The Sheikh and the Surrogate Mum by Meredith Webber Page A

feel slightly squeamish. ‘Did you meet him when he was overseas, training?’
    The question was puzzling and although Liz would have liked to ask why, she contented herself with explaining about Khalifa buying the hospital where she worked with the idea of staff interchanges between the two facilities.
    ‘It’s a wonderful idea,’ she continued, hoping to get Laya’s mind off whatever it was she really wanted to know. ‘Think what the staff from both countries will learn and how the patients will benefit as a result.’
    ‘But he seems at ease with you,’ Laya protested, and it took a moment for Liz to realise she hadn’t diverted the other woman at all.
    ‘Oh,’ she said, then she conquered the little flash of excitement the simple words had caused and squashed the whole conversation. ‘I think he’s the kind of man who would be at ease with any woman,’ she told Laya. ‘Now, we need to gather some supplies for this baby. Can I get you to do that? Do you have special packs on hand for when you airlift babies to the hospital up north? We’ll need a couple of them to begin with and a trolley to hold supplies, and scales of course.’
    Laya assured her such packs were available and departed, leaving Liz and one very small baby boy in the impressively equipped room. She looked down at the sleeping figure and felt movement from the child she carried.
    Her hand moved to touch it—to feel the life within her—but she’d been so strong all through the pregnancy, she knew she shouldn’t weaken now.
    Although with Bill gone, could she not keep this baby?
    Selfishness, she told herself. It wasn’t hers—it was never going to be hers—that had been the biggest hurdle she’d had to leap when she’d decided to go ahead with the pregnancy. Everyone she knew had warned her of maternal bonds and attachment and she’d been determined it wouldn’t happen to her, but now…
    * * *
    To Khalifa’s astonishment, the situation with the baby rooming in the ICU seemed to be working. Admittedly, his patient had been very groggy when she’d come out of the anaesthetic, but of course Liz Jones had been right—the patient’s first thought had been for her baby. In fact, her distress had been so evident that she’d been moved from Recovery to the ICU far more quickly than was usual.
    Now, three days later, she lay, as she always did, with her heavily bandaged head turned towards the infant’s crib. Only today the crib had been moved closer to his patient’s bed and the woman’s hand rested on her son’s arm, her fingers moving very slowly and gently over his skin.
    No need to see who was on duty with the baby. Khalifa doubted either of the nurses would have orchestrated this arrangement.
    Liz nodded at him by way of greeting, as if all this was perfectly normal.
    Yet wasn’t it?
    Mother and baby together—yes, that was normal. But—
    ‘It bothers you?’
    Was his confusion so obvious?
    ‘Hospitals have systems and procedures and rules because in that way we can ensure the best outcomes for our patients,’ he muttered, grumpy now as well as confused.
    The woman had the hide to smile at him.
    ‘And this isn’t the best outcome for both our patients?’ She nodded towards the pair. ‘The two of them linked by the touch of love?’
    The touch of love?
    Her words struck deep into Khalifa’s heart and a sense of loss that had nothing to do with Zara and the baby all but overwhelmed him. Had he ever known it? Certainly not from his mother, who had lived to please one man and one man only, his father. Her children, once born, were cast in among all the other children at the palace, anonymous in the crowd, although his grandmother, his mother’s mother, had always sought him out, made him feel special.
    Had that been love?
    And did Liz know the touch of love, or were they just words? She’d certainly not given any indication that her baby had felt that touch.
    He shouldn’t judge, but her behaviour puzzled him, and