on with a hopeful grin, trying her best to keep her nerves at bay.
Nothing.
His lips, though clamped tight, were...sensual. She’d already noticed he curved them up or down to great effect. Disconcerting in a man who, on all other counts, embodied the definition of an alpha male. The perfect amount of six-foot-something. For her, anyway. She liked to be able to look a man in the eye without too much chin tilting. If she were in heels? Perfect. Match. Not that she was on the market for a boyfriend or anything. She bit down on the inside of her cheek to stifle a guffaw. As if.
He looked fit. Athletically so. She would’ve laid money on the fact the hotel swimming pool had seen some well-turned-out laps this morning from the spread of his shoulders filling out what had to be a tailor-made suit. She tipped her chin to the side, finger tapping on her lips, wondering if she could drum up the Arabic word for tailor.
“Here we are! I even found a mug! The butler told me builder’s tea always has to come in a mug. Preferably with a chip, but I’m afraid this one has no chips.”
Robyn lifted her gaze, grateful to see Idris’s assistant arrive, face wreathed in a triumphant smile, carrying a tray laden with tea fixings and a huge pile of scrummy-looking biscuits. Were they...? Oh, wow. Dark chocolate–covered ginger biscuits. In abundance!
“These are my absolute favorite!”
“We’ve done our research. Let us hope,” Idris continued in his lightly accented English, “that you have done yours.”
The words were a dare. One she’d needed no prompting to resist.
“It’s actually been fascinating going over Amira’s notes. It’s kept me up at night.” She saw a flash of something indecipherable brighten Idris’s dark eyes. “In the best possible way.”
Kaisha set the tea tray down between them.
“Heavens! There are enough biscuits here for an army! Is Amira coming with a group of her friends?”
“No. This is just for you,” she answered, her beautiful headscarf swishing gently forward as she leaned to pour a cup of mint-scented tea for Idris and herself from a beautiful china teapot.
“Oh, you are a sweetie. Thank you. It’s Kaisha, isn’t it?” Robyn asked.
“That’s right.”
Robyn repeated the name. “In Japanese it means enterprising, or enterprise, I think.” She found herself looking to Idris for confirmation. He looked like a man who had answers in abundance.
“I thought you said you weren’t a linguist, Miss—”
“Doctor,” Robyn jumped in with a smile. It was her whole life—her job at Paddington’s—and heaven knew she’d far rather be defined by her work than her less edifying home life as a spinster.
“Doctor,” Idris corrected, eyebrows lifting as if he were amused by her insistence upon being called by her rightful title. “For someone who professes to only speak ‘menu’ you seem to know your way around the world’s languages.”
“Oh, yes, well...” She felt her cheeks grow hot. Again. Not a handy time to have a creamy complexion. She twisted her fingers together, hoping they would help her divine the perfect way to confess just how much of a nerd she was. Nothing sprang to mind so she dove into the pool of true confessions. “I’ve studied quite a few sign languages from around the world. It comes in handy as an ENT specialist. Many countries share similar signs for the same word, but it’s always useful to know the word in the spoken language given we have patients joining us from around the world and a lot of them—as many as I can encourage actually—are lip readers. So—” she signed as she spoke “—that is why I had prepared for meeting Amira and not you.”
“I see.” Idris’s dark-as-night eyes widened and she felt her heart sink. Why, oh, why did administration see fit to send her out on these meet-and-greet jobbies? She got too nervous. Talked too much. Way too much. She really would’ve preferred to meet the child—or patient—as the administrators insisted on calling them, on her own.
Patient. The word gave her shivers. The people who came to them at a time when they were sick, or injured and needing a healing touch—they were all children. Children with names and faces, likes and dislikes, and in some cases, the ability to knit the world’s longest scarf.
Her fingers crept across the couch and rubbed a bit of the damp wool between her fingers. The gift was as precious to her as if the children she’d never have had made it for her. An ectopic pregnancy had seen to that dream. So her life was filled with countless “adoptees.”
Children.
“Patient” sounded so clinical and she, along with the rest of the staff at the Castle—as the turreted building had long been nicknamed—wanted the children who came to them to be treated with individual respect and care. With or without the hospital gown, tubes and IVs. Row upon row of medicines, oxygen tanks, tracheal tubes and hearing aids. They were children for whom she tried her very best to make the world—or at least Paddington Children’s Hospital—a better place to be.
If Amira’s records were anything to go by—and Idris was willing to accept the cutting edge treatment she thought her hospital could offer—Robyn knew, with the right team of surgeons, specialists and, annoyingly, funding, she could help his little girl hear for the very first time.
So...it was suck it up and woo the Sheikh, help his daughter and save the hospital in the process.
“LET ME START AGAIN.”
Idris’s growing impatience won out over the desire to return Robyn’s infectious smile. “I wasn’t under the impression we had started anything, much less the interview I was expecting to conduct.”
He knew he was being contrary but this woman unnerved him. Her watchful tigress eyes flicked around the room on a fruitless quest to come up with reasons for his terse response. She wouldn’t find what she sought there. In the immaculate soft furnishings and discreet trappings of the überwealthy. The answer to his coldness stood guard at the surrounds of his heart. Unreachable.
And she would have to do a bit more than smile and catch him off guard to be the one he chose to operate on his daughter.
He was the wall people had to break through to get to Amira. He’d lost one love of his life to the medical “profession.” He’d be damned if he lost another.
He shifted in his chair, well aware Robyn was already unwittingly chinking away at some of his usually impenetrable defenses. This woman—ray of light, more like—was a near antithesis to everything his life had been these last seven years. Where he was wary and overprotective, she was virtually bursting with life, enthusiasm and kindness.
He didn’t think any of the other surgeons had so much as spoken to Kaisha other than to say “tea” or “coffee.” Perhaps a nod of dismissive thanks, but in his book, consideration was everything. Particularly in his role as leader of Da’har. Every decision he made about the small desert kingdom would, ultimately, affect each citizen. As such, he took no decision lightly, altered no laws of the land to benefit one group of people and not another. Life on
