CHAPTER SIX
ABBYTOOKA deep breath, lifted her chin and walked through the door held by someone who looked more Security than medical, and who bowed low as she passed.
The soft, respectful murmur as she walked down the hallway seemed to be addressed to her. It would have been disconcerting had she had any thoughts to spare for anything but the question of what waited for her inside the room she was about to enter.
She slipped inside and as she closed the door behind her she hitched in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders and turned, wishing in that moment that she had asked more about Zain’s condition. She had no idea what she was about to be confronted with—tubes, machines...was he even conscious?
Her sense of disorientation deepened as she found herself looking at what appeared to be an office, an office where a meeting seemed to be in progress at a long, rectangular table between several men wearing traditional Arab dress, and several more wearing business suits.
One of the men stood in front of what appeared to be a PowerPoint presentation, but moved towards Abby, who was already backing away mumbling apologies when he noticed her.
‘Sorry. I think must be in the wrong...’
The man bowed and, after a momentary pause, the other men seated around the table got to their feet and followed his example.
This situation was just getting weirder, she thought, fighting the urge to curtsey or something.
‘Not at all. This way, Amira...please...’ His attitude deferential, he gestured for her to precede him towards a half-open door.
After a pause, she responded to the softly spoken invitation, even though as she approached the door the conviction that this was a case of mistaken identity grew stronger.
Then say something, idiot!
She half turned, ready to explain that this was a mistake, but her guide was backing out of the room with his head bent in a bow and it was hard to explain anything to someone you couldn’t make eye contact with.
Her nerves were so stretched by this point that the soft sound of the door closing with a definitive click was enough to make her jump. Ignoring the chill of trepidation skittering down her spine, she turned.
This second room was not as large as the one she had entered, but still, was not small. It had the look of an upmarket hotel bedroom complete with a TV covering half of one wall and leather sofas around a glass coffee table covered with artistically stacked books.
The only thing that suggested she should not ring for Room Service was the hospital bed. It was empty, though the rumpled condition of the sheets and the drops of blood standing out against the white linen suggested it had been recently occupied by someone who had been attached to the bag of fluid that hung empty on a stand beside it.
She released a sigh, tried not to look at the blood and walked warily across the room towards the bed. Without thinking she put her hand on the sheets...they still retained the body heat of their recent occupant.
Abby clutched her head—all she wanted to do was get this over with and go home and she couldn’t even find the man! ‘Where the hell is he?’ she murmured to herself.
‘Behind you.’
At the sound of the soft, deep voice Abby jumped a foot off the floor as if a starting pistol had been unexpectedly fired in the room. She spun around, the action causing the silk veil on her head to slide off the slippery satin of her fiery curls.
She blinked and fought against the urge to retreat as the owner of the voice took a single step through a doorway that was half-concealed behind a screen and, without taking his eyes from her face, casually captured the fluttering fabric in his hand.
While his reflexes were clearly in excellent shape, Zain’s bruised and battered body was not. Though he clenched his teeth against the pain zigzagging through his body as he straightened up, a muffled groan escaped his compressed lips.
The shock that had frozen her to the spot disappeared and was instantly replaced by concern. Abby laid a hand on his arm, her eyes widening as she registered the tense, rock-hard muscle through the fine fabric of his white shirt—more blood was spattered down one arm. Her stomach tightened before she looked away.
‘Are you all right?’
Ah, well, someone always had to ask the stupid question. Might as well be her.
One hand pressed to his ribs, Zain lifted his eyelids and produced a look that managed to be both ironic and lazy through eyes that were every bit as blue as she remembered. They were shaded by lashes which looked almost ridiculously long and dark against the pallor that had robbed his vibrant, toned skin of its usual golden colour.
The memory of the first time she’d seen him floated into her head and, for a moment, the antiseptic room vanished and Abby was back in the desert encampment, the scent of woodsmoke and sour sweat almost as strong as the metallic taste of fear in her mouth.
At first she hadn’t understood why the raucous cries and yells had faded, but then she’d seen the magnificence of the figure who rode into their midst, entirely ignoring the hostile stares and rifles aimed at him.
‘Do I look all right?’
He looked incredible!