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“Kamal,” Ali breathed. “I can’t think when you kiss me like this.”
He smiled. “I am glad.” He brushed his lips to her neck and heard her gasp. “Tell me that my touch does not make you want more.”
“Kamal—I don’t know if this is right.”
“Of course it is.”
“For you, maybe. But I’m not so sure about me,” said Ali.
“Then let me show you that this is right for both of us.”
“Without regard for tomorrow?” she asked. “I just can’t.”
He let out a long breath as he released her hand, letting her go. She hurried down the hall.
Kamal closed the door, then walked into the living room. He had hoped by this time to have his feelings for the American nurse under control. But if anything, he was falling more under her spell.
To Wed a Sheikh
Teresa Southwick
TERESA SOUTHWICK
lives in Southern California with her hero husband, who is more than happy to share with her the male point of view. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Chapter One
It was just as easy to love a rich man as a poor man. If one was looking for love.
Ali Matlock wasn’t. At least not right now. She’d decided to take a break from romance and concentrate on her career. So she’d traveled halfway around the world from Texas for the job opportunity of a lifetime. She was working in a hospital built by a sheik who definitely fell into the rich-man category. She could earn triple the average stateside salary for a nurse. And the best part was the opportunity for adventure in magical, mysterious, mystical El Zafir.
As she inventoried supplies and equipment at the nurses’ station in the Labor and Delivery Department, she heard the third-floor elevator doors whisper open. Kamal Hassan, the country’s crown prince and the sheik who’d just crossed her mind, stepped out. He was elegantly handsome in his designer suit. Probably out of it, too.
Not that she would ever know. Although five months ago he’d kissed her in the moonlit palace garden. But history had taught her to be wary of men—especially a sheik who kissed an engaged-to-be-engaged woman.
He stopped to speak with one of the workmen putting finishing touches on the recently completed hospital, giving her a chance to study him. With every last dark, wavy hair in place, the prince was approximately six feet two inches of tall, dark and handsome. Black eyes smoldered with intensity in an arresting face featuring a straight aristocratic nose, carved cheekbones and olive skin. He had a wonderfully shaped mouth, and boy, did he know how to use it. The memory made her heart skip at the same time she reminded herself to beware of princes wearing designer suits.
She’d met his formidable aunt, Princess Farrah Hassan, in January when the woman had visited the Texas E.R. where Ali worked. The woman had been visiting Sam Prescott, of Prescott International, a wealthy friend of the family. While there, she’d experienced chest pain that turned out to be nothing. Farrah had insisted Ali accept an all-expense-paid trip to El Zafir in March to talk about a job in the hospital her nephew was building. It had been impossible to refuse the woman even though Ali had no intention of accepting the position. She’d attended an international charity auction hosted by El Zafir.
Although enchanted by the job and the country, she’d refused the Princess’s offer. Because at the time she’d been in love. Past tense. Past history. Past caring. Now she was only interested in her career. By God, if she couldn’t have love, there would be adventure. Wasn’t it handy that she could combine the two in El Zafir? Career and adventure, that is.
And she couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that a key player in her adventure was standing a couple of feet away. Because of that kiss? Her stomach jitterbugged when she remembered what his lips had felt like against her own. But she would bet he hadn’t given her a single solitary thought since that night. It was highly unlikely he even remembered her name. Why would he? She was from the wrong side of the tracks by American standards—way off the royal radar. Which begged the question—why had he kissed her?
He finished his conversation, then looked in her direction. “Hello.”
“Your Highness,” she said, clutching her pen until her knuckles turned white.
He walked toward her and stopped, his gaze never leaving hers. The scent of his aftershave drifted over the stack of boxes separating them. That and the clipboard on top of the stack was all that stood between her and the heat of his body. Her palms started to sweat.
“It’s nice to see you again, Alexandrite.”
She winced. “Thank you, I think. Remind me not to underestimate your powers of recalling inconsequential details, like a name no one should be burdened with.”
“On the contrary. Your given name is lovely. A jewel, is it not?”
She nodded. “But Ali is so much simpler.”
“On the contrary. Ali, I think, is very complicated.” He held her gaze for another thundering heartbeat, then glanced around. “What do you think of it?”
“The hospital? In a word? Awesome.”
On her first day of work, she’d received an in-depth tour. Now she recalled the lobby with the marble pillars and walkways, cherry-wood information and reception desks. The ground floor contained the emergency room, lab and X-ray. The second floor housed administrative offices. From there up were patient rooms and an ICU filled with the most advanced equipment money could buy. It was a seven-storied, high-tech marvel.
“A good word. Most appropriate,” he answered, one black eyebrow lifting as he smiled.
Pride
