Free Chosen by the Sheikh by Kim Lawrence Page A

worst. Until she knew otherwise she would work on the assumption that Khalid would be fine.
    She dragged an unsteady hand through her hair, tangling her fingers in the damp curls. Her eyes drifted open and she became belatedly aware that Tariq was staring at her, his expression inscrutable.
    Their eyes connected, and Beatrice let her hand fall to her side.
    She took a deep breath. There was a time, she decided, for pride—and this was not it. He was not a man who responded to demands and ultimatums, but maybe a little genuine grovelling would work.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    â€˜P LEASE ?’ The word emerged huskily as she spread her hands in a pacific gesture.
    A muscle clenched in his lean cheek and she saw something flicker in the back of his obsidian eyes.
    Hoping it indicated a softening of his attitude, she added, ‘I need to come. I need to be there.’
    For a moment she thought he was going to dismiss her request out of hand, and then, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, he inclined his dark head. She followed him, and to her utter relief Tariq didn’t object.
    He strode down the corridor, leading the way through a door hidden by a heavy curtain. Behind it was a spiral stair case that led directly onto one of the inner court yards.
    As they stepped out of the big double doors two body guards fell wordlessly into step behind them. Beatrice’s thoughts were too occupied else where to consider the strangeness of spending your life constantly being shadowed by men who were willing to give their own life for you. A brief sideways glance at Tariq’s profile suggested he was similarly preoccupied.
    The helicopter was waiting for them, and the moment they were on board it took off.
    â€˜How long will it take?’
    â€˜We will be at the hospital in five minutes,’ he said, without lifting his eyes from the hand-held computer he held. He clearly did not wish to make conversation, but Beatrice couldn’t keep quiet.
    â€˜Did they say anything about…?’
    He turned his head, moved his glance from her clenched hands to her tense face. ‘They said nothing more than I have already told you,’ he lied—not out of compassion, or a desire to protect her from the truth, he told himself, but because he did not want to cope with any hysterical out bursts.
    When he’d last spoken to the hospital his brother was being transferred to surgery. Speed, they had explained, in such a situation was paramount, in order to avoid any possible permanent brain damage.
    Beatrice’s fingers continued to restlessly tap the rhythm to a nameless tune that she couldn’t get out of her head. ‘How can you work at a time like this?’ She envied him his monumental calm. ‘He’s your brother .’
    Tariq, who had been staring at a blank screen, lifted his head. The expression she glimpsed briefly in his deepset eyes made it clear that his detachment was an illusion. ‘Would you like me to rant and tear at my hair to prove I care?’ he wondered conversationally.
    Beatrice gave a self-reproachful grimace. ‘Sorry. That was unfair.’
    â€˜And you are usually always scrupulously fair?’ he mocked.
    â€˜I try to be, and I know you care,’ she conceded. ‘In your own way…’
    He laid aside the computer. ‘What is my way?’ She hesitated and he said, ‘Feel free to speak your mind.’
    â€˜An over-protective, manipulative, control-freak way.’ She saw the shock register on his face and thought, Oh, he didn’t mean that free. ‘I talk too much when I’m nervous.’
    His mouth twisted into a sardonic smile. ‘This I had noticed.’
    Seeing the smile, Beatrice was relieved he hadn’t taken offence. Given how reliant she was on his goodwill, there seemed little point going out of her way to aggravate him. ‘You did say speak my mind,’ she reminded him, shifting restlessly in her seat. ‘I keep