A Wife For The Surgeon Sheikh. Meredith Webber

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

       Extract

       About the Publisher

       CHAPTER ONE

      LAUREN SUPPOSED SHE had known there’d be an executive director of finance and logistics—after all, someone would have to look after the money side of the hospital—but in the nearly two years she’d worked here she’d never heard of Mr Marshall, to whose office she had been summoned at the end of her shift.

      Was there something wrong with her superannuation? No, she was sure chief executives had more important things to do than worry about very minor employees’ superannuation.

      So, what could he possibly want?

      Unanswerable questions kept worry at bay as the elevator rose to the rarefied air of the sixth floor, but walking down the corridor in search of Room 279 she found panic building...

      A beautifully dressed secretary—or perhaps a personal assistant—looked her up and down, and offered a disdainful eyebrow lift at the sight of her dishevelled end-of-shift clothes, which were probably bloodstained somewhere an apron didn’t cover, before ushering her through a door into the inner sanctum.

      ‘Sister Macpherson,’ the woman announced, and Lauren stepped forward, wondering which of the two men was Mr Marshall. Surely not the one in the grey silk suit that hung on him with such precision he could have been a model in a very expensive tailor’s shop.

      A very good-looking model, from what she could see, as he stood with the light behind him. Although his shoulders were probably wider than the norm so the suit had, undoubtedly, been tailor-made.

      But Silk Suit remained by the window, studying her, she was sure, from beneath heavy eyelids.

      Hawk’s eyes...

      Hooded...

      Scanning for prey?

      She felt a shiver of apprehension, and a slight stirring of something she couldn’t quite place, and definitely didn’t want to think about...

      ‘I’m Ted Marshall,’ the other man said, interrupting her fantasy and stepping forward. He held out his hand towards Lauren and positively radiated goodwill. ‘Please, come in and sit down. Sheikh Madani has something he wishes to discuss with you, and as he’s come a long way to see our new children’s wing, the very least I can do is offer him the hospitality of my room.’

      Twit!

      But the name he’d mentioned—it couldn’t be... It was impossible.

      Though of course it had to be, and as a feeling of inevitability all but swamped her, Lauren told herself she was not afraid.

      Well, not much...

      Practically falling over himself to please Silk Suit, Ted Marshall waved the other visitor forward, though Lauren hadn’t sat down, flight-or-fight instinct telling her she’d be better off on her feet.

      ‘Sheikh Madani, this is Sister Macpherson. Now, I’ll leave the two of you to discuss your business.’

      Leave her here with Madani?

      No way!

      She knew the name Madani only too well. Knew it and hated it with a passion. Hadn’t it been a Madani who had stolen her sister?

      ‘You can’t do that!’ she said to the departing Mr Marshall. ‘You can’t get me up here and leave me in a room with a total stranger because he praised your new hospital! That’s irresponsible and unethical and probably illegal!’

      She knew her cheeks were probably scarlet and her hair was probably standing on end, and forget being afraid—terror had prompted her outburst. Not for herself, but for Nim.

      Silk Suit watched from the window, his eyes, lids lifted now, focussed in her direction.

      And if that was a smirk twitching at his lips, she’d kill him.

      Or get Joe to kill him.

      ‘You need fear no danger from me,’ the man said, his voice as smooth as the sleek clothes he wore, the accompanying smile as friendly as a shark’s.

      ‘There, you see,’ Ted Marshall said, edging closer to the door. ‘The sheikh has business with the hospital then mentioned wanting to see you. Apparently, there’s a family matter he wishes to discuss with you, and I’m sure it would be to your advantage to listen to him.’

      And on that note he scuttled out of the door.

      Lauren remained where she was, paralysed by the knowledge that this man might well have been behind the murder of her sister and parents.

      And if not him, surely one of his relations...

      But there was no way she could reveal the panic in her heart or the clutch of icy fingers gripping her stomach.

      She took a deep breath, and aimed for being cool.

      ‘You have business with me?’

      Cool and polite.

      ‘I think you know I do.’

      His deep, treacly voice rasped against her skin and sent shivers down her spine, but Lily had been taken in by a treacly voice and silk suits—by money, and jewellery, and private planes that swept her from one holiday playground to the next.

      Beautiful, vibrant, fun-loving Lily...

      And look how that had ended.

      ‘Oh?’ Lauren managed, dragging herself out of the past, and ignoring the catch in her own breathing as he moved closer.

      ‘The boy! You have the boy!’

      It wasn’t a question, but how much did he actually know?

      Not where she lived or he’d have come to the house—possibly even kidnapped Nim—though that would have happened over Joe’s dead body.

      ‘What boy?’ she asked, stalling.

      He waved away her pretence, eyes like obsidian boring into hers.

      ‘He needs to be taken home.’ His voice was glacial now. ‘He needs to know the country he will one day rule.’

      ‘And just who are you to be making these demands?’

      The man drew himself up to an impressive height and seemed to summon a sense of power from the ether.

      ‘I am Abdul-Malik Madani, I am called Malik, and my name means Protector of the King.’

      Refusing to be intimidated, Lauren straightened, and although five feet five wasn’t a very impressive height, she made the most of it with a tilt of her chin and a glare in her eyes.

      ‘Well, if Nim’s father was the former heir, then you didn’t do too good a job of it!’

      She heard his reaction—a quick snatch of breath—and saw it in the stricken look on his face, the sudden bowing of his head to hide his emotion.

      She watched his chest expand as he breathed deeply, and knew the depth of his pain when he spoke again, voice strained with grief.

      ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘I could not save my brother, but it is his son that I must protect now—protect at all costs, even with my life.’

      That was a bit melodramatic, but hadn’t all her admittedly brief contact with the Madanis been overly melodramatic?

      She closed her eyes, remembering, shuddering, aware of this man’s presence in every cell of her being, trying to focus on what he was saying.

      He