastation going on inside, right up until the last couple of weeks. That’s the point when she’ll need to come into hospital or transfer into a hospice—somewhere where they’ll be able to monitor the pain medication, because she’ll need it by then.’
‘If she’s put on PCA, couldn’t I take care of her at home?’ Emily had pleaded, knowing just how much her grandmother loved her little cottage. The place was full of years of love and so many happy memories, and if she was put on a morphine pump for patient-controlled pain relief, Emily wouldn’t have to worry that she wasn’t giving her grandmother the correct dose.
‘You could, initially,’ he’d agreed. ‘But we’ve found that it’s often far too stressful for the patient to stay at home right to the end, knowing that their relatives are having to do so much for them and watching them die by inches. In the end, the two of you will find that you’ll know when it’s time to make the move, for both your sakes.’
And in the meantime, Emily had started her new job under Mr Breyley and had obtained permission to spend her off-duty hours far further away than the immediate vicinity of St Piran’s.
Their little system had worked well, with Emily taking care of her grandmother’s needs before she drove the hour to St Piran’s, knowing that Beabea still had many friends in the Penhally area, including several in the medical profession in one capacity or another, who would be dropping in throughout the time she herself was away on duty.
And while her grandmother slept for longer stretches each day, Emily took herself off for walks along the harbour, past the Penhally Arms and the Anchor Hotel. Each time she glanced in she saw that holidaymakers and locals alike were enjoying themselves, and it seemed somehow wrong that they were oblivious of the life-and-death battle that was going on just around the corner.
A time or two she’d sat at the café on the end of the row, sipping a long frothy latte while she watched the holidaymakers leaning on the parapet of the bridge, who were watching the waters of the river Lanson hurrying on the final stretch of their journey to the sea.
She’d stood there a time or two herself, gazing down at the chuckling, purling waters tumbling over the rocks while she’d pondered on the timelessness of the view. So little had changed from the first time she’d balanced on the parapet on her stomach as a teenager, risking a painful dunking if she’d gone head first over the edge. And yet, even though the stones and the water hadn’t changed, everything else had.
She was a different person from that teenager, a doctor, now, with the job of her dreams. And her grandmother, who had always seemed so ageless that she might live for ever, was now a shrunken old lady with thin grey hair and papery skin and barely enough energy to breathe.
In fact, apart from working under Mr Breyley, which was everything she’d hoped for and more, the one bright spot in her day was if she managed to make it to the beach to complete her mind-numbing run along the hard-packed sand before her mystery man arrived.
Several times she’d been tempted to speak to him, to let him know that she was there and to get her first good look at his face, but that would have spoilt the fantasies she’d been weaving about him, especially if she found out that he was only someone she’d gone to school with.
Then there was the fact that he might see her as some sort of voyeur, hiding in the rocks while she watched him put himself through his nightly torment, but she could always counter that accusation by pointing out that she was doing nothing more than acting as an unofficial lifeguard. Not that she thought that would cut much ice with a man who seemed so driven and so utterly self-contained. In fact, his focus seemed so intense that she found it difficult to imagine that he was the sort who would ever relax enough to reveal a softer side to his nature.
‘But that won’t stop me imagining one,’ Emily murmured as he set off into the water again lit only by the dying rays of the sun.
Today she’d really needed the distraction of watching him, to take her mind off the fact that she’d spent the afternoon settling her grandmother into her room up in the new hospice wing of the nursing home up on Penhally Heights.
The oncologist had been right after all. She’d been utterly determined to take care of her grandmother herself, even if it meant arranging to take some time off from her job. But in the end they had both agreed that it was finally time for Beabea to move out of the bedroom that had been hers ever since the day she’d moved into it as a new bride, more than fifty years ago.
‘And as soon as my mystery man stops punishing himself, it will be time to go back to the cottage and get some sleep,’ she told herself, although she didn’t like the prospect of going back there knowing that she was going to be completely alone in the little stone cottage for the very first time.
At least she had a great job to go to in the morning, and she might hear some more gossip about that foreign surgeon who had been setting up a specialist paediatric surgical unit at St Piran’s.
The buzz had been all around her ever since she’d started working for Mr Breyley at the opposite end of the dedicated paediatric block, and when she had time, she was going to take a walk upstairs to take a look at the setup that had everybody talking. After all, paediatric surgery had been her other choice for her specialty and she hadn’t finally decided which way she was going to go at the end of her six months with Mr Breyley if she wasn’t offered the chance of a permanent post.
CHAPTER ONE
EMILY paused silently in the shadows outside the recently expanded specialist paediatric surgical unit and fell in love.
Well, she’d needed something good to happen after the shock she’d received down in her own department.
She’d barely stuck her head inside the door when Mr Breyley’s secretary had beckoned her into the office.
‘I’m sorry he’s not here to tell you about it himself, Dr Livingston,’ the rather austere-looking woman had said with a slightly frazzled glance around at the haphazard piles of paper littering her normally pristine desk. Then she had unbent enough to murmur, confidentially, ‘He and his wife flew out to New Zealand this morning. Their first grandchild is on the way. He was diagnosed with transposition of the great arteries in utero and is arriving prematurely, so they wanted to be there for their daughter…at least, until the corrective surgery’s over and done with.’
‘Completely understandable,’ Emily had agreed, even as panic had started to set in. Was she about to lose her job? With Mr Breyley on the other side of the world, she had lost her mentor and tutor. The hospital would be unlikely to be able to find someone of his calibre available at short notice.
Then there was the fact that it hadn’t only been the job that had brought her back to Penhally. Of course, it had been a terrific step up on her career path, and the fact that it had been within easy travelling distance of Beabea had been a bonus. But now that her grandmother’s condition was rapidly worsening and now she’d transferred to the hospice, the last thing Emily wanted was to have to move away, perhaps to the other end of the country for a comparable post.
She just couldn’t do that. She needed to be here, in the hospital closest to Penhally, so that she could spend as much of these last precious days with her grandmother as she could. Also, there was the fact that transferring to another hospital at short notice, and so soon after starting a placement, could look bad on her CV. Anyway, there was no guarantee that she would find a comparable post either.
With the likelihood that her perfect job was going to vanish into thin air, there were other worries to be considered, too.
It was highly unlikely that the hospital would be willing to keep paying her salary until they appointed a new surgical consultant to take her on and, no matter how much she wanted to spend time with Beabea, she couldn’t afford to take an expensive break, either financially or professionally.
But she had so little time left to be with her grandmother and didn’t want to waste any of it travelling endless hours to and fro.
‘However,’ the senior consultant’s secretary continued, breaking into her endlessly circling thoughts, suddenly all efficiency, ‘before he left, Mr Breyley had another look at the application forms you sent in when you applied for the post on his firm. He’d remembered that you’d noted an interest in the field of paediatric orthopaedics as well, so he took your references to have a word with Mr Khalil about the situation. Anyway, he has persuaded Mr Khalil to let you join his team pro tem, to see whether you fit in.’
Emily blinked a bit at that. It was amazing that Mr Breyley had found time to consider her situation when he must have been desperate to start his journey to New Zealand, but she really wasn’t certain that she liked the sound of his arrangements for her. It almost made her sound like some substandard piece of equipment being dumped on an unwilling recipient.
Mr Breyley was an acknowledged expert in his field and had thought her good enough to join his team. And considering the fact that her record throughout her training had been second to none, it was almost an insult that this Mr Khalil had needed to be persuaded to take her on, even temporarily.
‘I’m sorry I can’t be more specific,’ the harried secretary continued, apparently oblivious to Emily’s chagrin at being treated as an unwanted parcel, ‘but Mr Khalil said to tell you that he’d either be in his office or in Paediatric Intensive Care.’
So here she was, on a mission to find Mr Khalil and see if she could discover why he thought his requirements so much higher than Mr Breyley’s when he was choosing new team members.
She’d started off her search at his office and found a stunningly beautiful woman with an intriguing accent manning the desk.
‘He is not available at the moment, and he will be starting his surgical list at ten this morning,’ she informed Emily coolly, as kohl-lined dark eyes flicked dismissively over her from head to toe.
Emily stifled a wry grin. It was obvious that her simple summer cotton clothes had been found seriously wanting in the elegance stakes.
Well, that was just too bad. She’d long ago decided that spending half of her time in baggy surgical scrubs, with something that looked like a pair of paper knickers on her head, meant that there wasn’t a lot of point in trying to impress her colleagues with anything other than her medical capabilities.
‘My name is Dr Livingston,’ she informed her quietly. ‘I’m the new member of Mr Khalil’s team and need to know where to find him as soon as possible.’
‘But…you’re a woman!’ she exclaimed, and grabbed for some paperwork on the top of her immaculately tidy desk. ‘We are expecting a Dr Emil Livingston, and Emil is a man’s name, no?’
‘Emil is a man’s name, yes,’ Emily agreed, almost giggling when she found herself mimicking the woman’s speech patterns. There was just something about these effortlessly flawless women that rubbed her up the wrong way, probably the fact that she would have to starve herself for weeks…months…to wear anything like the size zero designer clothes this secretary was wearing, in spite of the fact that she tried to force herself to go for a run each day. ‘But my name is Emily, with a “y”, but without the corresponding chromosome.’
‘Excuse me?’
Emily stifled a sigh as she glanced at her watch, forgoing any effort at an explanation of her attempt at humour.
‘If you could just tell me where I can find Mr Khalil, I would be very grateful.’ It wouldn’t do anything to impress her new boss if she was any later reporting for work, and she really needed to impress him if he was going to allow her to join his team properly until Mr Breyley returned from New Zealand. For Beabea’s sake, she really needed this job.
‘He will be up in PICU with the Hananis…the parents of a child who will have surgery this morning. I will ring him to tell him you are coming.’
‘Don’t bother interrupting him while he’s talking,’ Emily said quickly, loath to draw any extra attention to her tardiness. ‘I’ll find him easily enough when I get there.’
Except she hadn’t found him yet.
She’d run up several flights of steps, right to the top of the hospital where the recently expanded and refurbished PICU was situated just round the corner from the brand-new surgery suite she’d caught a glimpse of when she’d come for her interview.
She’d had to knock for admittance to the ward, not privy to the code to unlock the door yet.
‘I’m Dr Livingston, the new member of Mr Khalil’s team,’ she announced, hoping she didn’t sound too winded, but taking the stairs instead of the lift was one of the habits she’d had to adopt if she was to stand a hope of keeping her weight under control.
‘Welcome!’ the staff nurse said with a smile as she swung the door wide. ‘We had no idea we were going to be getting a woman on one of our paediatric surgical teams. I’m Jenna Stanbury.’
She, at least, had looked pleased to see her, Emily noted as she was led into the unit. Several heads looked up from what they were doing and smiled vaguely in her direction.
‘I’m afraid that Tamsin…Sister Rush…has shut herself in her office with strict instructions only to be disturbed in case of fire or flood while she fights with a mountain of paperwork,’ Jenna said apologetically.
‘Actually, I’ve been trying to catch up with Mr Khalil,’ she said with a grimace when she caught sight of the time on a clock shaped like a cat with a long tail swishing rhythmically to count off the seconds. At this rate she was going to be fired for poor time-keeping before she even started work.
‘Don’t panic,’ Jenna soothed. ‘The last time I saw Mr Khalil, he was going into the interview room with the Hananis to explain exactly what’s going to happen during their son’s operation. I sent one of the juniors in a little while ago with a tray of coffee, so you’ve probably got time to have a bit of a walk around while you catch your breath. Don’t forget infection control procedures…he’s very hot on that.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Emily said as she reached for the gel dispenser. ‘It’s bad enough when an adult gets a hospital-acquired infection, but when it’s a sick child…’ She was pleased that her new boss was as keen on good hygiene as she was. That was one thing they had in common already.
She made her way around the unit to familiarise herself with the layout, hoping that it would soon be a second home to her. It was an environment that she felt comfortable in, where post-operative patients would be continuously supervised by batteries of monitors and their needs taken care of by highly trained specialist nurses while they began their recovery after surgery.
And there he was.
Oh, she had no idea who he was, just that he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen, with thick dark hair cut short to combat an obvious tendency to curl, dark lustrous eyes with more than a hint of the exotic about them, surrounded as they were by the thickest, longest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a man. But the most beautiful thing about him was the way he was smiling as he was leaning over the equally beautiful child in an isolette, spending precious time with him while he was awake.
She watched him as he tenderly stroked an elegant, long-fingered hand over soft dark curls, smiling again as he murmured softly.
Her heart clenched at the sight of that smile and the way it lit those beautiful dark eyes from within. This was a man who loved his child and wasn’t ashamed who knew it, and something inside her ached that she’d never known such unconditional love from anyone other than her grandmother.
She didn’t know whether she’d made a sound or whether her presence in the doorway had finally registered on him, but suddenly she was the focus of those dark eyes…and they weren’t smiling any more.
‘Who are you? Do not come any closer,’ he ordered in a voice soft enough not to startle the little child at his side, but with the obvious stamp of authority in every exotically accented syllable. ‘What are you doing here? Do you wish to speak with me?’
‘If you are Mr Khalil, yes, I do,’ she said with a crushing sense of disappointment adding a crisp edge to the words. Where was the warm, caring father with his dark eyes full of love that she’d just lost her heart to? This man was something else entirely, the expression in his eyes almost cold enough to freeze her in her tracks in spite of the glorious Cornish summer day outside.
‘And you are…?’
He was obviously a man of few words, she thought as she took his nod as permission to approach, his commanding presence growing more overwhelming the closer she came.
For the first time since she’d embarked on her medical career she actually found herself wanting to step back from a challenge, but that wasn’t her way…had never been her way, from the day when a brusque social worker had dumped her unceremoniously on her grandmother when she’d been rescued from her parents’ crushed car.
Deliberately, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to meet that obsidian gaze, noticing for the first time that his face was marked with the evidence of deep- seated suffering, the eyes that had been so expressive such a short while ago now showing absolutely no emotion.
It took another second for her brain to compute all the other information it was receiving about the tall, lean man facing her from less than an arm’s span away—the arms that were bare to the elbow in compliance with the latest infection control policy, darkly tanned skin and even darker hair on well-muscled forearms, the taut skin of his freshly-shaven cheeks, the crisp freshness of his plain white shirt startling against the natural tan of his soap-scented skin.
His collar was open, in line with the hospital’s no-ties policy, and she could see a dark, delicious hollow at the base of his throat and the prominent knobs of the ends of his collar-bones and, just in the deepest part of the V of his shirt opening, a dark tangle of silky-looking hair that seemed impossibly intimate, hinting at what she might reveal if she were to reach out and unfasten more of those small white buttons.
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.
