sudden panic. “You wish me to remain with her? Alone?”
Justin gave him a good-natured slap on the back. “Yeah. You can do it. I’m only a call away. If you even suspect her condition has worsened, then dial 911. The paramedics will be here in no time. But I’d bet she’ll just sleep it off.”
Ben respected his fellow Texas Cattleman’s Club member and would prefer not to insult him. However, he still had questions. “Do you know this for certain? Forgive me, but you are a doctor who fixes imperfections.”
“Believe me, Ben, before I took up plastic surgery and went into private practice, I saw my share of all kinds of trauma overseas. You have to learn to assess injuries on a moment’s notice. Jamie will be fine. She’s a tough kid. She’s been through a lot lately. Probably exhausted on top of everything else.”
Ben felt somewhat reassured. “Yes, I believe you are right. She stays up very late into the night, I have noticed.”
Justin sent him a lecherous grin. “You’ve been taking this protection stuff pretty seriously, haven’t you?”
Stiffening, Ben raised his chin, hoping to hide his guilt. “I was charged with protecting Miss Morris. I have been watching her, as you and the club members agreed I should.” He would not admit that it had been his pleasure.
“Well, just keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll check back now and then throughout the evening.”
As soon as Ben and Justin said their goodbyes, Ben quickly made his way into the kitchen to summon Alima. The housekeeper stood at the stove wearing stereo headphones, a habit she had recently adopted during most of her domestic activities. He doubted she even realized they had a guest.
Ben allowed her this concession, knowing it was futile to argue that she might miss the doorbell or phone if she could not hear due to the country-and-western music blaring through the portable CD player. At times he cursed buying her the gift for her sixtieth birthday. But he would do anything for her. She had been with him since his birth, and she was his only connection in America to his culture. He could not function without her care. Not unless he chose to have dinner at Claire’s Bistro every day, or live in squalor.
Perhaps that was why he hadn’t concerned himself with finding a wife. Alima provided for all his needs—except one. His thoughts turned to Jamie Morris and how she had reminded him that those needs had been neglected in recent months.
Wanting to get back to Jamie, Ben tapped his housekeeper’s plump shoulder. “Alima.”
She slipped the headphones away from her ears and released an impatient sigh. “Yes, Hasim. Lunch will be ready soon.”
“That is not what I need at the moment. I need you to come to the guest room with me.”
She favored him with a bright smile. “Is someone coming to visit?”
Alima enjoyed visitors, and lately there had been none, something she had mentioned often to Ben. He considered that as long as Jamie Morris was in his care, she could provide company for the older woman. “Someone is already here. Come.” He gestured her forward and followed her to the room.
Alima’s mouth dropped open once she saw the young woman lying in the bed in a tangle of sheets. The feminine attributes Ben had tried to avoid viewing were again exposed.
Ire turned Alima’s eyes darker than moonless midnight. “Hasim! What have you been doing with this bint?”
“She is not a girl. She is a grown woman.” Even to his own ears, Ben sounded defensive, as if he had engaged in disreputable acts with Jamie Morris. Admittedly, he had imagined a few in the car.
With a sigh, he turned his attention to Alima. “It is not what you think. She’s been injured. Dr. Webb has examined her, and I am to make sure she is all right until she wakes. I believe she will be more comfortable if you undress her.”
“It appears, Hasim, that you have already done that.”
Ben clenched his jaw and spoke through his teeth, his patience now a slender thread on the verge of severing. “I did not undress her. Dr. Webb saw to that for the examination. Find something for her to wear, then put it on her.” He pointed to the door. “ruuHi! Now.”
Alima left the room, muttering a litany of Arabic curses followed by a prayer for Hasim bin Abbas kadir Jamal Rassad’s wicked soul.
Jamie flailed about, twisting, turning, trying to escape the terrifying images.
The plane crash. The fire. Debris. Lady Helena’s cries.
No. Not the plane.
A car coming at her. Flying through the air. Falling. Falling.
A stranger’s arms around her.
She tried to sit up but couldn’t. Someone held her down.
Fighting for her life, she balled her fist and struck out at the unknown assailant. An iron grip caught her wrist.
“Shhh, little one. You are safe now.”
The voice wasn’t threatening. More like soothing. A lover’s voice.
Jamie blinked several times to focus and stared into a face that would make Adonis hang his head in shame. A white cloth of some sort, secured by a thin gold band circling his forehead, covered his hair but framed a strong jaw shadowed by whiskers. Mysterious eyes regarded her, the color somewhere between rich earth and molten steel. She saw concern and compassion there, and something familiar. But she’d never met him before. She’d definitely remember that, even though at the moment her memories were nothing more than fragments.
“Where am I?” she asked, her voice weak.
He loosened the grip on her wrist but didn’t completely let her go. “You are safe.”
Jamie tore her gaze away and did a frantic visual search of her surroundings. The room was a kaleidoscope of color and texture, from the rich aqua bedspread covering her to the ornate vases on the nearby black-lacquer end table. Tapestries hung from the bright yellow walls and pillows of every conceivable color rested on a white chair to her right. Sheer mosquito netting flowed beside her from the top of the bed. Practical, she thought, considering the size of the pests in Texas. Was she still in Texas?
No way. This was an exotic place. Beautiful. Foreign.
“Miss Morris, there is no need to be afraid.”
He knew her name.
She stared at the stranger once again. Was this Payune? Had he had a change of heart and decided to marry her after all?
Not likely, and she certainly hoped not.
Payune was reportedly nearing fifty. This man was in his mid thirties at best. And his clothes would indicate that he wasn’t from a small European country. They didn’t wear robes and cover their heads in Asterland, did they? Of course not.
This dark, handsome stranger was Aladdin in his prime. Valentino reincarnate. A desert knight.
Oh, Lordy. She’d been sold into slavery.
A
