The Sheik Who Loved Me (5 page)

Kamilah nodded.

“But he’s also got a bit of an English accent.”

She nodded again.

“So he’s from two places? From England
and
the desert?” She felt a twinge of guilt at pressing the child like this for information on her father, but she couldn’t help herself.

The child smiled shyly. “Yes, and he’s been teaching me to ride. Horses and camels, too.”

“Your daddy must be very, very proud of you.”

Kamilah shook her head solemnly. “He’s upset with me.”

“Oh, sweetheart, why on earth would he be upset with you?”

“Be-becau-because I…I can’t talk.” She stumbled over her words, suddenly self-conscious again.

“Oh, honey,” she bent down, took Kamilah’s hands in her own, “you
are
talking. Beautifully. Listen to yourself.”

Tears pooled along the rims of the child’s big eyes. “I…I can talk to you…but…I…I can’t talk…to my daddy. Or…or anyone.”

“Because I’m a mermaid? Is that why you feel you can talk to me?”

“Yes,” she said in a tiny voice. “Because I knew my mommy would send you from the sea.”

A swell of emotion choked Sahar’s throat. “And that’s why you were waiting for me? You knew your mother would send you something from the sea, because that’s where she went?”

Tears spilled from Kamilah’s eyes and ran in a sheen over her smooth brown cheeks. Sahar took the child’s shoulders in her hands and looked into her eyes. “Kamilah, have you been able to speak to
anyone
since your mother died?”

She shook her head.

“No one at all?”

A sob shuddered through her body. “I…I…I had to…I had to tell my daddy you were on…on the beach. I
had
to speak or the sea would take you away.”

“And you haven’t been able to speak to him again, not since you found me?”

She shook her head. Another sob racked through her little body, and fresh tears streamed down her face.

“Oh, honey, come here.” She drew the little girl into her arms and hugged her tight. She nestled her nose into Kamilah’s hair. She could smell the apple scent of the child’s shampoo. She could smell sunshine in her clothes.

And in Sahar’s heart an unbidden sense of responsibility swelled. She hugged tighter. She wanted to tell Kamilah she wasn’t really a mermaid. But she didn’t know what she was. She had a fictional name. No past. No future. She wasn’t a real person. Not in this child’s eyes. Not in her own eyes. She was a one-dimensional fabrication with no sense of self. A half person. A fairy tale.

And the notion made her feel suddenly so very alone and desperately lost. As lost as Kamilah probably felt.

As much as Kamilah seemed to need her, Sahar also needed this child. She needed this connection, this hug, this human touch. It somehow grounded her in the frightening mental blankness of her world.

The child probably needed her own mother for all the same reasons. To feel grounded. Whole. Loved.

She
had
to help this little girl, whatever it took. Right now this child was the one thing that linked her to some sense of purpose.

She felt Kamilah’s little hands stroking her hair. A hiccup of emotion tore through Sahar’s chest. Even in her own state of distress the child was offering comfort. She was a deep little thing. Intelligent and full of silent, lonely agony. Kamilah’s subconscious had cooked up a mermaid story to help explain the inexplicable—why the people you loved most had to die. The fantasy somehow helped justify the tragedy to the child. And perversely Kamilah now thought Sahar was one of the mermaids sent up from the sea by her mother to help her. A gift from the ocean in exchange for all the ocean had taken away.

And with that realization, Sahar vowed to herself that no matter what it took, she would do what she could to help Kamilah. She would
be
that gift from the ocean.

And hopefully, by the time she got her memory back, by the time she figured out who she was and where she belonged, Kamilah would be beyond the need for fantasy and mermaids and she’d be ready for her to leave Shendi Island.

“Kamilah, look at me, honey.”

Kamilah’s tear-streaked face gazed up at hers. “Listen to me, Kamilah. I’ll make you a promise. I will help you find your lost voice if you will promise to help
me
find my lost memory.”

The little girl’s lips began to tremble.

“Is that a deal, sweetheart?”

Kamilah nodded, swiping at her tears with her little hand, smudging them across her face. Then she flung herself back into Sahar’s arms and clung tight. “Please,” she whispered, her little breath warm against Sahar’s neck, “please don’t ever…ever go away…like…like my mummy. Please don’t ever go back to the sea.”

“You think she’s
faking
it?” David’s hand tightened around his glass. He had to get a grip on the irrational anger, the strange swirl of unidentifiable emotions that tightened around him when he thought of Sahar.

“No, I’m not saying that.”

David slammed his glass onto the table. “Then what are you saying, Watson?”

The doctor eyed him silently. “Why don’t you sit down, David.”

“I’m comfortable standing.” He waited for Watson to continue.

“Okay, all I’m saying is that her amnesia appears to be psychological in origin.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

The doctor sipped his mint tea, ice chinking against the glass. “Meaning I think she needs a shrink. Her vitals are fine. I ran several basic memory tests and apart from the loss of personal identity and personal history, I can detect absolutely no other retrograde or anterograde dysfunction—no signs of organic damage.”

“So it’s all in her head, then?”

Watson smiled. “I forgive you the pun, Rashid.”

David was not amused. He waited in irritable silence for the doctor to continue.

“She appears to have a dissociative disorder, most likely stemming from the trauma. It’s probably some kind of coping mechanism. She really needs a specialist for me to be one hundred per cent sure, David. I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

“You think she’s mentally cutting herself off from her accident?”

“It’s possible.”

“Or faking it.”

The doctor sighed. He set his glass down, pushed it to the middle of the table, leaving droplets of condensation in its wake. “It’s always difficult to tell.”

David dragged his hands through his hair. This mind business was so damned awkward. He’d been through all this with Kamilah. It had taken him months to come to terms with the fact the accident had shut his daughter off. A part of him always believed Kamilah held some control, that if she really wanted to, she would speak. That she had the choice.

He’d dealt with anger. Denial. He’d even come to a kind of acceptance. Yet a mad part of himself couldn’t let the thought go that perhaps Kamilah was punishing him for not having managed to save Aisha.

Specialist after London specialist had not been able to help either of them. That’s where Watson had come in. He’d helped David come to terms with the fact Kamilah did not hold control over her speech. That she was trapped in a psychological prison.

And now this woman. More mind games. He liked things up-front. Direct. Straightforward. He blew out a breath of pent-up air, reached for his tea, swigged. “Okay. So what you’re saying is medical attention is not urgent.”

“Not life-threatening urgent, but a good idea.”

“Fine.” He set his glass down. “My tech says the sat-phone system should be up again by tomorrow morning. In the meantime, when you get into Khartoum this evening, you get Sahar’s details to the British Embassy and to the Ministry of the Interior. Hopefully they’ll get bulletins out via Interpol, newspapers, whatever, and she’ll be identified within the next few days. Her relatives can then come and get her and take her to a specialist in her hometown…wherever that is.”

Watson drained the last of his tea, plunked the glass down and stood. “Good enough. I’ll stop by and see the ambassador this evening. In the meantime, little things like a familiar scent or sound could help jog her memory. Once she grabs on to a particular thread, the whole lot could come cascading back in one go.”

“Yeah, let’s hope that happens sooner rather than later.”

“It could be traumatic if it happens all at once, David. She’ll need someone to help her through it.”

“Yeah.” David checked his watch. “The chopper should be ready. I’ll see you out.”

The doctor hesitated.

“What now?” David asked, words more clipped than he’d intended.

“Why the anger, David? The woman’s helpless. It’s not her fault.”

“Ah, don’t you go pulling the shrink stuff on
me
now, Watson.”

“You’re worried about the mermaid thing, about Kamilah.”

David sighed deeply. He studied Watson’s lined face. The man was his friend. He meant well. He had no right to take his frustration out on the doc. “Yes,” he said. “I’m concerned about her grasp on reality, on her unnatural attachment to this woman.”
And his own alarming physical attraction to her.

“Kamilah has started to speak, David. You’ve both reached a major milestone. Things can only go forward from here.”

“Kamilah thinks the woman’s some kind of fictional creature.
That’s
the only reason she spoke.”

Watson chuckled heartily. “Mermaid, schmermaid, whatever Kamilah thinks, it broke through her mental barriers. Use it, David. Use the tools that have been placed in your hands.”

David gave a derisive snort. “The
tool
I have been handed, Watson, is an unexplained woman coughed up by the sea in a freak storm. Why can’t my life be simple?”

Watson grinned broadly. “Because you’re not a simple man, Rashid.”

David smiled in spite of himself. “Seriously, Watson,” he said. “The woman will be gone in a few days. Where will
that
leave us?”

The doctor tilted a bushy white brow. “Us?”

“I mean Kamilah, where will that leave Kamilah?” His verbal slip shocked him. And it must have shown in face. Because the doctor angled his head and scrutinized him knowingly. “She’s a beautiful woman, David.”

“What the hell has that got to do with it?” he snapped, his voice harsher than he’d intended.

The doctor raised his hand in mock defeat. “Okay, okay. But any red-blooded male can’t help notice she’s one hell of a woman.”

“And probably attached,” he said in spite of himself.

Watson’s weather-beaten face cracked into a grin. “Ah, so you
did
notice, Rashid. There is hope for you yet.”

“She’ll be history as soon as her memory returns. The sooner she goes, the better. I don’t want Kamilah any more attached to the woman than she already is.”

And
he
sure as hell didn’t want to feel any more attracted to her than he already was.

The doctor nodded, the twinkle still in his eyes. “Word about our beautiful amnesiac should start circulating by this evening. People like her don’t go unnoticed, David. Especially in a place like Sudan. We’ll know soon enough.”

David watched the doctor waddle off with his characteristic uneven gait. Damn him. That all-knowing gleam had never left Watson’s perceptive eyes. Not once. He’d noted David’s blatant attraction to Sahar, and that just made David angrier. He’d thought he’d at least demonstrated outward control of his libido. That his male interest was so obvious irked the hell out him. It meant Sahar had likely seen it, too. And that gave her a power he didn’t want her to have.

Because David Rashid
always
made sure the balance of power was in his hands.

Chapter 4

D
avid took his brandy out onto the tiled terrace that overlooked the lagoon and the ocean beyond. The sky was devoid of cloud, the air sultry and the black heavens peppered with stars.

Dinner with Kamilah had been really special. Just the two of them. She hadn’t spoken to him again, but she’d engaged him with her eyes. Watson was right. It was progress. And he was going to hold on to that.

He allowed himself to relax. Cradling his drink, he watched the pale light of the moon shoot silver ribbons across the oily black sea with the rise and curl of each wave. In the calm of the lagoon below, his yacht swayed gently with the rhythm of the incoming tide. He could hear the distant chink of the halyard against the mast.

Having the occasional drink was one of the few Western luxuries he allowed himself. Being born of an English mother and Arabic father, being raised half his life in the desert, the other half in the hallowed halls of British aristocracy, he’d found himself torn between two cultures—a man with one foot in an ancient world and one in the new. His detractors saw this dichotomy as a weakness. But David had made it his strength, in business and in life.

He took a sip of his brandy, the fire of it burning down his throat. He felt its warmth diffuse through his system. He exhaled softly, stretched out his legs.

“It’s so peaceful.”

He jolted, almost choking on his drink.

“It’s hard to believe there was a violent storm only hours ago.”

He turned to look at her. She stood in the arched doorway. The lamplight from the dining room behind her set a halo of soft fire to the amber-gold of her hair. It was tied back loosely with a piece of ribbon, but fine tendrils escaped and wafted ever so slightly about her face in the warm, salty breeze. Her eyes were darkly luminous in this light. An oversize white muslin shirt hung to her thighs. On her legs she wore soft white muslin pants. She had oversize leather thongs on her feet.
Watson’s clothes?

He swallowed against the tightening in his throat. He’d expected—no, dreaded—seeing her in Aisha’s clothes. And here she was in Watson’s garb. And in spite of the getup, she remained ridiculously sensual and feminine, in the way of a woman confident and secure with her sexuality. That in itself was insanely arousing to David. He couldn’t seem to find his voice. All he could do was stare at the shape of her body under the sheer African fabric, silhouetted against the lamplight. It made him recall her perfect breasts, the tight coral tips.

His pulse rate kicked up, and his breathing became light and shallow. This woman had a confounding effect on his body. He cleared his throat. But his voice still came out low and gruff. “Those clothes?”

She smiled. “The doctor’s. May I join you?”

“Why are you wearing Watson’s stuff? What happened to the clothes Kamilah brought you?”

She stepped out onto the patio and into his personal space. “It didn’t feel right,” she said. “I didn’t want to upset anyone. I told Watson how I felt, and he gave me free access to his closet.” She looked down at the garments and grimaced playfully. “I’m afraid this is the best I could come up with. Couture à la doc.”

He couldn’t help but smile. She’d floored him. Her sensitivity and tact, especially given her circumstances, made him feel like a brutish clod. He’d been so self-indulgent he hadn’t begun to think about what she might be going through.

“You look great,” he said. And he meant it.

“Thanks.” She came up to his side. He felt his nostrils flare in reflex as she neared, drinking in the fresh, clean scent of her.

“You didn’t join us for dinner.” The banality of his statement belied how he’d felt about it. A part of him had hungered to see her again. Another was relieved when she hadn’t shown. And then, when she still didn’t appear, he’d felt slighted, even irritated.

“I ate in the servants quarters,” she said simply.

“Why?”

She smiled at him, that dimple deepening in her one cheek. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way her lips curved. He noted that one side of her smile was a little higher than the other. It gave her a mischievous look, as if she held some hidden secret, as if she was toying with him.

“I didn’t want to interrupt your private time with Kamilah.” She hesitated. “Dr. Watson told me about her…about her problem.”

He stared at her in stunned silence, a grudging respect rising in him.

She came even closer to his chair. He felt the hairs on his arms rise, warmth stir in his groin. His body was powerless in her presence. Entranced, he watched the way the pale moonlight played across her exotic features.

“How was dinner…I mean with Kamilah. How was she?”

He was taken aback by her question, the intimacy of it. This was Rashid business. “Special,” he said.

She waited, eyes watching him.

“She didn’t talk to me, if that’s what you want to know.”

Her brow raised at the brusqueness of his tone.

He felt a pang of guilt, a need to elaborate. “She…she was there in a way she never was before.” He grinned in spite of himself. “She even laughed at my silly camel jokes.”

Sahar smiled. But it wasn’t the same smile he’d seen before. There was a haunted look deep within her eyes, a look that betrayed her outward control. It was the look of someone adrift. Lost. Even a little afraid.

She was doing her best to appear relaxed, confident. She was looking beyond herself, beyond her own tragedy, caring about him and Kamilah. But he’d glimpsed the truth inside. She was hurting. Guilt knotted in his chest.

“I’m glad I found you,” she said. “I’ve been looking for you all over the place. This palace is like a maze.” Her voice curled like silk ribbon through him, tightening around his insides.

“You were looking for me?” She needed him. That pleased the primal male within.

“I wanted to ask you if…if you’ve had any contact from the mainland yet…about me?”

The question jolted him to his senses. He coughed, recalling his manners, stood up, pulled out a chair for her. “No, I’m afraid not. Communication is still down. Take a seat. Would you like a brandy?”

“No, thanks, I’m fine. I need to work on keeping my mind clear if I want to remember anything.” She sat with fluid grace but he could hear the disappointment in her tone at his answer.

“When I hadn’t heard from you, I guessed there was no information. I kept telling myself you’d come and tell me the minute you learned something.” Her eyes flashed up to his. “Right?”

Oh, God, she’d been waiting all day, anticipating word. And all he’d been thinking about was how to get rid of her, how to stop her impacting his personal life. And here she was being considerate of him, being tactful by not wearing Aisha’s clothes, by not interrupting his dinner time with Kamilah. She’d even waited until the last possible moment in the day before coming to find him, although she’d been dying for some news, some clue to her identity.

The knotted ball of guilt in his chest tightened. “Of course I’d tell you right away,” he said. “Hopefully we’ll know something tomorrow. My tech reckons he’ll have the satellite communication system up and running again by morning.”

“It was downed in the storm?”

“Yeah, the sand out here gets into everything. We use a fixed satellite system which means the phones inside the palace can be operated just like landline sets. Only trouble is the radio antenna unit and junction box need to be mounted outdoors with a clear view of the sky. That means it’s vulnerable to sandstorms.”

She tensed suddenly. Her eyes widened, then the line of her mouth flattened. She turned abruptly away from him, shutting him out.

A frown cut into his brow. What had he said? He studied her profile. She was hugging her arms tight to her stomach, staring out over the inky ocean. What had caused this rapid shift in mood?

Perhaps she was wondering what befell her out there in the dark void, what had happened to the people she may have been with. Something snagged in his chest. What
had
she been through in that storm? Something so traumatic that it had shut off a part of her brain, made her dissociate from herself? Was what she experienced anything like the mad, awful terror that had gripped him as he’d watched Aisha, bleeding, being sucked down by the waves? Had she, too, known that huge hammer-heads swam like shadows between the reefs underneath?

If Watson was right, her memory loss was only a temporary buffer against pain she might yet have to face in the next few days. Did she even have any idea that her amnesia was psychological? Would it help to tell her? Or would it only cause more distress?

She put her hand to her temple, pressed down on the stitches.

“You okay?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I mean yes. I’m fine. I…I just got a feeling.”

“You remembered something?” He leaned forward.

“I…I don’t know. Maybe.” She forced a smile and abruptly changed the topic. “You’re a very lucky man to own such a slice of paradise, David. This place is truly beautiful.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes holding hers. “Very beautiful.”

She faltered at his loaded words but held his gaze. The jasmine-scented air grew warm and thick between them. She swallowed and then turned away, but not before David had glimpsed the flare of female interest in her eyes.

“Do storms like that happen often out here?” she asked, her voice smoky, thicker. Her obvious physical reaction to him did wild things to his body. Heat simmered in his belly. His throat went dry. He told himself this was ridiculous. To even begin to think of her in this way was a fool’s game. She was vulnerable. She wasn’t able to make rational decisions in her state. And she probably had a lover waiting for her somewhere.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “Storms like that are rare. And when they do come, it’s usually without the rain.” He angled his head, caught her eyes. “And without mermaids.”

She laughed. The sound caught him by surprise. Husky. Rich. It socked him right in the gut. But even though she laughed, David noted she was rubbing her arm nervously. Inside she was still loaded with angst. He wondered if it would help if he tried to prompt her memory. And a part of him couldn’t help thinking about the possibility she could be faking this. “What do you know about the Red Sea?” he asked.

“Nothing really…I think.”

“Seems strange how you washed up out of a sea you know nothing about.”

She stopped rubbing her arm. “You make it sound like you don’t believe me.”

He took a long, slow sip of his brandy, studying her face carefully. She didn’t shy away from his scrutiny for an instant.

“No, I believe you,” he said finally. “What would you stand to gain by faking something like this, anyway?”

“That’s a rhetorical question, right?” Her words were markedly clipped. “I can’t believe you’d even begin to think I was malingering.”

“Right,” he said, noting her use of the word
malingering.
Watson had used the same word in a medical context. That didn’t necessarily mean a thing. But still, it alerted him, put him on guard. David was not a man who trusted easily. He’d never have gotten where he was now if trust had come easy. He’d learned as a child out in the desert that you always had to watch your back. And he’d gradually learned that the more powerful a man became, the more people tried to tear him down.

No. For David Rashid trust was a very rare commodity. For him trust was hard-won.

But his suspicion had offended her. She glared at him, fire snapping in her eyes. Even though he’d upset her, he was pleased to see her energy back. He could deal with anger. He couldn’t deal with the haunting loneliness he’d glimpsed a few seconds ago.

“Believe me,” she said in a low, cool tone. “I have no desire to be stuck out here on some lump of land in the Red Sea with a man who doesn’t believe I can’t remember who I am.” She pushed herself up from the chair. “If you think for an instant that I’m enjoying any part of this, you’re dead wrong. It sucks. And I can’t wait to get off this bloody island.”

He grabbed her wrist as she turned to go. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking up into her eyes. “That really was uncalled for. It’s just such a strange thing to have happened. And I can’t even begin to imagine how it feels to have no sense of self. I do apologize.”

She glared at the hand that restrained her. But he wasn’t going to let go until he got through to her. “Will you forgive me?” He smiled slowly, deliberately, aware he was turning on the famous Rashid charm.

He felt her relax under his fingers. Male satisfaction spurted through him. His charm had effect on her. She was not immune to him. He released her arm. “Please sit.”

She acquiesced, but a sharp wariness lingered in her eyes. He felt compelled to chase it away. “I should be doing more than apologizing,” he said. “I should be thanking you for allowing my daughter to speak again.”

Her eyes softened. “Dr. Watson told me she hasn’t spoken in nearly two years, not since the death of her mother.” She hesitated as if unsure of her ground. “I’m sorry for your loss, David,” she said. “I’m sorry for what you and Kamilah must have gone through.”

The muscles of his neck constricted. He shouldn’t have opened this door. He didn’t know what had possessed him to do it. He looked away. “It’s in the past,” he said.

She had enough presence of mind not to press him. They sat in uneasy silence, watching the pull of the moon on the ocean, keenly aware of each other’s presence.

“David,” she said suddenly.

His eyes shot to hers.

“I…I want you to know that I’ll do whatever I can to help Kamilah.”

“Why?” The word came out too terse.

“Because I feel somehow responsible. I…” She wavered. The light of the moon caught the glisten in her huge green eyes, giving her away. She swallowed. “I don’t know how to explain it but I feel like I have a connection, that I can somehow relate to her…to what she’s been through.”

David wanted to reach out, to touch her pain, to share his own. Instead he slammed down the doors. “You’ll probably be gone by tomorrow night,” he said brusquely.