never consciously liked the idea of innocence before. Before he’d come into the room and been tantalized by the nearly nothing she’d had on—coupled with his weakened state—this was certainly a natural reaction. Not just another flaw in his character.
“Lose this battle so you can live to keep fighting the war. On another day. Night.”
He just had to remember who she was and what she was to him. It shouldn’t matter to him what she thought of him, so he should be able to tell Adalyn the truth and actually get the help he’d dragged her around the globe for, not send her to treat imaginary illness.
“You know,” she continued, “if the battle is a desire to sleep the natural way. Sleep aids aren’t the greatest thing in the world, but sometimes they are necessary as you’re trying to retrain yourself and your bed habits.” She yawned, reminding him that she was tired, too. Probably jet-lagged.
And she’d stopped smoothing her robe closed. Definitely tired.
He remained standing as stiff as his suit by the door. “I have sleep aids but, as you said, I try not to use them. I may have dragged you across the world for nothing, Dr. Quinn.” Doctor. Not Adalyn. Speak to her professionally, and perhaps his thoughts would follow that lead.
“Am I getting that you don’t want me to be here? Did Jamison twist your arm into agreeing to this?” Her gaze sharpened and she stood, her head tilting and those pretty green eyes fixing on him with an intensity that faked alertness. And a little bit of hope. “Because if you really don’t want me here, we could take a day or two and just diagnose and prescribe a treatment and I could go home, rather than sticking around to see you through whatever you need to get right. Jamison could be satisfied with that.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you here,” he said before it became clear she was offering him an out. She didn’t want to be there any more than he wanted her there. They could put on a brief show of his treatment, enough to satisfy Jay, and then she would happily go home. “I just don’t sleep well at the palace. Or at all. I sleep …” He rubbed his brow, pausing as he paced to a chair and sat. Her fatigue amplified his own. “I sleep better when I’m not in the palace.”
“Do you keep an apartment somewhere else? Or are you referring to before you came to this kingdom to do the regent thing?”
“I don’t keep an apartment. It’s a tent.” Why was he telling her this? Letting her witness his trouble would lead to questions, the bane of his existence. The prospect of her finding out seemed worse than the whole world finding out, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care how sexist that seemed to him—not wanting to be treated or rescued by the sweet creature his inner caveman salivated over. He didn’t want her to know any of it, his weakness, his shame.
“I take short medical missions out into the desert to treat those who live in camps far from medical assistance. I’m a doctor, it is just who I am, and I want to hold on to that part of myself while I’m doing my duty for my country and my family, and not let my skills grow rusty for lack of use, as they would if I stopped practicing and became a full-time bureaucrat.”
“And when you’re on your medical missions in a tent, you sleep better?” she said, fixating on that part.
What she should be fixating on was the fact that he didn’t sleep here in the palace. If she were to continue to treat him, she’d have to go, too. “I can’t explain it, but I should’ve thought about that before you came all this way. I know you have no desire to come out into the desert with me, and the equipment would be useless there anyway. Apologies, Adalyn.”
She sat back down on the edge of the bed, thoughtful frown firmly in place. “How long are the missions?”
“Many days.” Not that many, but more than two. He would disappear for weeks on end if he could get away with it.
“And people don’t know you’re doing this?”
She should sound less interested, not more.
“I keep a small staff here, and I’m always available via satellite phone. Since this is not my home country—it’s my mother’s kingdom—the people here, especially those out in the desert camps, don’t know what I look like. I go by a different name. We have a fake logo sprayed onto the trucks. It’s …”
“Tricky.” She grinned as she said the word and then yawned wider than she had before. “Well, I have a theory about the sleeping in the tent thing. But if you only take a short trip when you go, I’m assuming it’s fairly frequent short trips?” She stopped, shifted on the bed some more and tried again. “I can go … on one trip. And that would be a few days of monitoring when you’re actually sleeping. And then we can tell Jamison that we worked on a treatment plan for you to implement.”
“The sun is brutal, Adalyn. You will burn to a crisp. And the heat, if you’re unused to it …”
“Where I live it gets very hot. And humid. Super-humid. So humid that mold is a massive problem. I can handle heat. And wear sunblock. We’ll be going in a vehicle anyway, right? Something with a roof?” She frowned momentarily, eyes sliding to the side beneath pinched brows. That was the kind of look he wanted from her. Uncertainty.
Uncertainty her words did not share. “I can go from the vehicle to the tent and not have to be in direct sunlight too much.” She stood and wandered toward him but passed by to reach for the doorknob. “I hate to kick you out of a room in your home, but I’m really very tired. I think I have jet lag. Jamison never adequately described it to me before. It’s awful.”
He took the hint and rose to move that way. “The way my schedule is arranged, I really should head out in the morning.” Before she had time to rest up.
She opened the door and held it patiently for him. “What time?”
“It’s best to travel in the morning, before the heat of the day.”
“What does that translate to in numbers?”
“Six to ten, give or take.”
She looked at the clock, no doubt calculating just how few hours of rest she’d be getting if she actually went through with the plan. “Okay. I’ll be ready at six.” Another yawn and then she wandered back to the bed, leaving him at the door. “Try to rest if you can. We’ll start tomorrow.”
Pulling down the blankets, she crawled in—robe and all—and reached for the clock to set it.
She’d never go. In the morning, after she’d had a few hours to reset her brain and remember how much she hated to travel, she’d come to her senses and he could trundle her back off to the helicopter pad and send her home. “Good night, Adalyn. Thank you for being willing to try.”
“No offense, Khalil, but I did it for Jamison. I’m sure you’re a nice man and that you deserve help—it’s torture to be kept awake, like real torture, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone—but if anyone else had asked me to come, you’d be on your own.”
She clicked off the light and he allowed himself a tiny smile. He’d probably do anything for Jamison, too; he was closer than Khalil’s real brothers had ever been. “Duly noted. And you have tried to do that by coming all the way here to meet with me.”
“I’ll see you at six,” she said again, then sat up so he could see her only by the light spilling through
