Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife -by Barbara McMahon


CHAPTER ONE

BETHANNE SANDERS lined up the aircraft with the designated runway and began the final descent. The new jet handled like a dream—all the way from Texas to the coast of the Persian Gulf. It was the first time she’d flown halfway around the world and she wished she could continue on until she circled the globe. When she left Quishari, it would be by commercial flight back through Europe.
Maybe she’d get another dream assignment like this one in the not-too-distant future. For now, she continued to scan the landscape as far as she could see as the plane began descending. Excitement built. The Persian Gulf was magnificently blue, from deep, dark navy to shades of azure and turquoise. The strip of sandy beach now visible was almost blinding beneath the sun. She had read so much about Quishari and heard so much from her father, she almost felt like she recognized the landmarks as she came in for the landing. Her heart raced at the thought of actually being here. It was like a dream come true.
Had this assignment not materialized, she still would have come—but it might have taken longer as the cost was exorbitant and savings accumulated slowly.
But fate had stepped in—almost like the answer to a prayer. She was delivering a brand-new Starcraft jet to Sheikh Rashid al Harum—and bringing in a priceless cargo. His soon-to-be fiancée.
Except for the shakedown trips around Texas, the only hours on this jet were the ones taken to fly it here. If the sheikh liked it and accepted delivery, he’d be the proud owner of the latest and greatest of the Starcraft line.
She hoped the sheikh’s fiancée enjoyed the detailing of the luxury appointments and had enjoyed the flight. Bethanne had taken extra care to make the journey as smooth as possible. She found it vastly romantic that they were planning to marry—and neither had yet met the other.
A bit odd in the twenty-first century. Still, to have been chosen to be the bride of one of the fabulously wealthy sheikhs of Quishari had to be thrilling. Pictures had been exchanged, the parents had made the arrangements. How did a thirty-four-year-old man feel about having his bride handpicked? Not too different from some of the online dating services—match likes and dislikes, find someone compatible, and there they were.
Would they kiss when meeting? Seal the deal, so to speak? Or would the woman be too shy to be bold enough for physical affection at the instant of meeting?
She had daydreamed on the long portions of the flight when autopilot had taken care of flying that she was being met by someone who would sweep her off her feet, make her feel cherished and special.
Or, alternatively, she’d also imagined her father striding along the tarmac, gathering her into his arms for one of his big bear hugs.
Blinking, Bethanne brought her attention back to the task of landing this multimillion-dollar jet.
The snowy-white exterior had already been detailed with stripes using the colors of Quishari—blue and gold and green. The interior resembled a high-end hotel lobby. The lush Persian carpet in golds and reds supported cushy sofas and armchairs, all with the requisite seat belts. The small dining area was elegant with rich walnut furnishings. The galley was fully stocked, and included a stove, oven and microwave in addition to the lavish below-counter refrigerator, wider than long, capable of carrying any supplies necessary for the sheikh’s pleasure. Even the sole restroom was spacious.
Bethanne had shown Haile al Benqura all the features of the cabin before going to the cockpit for her preflight routine. The chaperone accompanying the young woman had not spoken English, but Haile had. She’d taken in everything with a solemn demeanor. Wasn’t she the slightest bit excited? Apparently when the sheikh had mentioned something to the president of Starcraft, her boss had immediately offered to fly Haile from her home in Morocco to Quishari as a favor to the prospective buyer of their top-of-the-line private jet.
Bethanne glanced at her copilot, Jess Bradshaw. It was his first long-distance delivery as well and they had taken turns flying the aircraft to minimize delivery time.
“Want to bring it in?” she asked.
“No. We want this to go perfectly. I’m not as good at it as you.”
She shrugged and then brought the plane down with a kiss against the asphalt.
“Nice job,” Jess said.
“Thanks. This is a sweetheart of a plane. The sheikh is one lucky man.”
She followed directions from the tower and taxied to an area away from the main terminal. The immaculate hangar was already swarming with ground crew; everyone had eyes on the jet as she pulled it into the designated slot. She and Jess ran through the checklist as they shut down. She wanted to dash out and breathe the Quishari air. But duty first. She had scheduled several days here to see if she could find her dad. And to see the towns and desert that made Quishari famous.
“I’m glad we get to sleep on the way home,” Jess mumbled, waiting for her to get up first. He followed her from the cockpit to the outside door of the jet. With minimum effort, Bethanne opened it, watching as stairs unfolded. She glanced back and saw the chaperone. Where was Haile? In the restroom? Probably primping to look her best when seeing the sheikh for the first time. Bethanne hoped she hadn’t been there when they landed. Jess had announced their approach and told the passengers to fasten seat belts.
The chaperone looked worried, her eyes darting around the cabin, refusing to meet Bethanne’s gaze. Had she been afraid of flying? Bethanne couldn’t image anyone not loving it. She’d wanted to be a pilot since she turned five and first been taken up in the cockpit of a small plane. Of course, wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps had also played a big part.
Two men waited at the foot of the stairs. When the steps unfolded and locked in place, the taller began to ascend. Bethanne watched him approach. He was maybe six-three or four. Which Bethanne found refreshing. Her own five-ten height usually had her eye to eye with men. His dark hair shone in the sunlight, his skin was tanned to teak. The closer he came, the more she could see—from dark eyes that watched her steadily, to a strong jaw that suggested arrogance and power, to the wide shoulders encased in a pristine white shirt and dark charcoal suit.
Her heart began to beat heavily. She was fascinated by the man. Awareness flooded through her, as did a sudden need to brush her hair—she hoped it was still neat in its French plait. Studying him as he drew closer every step, she noticed the hint of wave in his hair. She wondered what he’d look like if he ran his fingers through his hair. Or if she did.
She swallowed and tried to look away. Fantasies like that would get her nowhere. This had to be Sheikh Rashid al Harum. Almost-fiancé to the woman in the back of the plane. Oh, lucky Haile al Benqura. She had undoubtedly fallen in love with the man from the pictures exchanged. Now she would be greeted and swept off her feet with one of the most gorgeous men Bethanne had ever seen.
“I am Rashid al Harum. Welcome to Quishari,” he said in English as he stepped into the aircraft.
“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. That husky tone wasn’t like her. This man was rattling her senses. “I’m Bethanne Sanders. My copilot, Jess Bradshaw.” She saw the surprise in his eyes. Despite all the headway women had made in aviation, it was still considered primarily a male profession. She was growing used to seeing that expression—especially in locales away from the U.S.
Rashid al Harum inclined his head slightly and then looked beyond them into the cabin.
The older woman rose and began to speak in a rapid strained tone.
Bethanne still didn’t see Haile. Was she ill? As the chaperone continued, she glanced at the sheikh, wishing she understood the language. His face grew harder by the second. In a moment he turned and glared at Bethanne. “What do you know of Haile’s disappearance?” he asked in English.
Bethanne looked back into the cabin. “Disappearance? Isn’t she in the restroom?” she asked, suddenly worried something was wrong. What had the chaperone said? Where was Haile al Benqura?
“Apparently she never left Morocco,” the sheikh said in a tight voice.
“What? That’s impossible. I showed her around the plane myself. She was on board when we were ready to leave.” She turned to Jess. “You saw her, right? When you boarded?”
Jess shook his head slightly. “I don’t remember seeing her when I closed the door. A maintenance man ran down the stairs just as I was rounding the back to board. No one else got off the plane.”
“There shouldn’t have been a maintenance man aboard—there’s nothing wrong with the plane,” Bethanne said. What was going on? Where was Haile? “What did she say?” Bethanne gestured to the chaperone, still standing in front of the sofa.
The sheikh glared at her for a moment, then in a soft, controlled voice that did not soothe at all, said, “I suggest that you and I speak alone.”
She stared at him, suddenly worried things had gone terribly wrong. He seemed to tower above her, anger evident.
“I’ll check on things on the ground,” Jess said with obvious relief. He eased by the two of them and hurried down the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, the sheikh turned to the older woman and spoke briefly.
She dropped her gaze and nodded. Gathering her few things, she walked to the back and sat on the edge of the sofa, gazing out one of the small windows.
“According to her, Haile took off before the plane departed Morocco, running to meet a lover.”
“What? How is that possible? I thought she was coming here to meet you—your fiancée, or almost,” Bethanne blurted out before thinking. How could the woman choose someone else over this man? was Bethanne’s first thought.
“So she is, was, to be. Her family and mine have been in negotiations for months over an oil deal that would prove advantageous to both countries. Included in that was the merger of our two families through marriage. Now my entire family—not to mention others in this country—expects the arrival of a woman who is to be my wife—and she is not on board.”
Bethanne swallowed hard at the anger in his eyes. Surreptitiously wiping her palms against the fabric of her uniform, she raised her chin and said, “I’m not responsible for her leaving the plane. I thought she was on board. She was when I last saw her.”
“You’re the captain of the aircraft. What goes on is your responsibility. I hold you accountable. How could you let her leave?” His dark eyes pinned her in place. His entire demeanor shimmered with anger—controlled, which made it seem even stronger.
“How was I suppose to know she didn’t want to come here? I thought everything was arranged.” She would not tell him how romantic she found the scenario. Maybe she hadn’t thought it through if the woman had fled rather than come to Quishari. “Though if I had known the circumstances, maybe I would have questioned whether anyone wanted to be negotiated into a marriage. I thought it was an old-fashioned mail-order-bride situation. But if the bride wasn’t willing, I’m glad I did not have a part in bringing her here.” She looked at the older woman. “She’s the one you should hold responsible. Bringing them from Morocco to Quishari was a favor to you by our company.”
“But the favor was not fulfilled. She is not here.”
“I can see that. What do you want me to do about it now?” Bethanne said.
“The marriage would be an arrangement that benefits both countries,” he said with a dismissing gesture. “That is not any concern of yours. The decision has been made. What is of your concern, is the fact Haile went missing on your watch.”
Bethanne met his gaze bravely. It was not her fault the woman had deplaned. Why hadn’t the chaperone stopped her? Or told someone before they took off from Morocco? What else could she say?
This was certainly not the happy arrival at Quishari she’d anticipated.
“The immediate need, now, is for damage control,” he said after a moment. The sheikh looked back at the woman sitting so still in the back of the jet. For a moment Bethanne imagined she could see the wheels spinning in his head. How could she have known Haile wasn’t as interested in the marriage as she had thought? She would never have suspected a young woman like Haile would disguise herself and slip away between the time Bethanne went into the cockpit and Jess joined her. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Obviously it had not been a spur-of-the-moment decision. It had taken planning and daring. Bethanne’s romantic mind imagined Haile deplaning surreptitiously and finding her lover and both fleeing, whilst her father and his minions followed on horseback. She blinked. Her overactive imagination could get her in trouble.
“I’m sorry I can’t help you,” she said, hoping to ease the tension that was as thick as butter. Her primary goal was to deliver the plane, which she’d done. Now all the sheikh had to do was accept the delivery, sign the paperwork and Bethanne could begin her vacation in Quishari while Jess would be flying back to Texas on the next available flight.
“Ah, but you can help. In fact, I insist.” He turned back to her. The serious expression in his eyes held her in thrall. What did he mean?
“How can I help? Fly back to Morocco and find her? I wouldn’t begin to know where to look.”
“Despite my family’s efforts to keep the entire matter solely within the family, rumors have been flying around the country. I’ve ignored them, but I know they speculate a special visitor will arrive soon. My coming to meet this plane would have fueled speculation even more. So, you’re it.”
“I’m what it?” she asked, wondering what would happen if there was no special visitor. Some gossip, more speculation about when his fiancée would arrive.
“The woman I came to meet. It’s as if it was meant to be. What are the odds of having a female pilot bringing the plane—and one who is young and pretty enough to pass muster?”
“Muster for what?” Bethanne wondered if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Nothing was making sense.
“To pass as my special guest, of course.”
She stared at him. “Are you crazy? I mean…” Ever conscious of the fact he was an important client of her company she didn’t want to insult, she stopped. But he couldn’t be serious. Thinking she could pass as a fiancée for a sheikh? He had to have half the money of the country. She’d learned that much about the al Harum family from her father. They controlled vast oil deposits and dealt in the world market for oil. They played a major role in the government of Quishari and had for generations.
Bethanne’s head was spinning. He wanted to pretend she was his fiancée?
He spoke to the chaperone who came reluctantly to stand beside him. For several moments, he spoke in rapid Arabic. The woman glanced at Bethanne and frowned. The sheikh continued to speak and resignation settled on the woman’s face. Finally she answered, bowing slightly.
Bethanne hadn’t understood a word. But her mind had quickly considered and discarded one idea after another. The one fact that shone above all was she would be dealing with Rashid al Harum for days. Awareness spiked. She wished she had checked her makeup and hair before opening the door. Did he even see her in the uniform? Feeling decidedly feminine to his masculinity, she let herself consider the outlandish suggestion.
Special guest to a sheikh. They’d spend a lot of romantic moments together. Would he kiss her? Her knees almost melted at the thought.
“It is settled. Haile’s chaperone will serve as yours for the time being. Her name is Fatima. She doesn’t speak English but we’ll get around that somehow.”
“Wait a minute. I’m not—”
He raised his hand. “You are in my country now, Ms. Sanders. And my rules apply. Certain influential people are watching to see the young woman that I am interested in. It is fortunate that my family kept a tight lid on the negotiations. No one knows who I have selected. It would not be a good thing at this point to disappoint them. You are my choice since you lost my other one.”
“That’s totally ridiculous. How can you say that? Maybe you need a few minutes to come up with an alternative plan.”
“This suits me. Time is short. Please put on a happy face and accompany me down the stairs,” he ordered.
“Wait a minute. I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Would you prefer to fly this plane back to the United States immediately? Canceling the sale?” he asked. “And perhaps putting in jeopardy the relationship Quishari holds with Morocco?”
His implacable expression confirmed he was completely serious. She tried to comprehend if he really thought she could divert an international incident. She opened her mouth to refute it when a thought occurred to her.
She had another agenda in Quishari. She had hoped during her vacation to find her father. It wasn’t exactly the kind of stay she’d envisioned, but maybe agreeing to his pretense for a short time would work to her advantage as well. Certainly the special guest of the sheikh would be afforded more access to information than a mere visitor. She had contacts to find, places to visit. Wouldn’t it be easier with the help of Sheikh Rashid al Harum?
She closed her mouth while she tried to see how this odd request—no, demand—could work to her benefit. “What exactly are we talking about?” she asked, suddenly seeing the situation advantageous to her own quest.
“A short visit. We’ll tell people you’ve come to meet me and my family. If they think you and I are making a match, that’s their problem. After a few weeks, you leave. By then, I’ll have the contract finalized and who cares what the rumormongers say. In the meantime, you would be my honored guest.”
“I don’t see how that would work at all. We don’t even know each other.” She had never been in love. Had dreamed about finding that special man, one who had likes and interests similar to her own. Never in a million years could she envision herself having anything in common with a sheikh. But there was that pull of attraction that surprised her. She couldn’t fall for a stranger. Not right away. It had to be jet lag or something.
Still, he fascinated her. And she was pragmatic enough to realize she could get a lot of help in searching for her father.
The way he put things, it wasn’t quite as if they were supposed to be lovers. They were to be still in the getting-to-know-you stage. The thought of getting to know him better tantalized. And people who were almost engaged did kiss.
Why did that compel her? she wondered as she looked at his lips, imagining them pressed against her own.
“Have you considered all the ramifications? What will you say when asked how we met? Why we are attracted to each other? My background is not that important that a sheikh would view it as any kind of advantage.”
“Perhaps we could say we fell in love,” he suggested sardonically.
She frowned. His tone suggested he didn’t believe in love. The dismissing glance he gave proved the thought never crossed his mind. And it wasn’t as if she’d fallen in love with him. A strong interest in an intriguing man—that’s all she felt. Once she got to know him better, she’d undoubtedly find him a bit annoying.
“It’s important even in an arranged marriage for the partners to at least be cordial to each other,” she replied with false sweetness, wondering if she could spend much time in his company without coming completely unglued.
“Do you not think I can be cordial?” he asked in a silky tone, leaning closer. He brushed his fingers against her cheek as he pushed back a strand of hair. His dark eyes were so close she could see tiny golden flecks in them. The affinity she felt was drugging. She wanted to close the scant inches separating them and touch his face, feel his mouth on hers.
She drew a breath to get control of her senses. But the scent of his aftershave set her senses to dancing. She opened her mouth to offer a hearty no, then closed it.
Think.
It would help her look for her father. Using her unexpected position to gain access where mere visitors might not have was a bonus she never expected. Don’t hastily reject this, she warned herself.
“Perhaps,” she conceded.
“And you?” he asked. The intensity of his gaze had her mesmerized. She could no more look away than she could fly without a plane.
“I can be cordial. But not lovey-dovey,” she said. There was a limit she dare not cross lest she be lost. One kiss would never be enough. She’d become demanding and forget why she’d come to Quishari if the tempting allure was given free rein.
Amusement flared in his eyes. “Agreed, no lovey-dovey. You must call me Rashid and I will call you Bethanne. In public you will appear to be devoted to me.”
“And in private?” she asked, already wondering if she’d lost her mind to even consider such a bizarre plan. Still, if it gave her the answers she craved, who was she to say no?
“I’d settle for devotion, but can understand if you feel more reserved,” he said. Laughter lurked in his eyes.
The amusement confused her. Was he serious or not?
“I will have Fatima accompany you to a villa I own by the sea. It was where Haile was to stay. You’ll have privacy there. Of course, I expect you to attend the celebratory functions that have been planned. And to convince my mother we have a chance of making this work.”
“Your mother? You want to pretend to your mother? I think you’re crazy.”
Bethanne was not close to her own mother but lying to her would never be an option. Were the sheikh and his mother on no better terms?
The amusement vanished. “I want nothing to ruin the deal I still have pending with Haile’s father. There are factions here who oppose the proposed arrangement. The finance minister, for one. He would consider Haile’s actions an insult to our country. He’d love nothing better than to drive a wedge into the negotiations. As it stands, perhaps it is even better that things turned out this way. Al Benqura will feel guilty at the actions of his daughter so be more willing to concede some points still to be agreed upon. Help me and I will do something in return for you.”
Mixed feelings washed through her. She could never pull off being a woman of interest to a dynamic man like Rashid al Harum. She’d be spotted for a fraud the first time she ventured out. Yet the thought of being escorted around by him had her stomach flipping over in giddy anticipation. She’d never have this kind of chance again.
She had only seconds to make a decision.
Jess stepped to the door. “Everything okay?” he asked.
Rashid did not look away from Bethanne. Her gaze met his, seeking assurance that if she complied with this wild scheme, it would end up all right for all.
“Everything is fine,” she said at last, hoping she wasn’t making a monumental mistake.
There was an almost imperceptible change in the sheikh’s manner. Had he doubted her? Well, he should. If not for her goal of finding her father, she would have categorically denied his request. Or maybe thought about it a bit longer. She had trouble looking away.
The sheikh spun around. “There is no need for you to remain. We can get you on a plane within the hour to return to the United States.” The sheikh summoned the other man still standing at the foot of the stairs. In only seconds, Sheikh Rashid al Harum had given him orders.
One less person who would know about the charade, Bethanne thought. She was still a bit bemused with the entire matter. This man knew what he wanted and went for it without hesitation.
“Bethanne?” Jess said, looking between her and the sheikh as if suspecting something was amiss.
“I’ll be fine. Just a few details to work out. If you can get on a plane within the hour, you better take advantage of the flight.”
“In the meantime, I will examine the interior and cockpit,” Rashid said.
Jess came closer to Bethanne when Rashid went to inspect the rear of the plane. “Is everything really okay? What happened to the fiancée?” he whispered.
“Um, change of plans.”
Jess still appeared doubtful, but he nodded and turned to retrieve his bag from where he’d stashed it. With one more look down the cabin, he turned and left with the sheikh’s man.
The sheikh peered out of one of the side windows and watched as Jess entered the car that had been waiting and was soon heading for the main section of the busy airport.
He nodded as if in satisfaction and headed for the front of the plane.
“I assume you have your own bags,” he said.
She nodded and pointed out the small travel case she used.
“You travel light.”
“It carries enough clothes for me. Two more uniforms like the one I’m wearing. And some off-duty outfits. I have reservations at a hotel in the heart of the city,” she said.
“You were planning to stay in Quishari for a while?”
“Yes. I’ve heard about it for years. Have pictures and books and pamphlets about the beaches, the history and the stark desert dwellings. I’m quite looking forward to learning more firsthand. I think I’m already in love with the country.”
“Where did you learn this?” he asked.
“From my father, Hank Pendarvis.”
For a moment she wondered at the change in attitude of the sheikh. His face tightened as it had when he learned of Haile’s defection.
“Your name is Sanders,” he said.
“My stepfather’s name. My mother remarried when I was young and he adopted me. We do not get along. My father has been missing for three years.”
“He is a thief. He stole one of our planes.”
She blinked. “That’s a lie!” Her father was not a thief.
“So you are the daughter of a thief.” Rashid shook his head.
“No, I’m not. That’s not true. My father would never steal anything—especially from your family. He wrote how he loved working for Bashiri Oil and for Sheikh Rabid al Harum.”
“My father. Who died when he learned of Hank’s theft.”
Bethanne felt sick. Was it possible? No, not her father. She hadn’t seen much of him over the years, but she had scads of letters. And he’d phoned her once a week for most of her life. Whenever he was in the States, he came to visit. They flew over Texas, had picnics in meadows and spent time at the beach together. She loved those visits when her father would tell her of the ideal life he enjoyed flying for the senior al Harum.
She raised her chin. “You are wrong.”
Rashid uttered a word in Arabic she did not understand. But the intent was clear. He did not like this situation at all. Did he want to change the role she was to play?
He leaned forward, anger radiating from him. “My family has been hurt by yours already. Do not betray me in this charade or it will be the worst for you. I am stuck—temporarily—but do not think I shall forget for an instant.”
“If you want my help, you need to make good your offer to do something for me in return.”
“And that is?” he asked, his demeanor suddenly suspicious.
“Help me find my father.”
He stared at her for a long moment, then stepped to the door. He gestured to someone on the ground and the man entered a moment later. He lifted Bethanne’s carry-on bag and went back.
“Agreed. But if we find him, the law will take care of him.”
“Not if he didn’t steal a plane,” she countered. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or stressed at the thought of being the sheikh’s girlfriend. But if it helped her to find her father, she would make the best of it.
“So we begin,” the sheikh said and stepped to the top step.
Bethanne followed, Fatima behind her. There were now several men in suits at the bottom of the stairs and they came to attention as the sheikh appeared. Bethanne felt caught in a dream. She glided down the stairs and before she knew it, she was in the back of a stretch limousine that seemed to take up a city block. It was a luxurious machine, gleaming white beneath the hot sun, with fancy gold Arabic script on the doors. When she stepped inside, Bethanne was delighted with the cold air that greeted her. Fatima rode in front beside the driver. Rashid slid onto the wide backseat with her. A few words and the driver had the glass wall slide up, separating them from the front of the vehicle.
She glanced at the sheikh as they drove away. He flipped on a cell phone and was speaking rapidly, the Arabic words beyond her. He didn’t look like he was taking all the air in the car, but she felt breathless. Gazing out the window, she tried to quell her riotous emotions. She could reach out and touch him—had she the right? Clenching her hands into fists, she refused to give way to the clamoring attention his presence demanded. He thought her father was a thief. How dare he! She had best remember this was only a game of pretense while he went after that oil deal. For her part, he agreed to help her find her father. It would be worth it in the end as long as she kept her head.
Fruitless daydreams of a relationship between them would contribute nothing. She had to keep focused and ignore the awareness that seemed to grow the longer she was around him.
Hank Pendarvis had disappeared three years ago. She feared he was dead. Her mother, long ago divorced and remarried, had tried to obtain information from the oil company for which he flew—the one owned by the sheikh—but her inquiries had produced no results. Bethanne had tried letters to people her father had mentioned over the years, but only one had gone through and that person had not known anything beyond Hank had flown away one day and never returned.
Bethanne missed the larger-than-life man, her secret hero from childhood. He’d been the one to spark her interest in flying, her passion for exploring new places, meeting new people. He would not have ignored her this long if he were alive.
Sad as it was to think of him as dead, she wanted closure. To know what happened to him. And if he were dead, where he lay. She tried to convince herself he was dead or would have contacted her. But the faint hope he was just caught up in something could not be quenched. Until she knew, she hoped he was still alive somewhere.
“We are here,” Rashid said.
Bethanne blinked and turned her head to peer out his window as the car slowed and turned into the wide driveway that led to a beautiful white villa. A stunning expanse of green grass blanketed the area in front of the structure. It looked like an Italian home or French Riviera villa. Nothing like what she expected in an Arabic country.
“Wow,” she murmured softly. The home was amazing. Two stories tall with a wraparound veranda on both levels, its white walls gleamed in the sunshine. The red terra cotta roof sloped down, providing cover to the upper veranda which in turn shaded the lower level. Tall French doors opened from every room.
The driveway curved around in front, flanked by banks of blue and gold flowers. The chauffeur slowed to a stop in front of wide double doors, with wooden panels carved in ornate designs. The heavy wrought-iron handles added substance. The right door opened even before the car stopped. A tall man wearing traditional robes stepped outside and hastened down the shallow steps to open the passenger door.
The sheikh stepped out and returned the man’s greetings.
“Mohammad, this is Ms. Sanders. She has come to stay for a while as my special guest,” he said in English.
Less than five minutes later Bethanne stood alone in the large bedroom that had been assigned to her. It held a huge canopy bed in the center, complete with steps to the high mattress. The chandelier in the center of the ceiling sparkled in the light streaming in through the open French doors. Gauzy curtains gently swayed in the light breeze.
Two sets of French doors gave access to the wide upper veranda. She stepped outside and immediately inhaled the tang of the sea mixed with the fragrance of hundreds of flowers blossoming beneath her. She crossed to the railing and gazed at the profusion of colors and shapes in the garden below. A wide path led from the garden toward the sea, a glimpse of which she could see from where she stood. Walking along the veranda toward the Gulf, she was enchanted to find a better vantage point at the corner with a clear view to a sugar-white beach and the lovely blue water.
The maid who had shown her to her room had thankfully spoken English. She told Bethanne her name was Minnah while she unpacked the few articles of clothing in the small bag and asked if Bethanne had more luggage coming.
At a loss, she merely shook her head and continued staring at the garden.
She’d have to suggest to the sheikh that a woman coming to visit would bring more than a handful of uniforms and an assortment of casual clothes. This stupid plan of his would never work. What did he hope to achieve? Save the embarrassment of people learning his intended bride had run away rather than go through with a marriage? Get the business deal completed without anyone knowing how insulting Haile al Benqura’s actions had been?
She had no idea of how long he expected this charade to last. So any investigations for her father needed to be done swiftly in case her visit was cut radically short. The sheikh had canceled her reservations at the hotel. She wondered if she should make new ones, just in case.
After she’d changed and freshened up, Bethanne headed back down the way she’d come. The villa wasn’t as large as she first thought. Probably only eight bedroom suites. She almost laughed at the thought. Her tiny apartment in Galveston would squeeze into her assigned bedroom here.
She didn’t see a soul as she went back to the front door and let herself out. The limo was gone. The lawn stretched out to a tall flowering hedge of oleander, sheltering the house from any view from the street.
Following the lower veranda to the path she’d seen, Bethanne walked through the garden and out to the beach. There were several chairs and tables on the white sand near the edge of the garden. She could sit and relax after her walk.
In the distance she saw a large container ship slowly moving through the Gulf. Happily Bethanne walked to the water’s edge, kicked off her shoes and started walking north. Her mind was already formulating where she could begin with her inquiries. When she returned to the villa, she’d summons the maid to begin with her. Had her father ever visited the house? Maybe the staff would remember him. She wanted answers and didn’t plan to leave Quishari until she had them. Neither the difficulty of the task nor language barrier would stop her!


“What’s got you upset?” Khalid asked from his position lounging on one of the chairs in Rashid’s office at Bashiri Oil. The corner office had a splendid view of Alkaahdar and the Gulf. On the highest floor of the building, it rose above most other buildings in the capital city and gave an unimpeded view.
Rashid paced to the tall window and glared at the cityscape, annoyed afresh that his brother had picked up on his irritation. It was not new. Twins had an uncanny intuition concerning each other. Rashid could recognize his brother’s moods in a second. Of course Khalid could recognize his.
He knew he had to contact Haile’s father. The longer he delayed, the more awkward it would become. Did the man know yet his daughter had run off? Had he known about the other man all along and still expected Haile to consider marriage to him?
He turned from the window and met his brother’s eyes. Khalid had the knack of instant relaxation. And then instant action when called for. He was slouched on one of the visitor chairs. Rashid noted his brother was wearing a suit again, instead of the more traditional robes. A concession to being in the city. First chance he had, Rashid knew his brother would head for the interior or the derricks along the coast to the south. Khalid was not one for society or social niceties.
For a second he debated trying the charade on his twin. But it would not take long for Khalid to figure things out. Besides, they had never lied to each other.
“It appears the glowing bride-to-be is glowing for someone else.”
“Huh?” Khalid sat up at that. “What do you mean?”
“She never arrived.”
“I heard she did and that she’s blonde and tall and you whisked her away to keep her from the prying eyes of everyone.”
“The rumor mill is even faster than I knew. That’s the idea. Haile never arrived. I want to finalize the deal with al Benqura before letting the world know I’ve been stood up. You know what the minister would say if he found out. This deal’s too important to me to let some flighty woman screw it up.” Briefly Rashid outlined the situation.
“What does al Benqura say to his daughter’s no-show?” Khalid asked.
“I’m not sure he knows.”
“And the blonde you escorted from the plane?”
“I hope a substitute until the deal is done.”
“Where did you conjure her up?”
“Turns out she’s the pilot delivering my new plane—that was supposed to bring Haile. She thought Haile was on board and was as surprised as I was to discover she was not.”
“Ah, yes, the new jet you’re buying. The pilot is a woman? That’s odd.”
“Or providence in this situation.”
“And she agreed to this charade? What am I saying, of course she did. How much for her silence?”
Rashid shrugged. “So far no monetary demands. But a twist I never expected. She’s Hank Pendarvis’s daughter.”
“What?” Khalid sat up at that. “You’re kidding. I didn’t even know he had a family.”
“And she’s looking for her father.”
Khalid sat up in his chair. “He took that jet some years ago.”
“And disappeared. Apparently starting life anew, he cut all ties with his past. She wants to know what happened. As do we all.”
Khalid shrugged. “Don’t get in too deep,” he warned. “I wouldn’t trust her, if I were you.” He shifted slightly and tilted his head in a manner that reminded Rashid of his own mannerisms when confronted by questionable behavior. “Are you sure she won’t give away the scheme at the first chance? European tabloids would love such a story. And she has nothing to lose and lots of money to gain.”
“So far she seems more interested in searching for her father than acquiring anything. But I will keep in mind her relationship to Hank.”
Rashid glanced back out the window, but he knew he wasn’t fooling his twin. That Bethanne would refuse to cooperate was a true risk. One he was willing to take to insure the finalization of the deal he had been working on for months. He needed the support of the ministry to finalize the deal of such magnitude. Otherwise he wouldn’t care two figs about the minister’s position.
He was not going to tell his brother how he had grown to regret agreeing to an engagement that had been so strongly encouraged between his mother and al Benqura. Haile had the perfect background to be his wife. And after his aborted attempt to marry the woman of his choice when he was twenty-two, Haile seemed more than suitable.
He also was not going to mention the flash of desire that had surprised him when he met Bethanne. She was so different from the women he knew. If asked for a type, he would have said he preferred petite and dark, with brown eyes and a lush figure. Bethanne didn’t meet a single criterion. She was tall, blonde, blue eyes and almost as slender as a boy.
But that didn’t stop his interest. Which hadn’t waned even when learning she was Hank’s daughter. There could be nothing between them. Not once the relationship was made known. In the meantime, he hoped they could carry on until the oil deal was signed.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Khalid said. “I’m off to the south for a few days. I want to check out the pipeline from the number four oil rig. There’s a leak somewhere and so far no one’s found it. If it catches fire, there’ll be hell to pay.” Khalid rose. “Maybe I should take the new jet and vet it for you.”
“It’s my new toy. Get one of your own.”
Khalid’s sarcastic snort of laughter conveyed his amusement. “Don’t need one. I use the company’s,” he said, referring to the fleet of small aircraft the oil company owned.
“You don’t have to have hands-on surveillance of the rigs,” Rashid said. “And if there is a fire, let someone else deal with it.”
“Hey, that’s my job.”
He and Khalid had this conversation a dozen times a month. He glanced at his brother, his gaze focused briefly on the disfiguring swath of scar tissue running from his right cheek down his neck to disappear beneath his shirt collar. The oil fire that had caused the damage had eventually been extinguished—by Khalid himself. The devastation hadn’t stopped him from turning his back on office work and continuing in the oil fields. His elite company of oil firefighters was in high demand whenever an oil fire broke out.
Both of them had inherited wealth when their father had died. Both had a strong sense of obligation to the family oil business. Rashid preferred to hire competent help for routine tasks. He loved dealing in the world markets. But his twin had always found the drilling sites fascinating. Not to mention finding the conflagrations that could ruin a site a challenge to extinguish. Khalid drove their mother crazy with concern.
The phone rang.
“Did she arrive?” His mother’s voice sounded in his ear.
Khalid gave a mock bow and left his brother to the phone call.
“My guest arrived and is staying at Grandmother’s villa,” Rashid said. Another front to deal with. His mother had been instrumental in the arrangement of the alliance with Haile. She herself had had an arranged marriage and she wanted her sons to follow the old ways.
“I can’t wait to meet her. I know you were hesitant about this arrangement, but it’ll work out for the best for all. Plan to bring her to dinner tonight.”
“Ah, I believe you misunderstood me, Mother,” he said. The charade started now. “Haile had other plans. My guest is Bethanne Sanders. Someone I know from Starcraft.” When concocting a magnificent lie, it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible.
“What do you mean?” He heard the bewilderment in her tone.
“I will be happy to bring Bethanne to meet you tomorrow. For tonight, we wish to be together. She’s had a long flight and is tired.”
“But Haile? What of her?”
“I’ll explain when we meet,” he said.
“Rashid, don’t be impetuous.”
He almost laughed. It had been years since he’d been impetuous. His brief aborted love for Marguerite when he’d been younger had ended that streak. Now he kept careful control of his emotions and actions. “Rest assured, Mother, I do not plan to repeat the past.”
When the call ended, he reached for the folder on the new jet. He needed to know more about the woman he had ensconced at the villa and quickly. His assistant had approved the requests for visas for both pilots. He took the photograph of Bethanne and stepped closer to the window, his curiosity raised. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall for a woman. A standard passport photo, yet the playfulness lurking in the depths of her blue eyes contrasted with the severe hairstyle, pulled back probably into a ponytail. He’d seen the anger flash in her eyes on the plane. And the shrewd bargaining to help find her father. Was Khalid right, she would be looking for some way to gain money or prestige from the charade?
She didn’t look very old. Yet he knew she had to be experienced. Starcraft was an established firm that didn’t take chances with the multimillion-dollar aircrafts it built.
How novel to have a woman pilot. Had that fact made the rumor mill yet? He put the photo back, wondering what the financial minister was making of the situation. Rashid had to make sure he did not learn the true circumstances until the deal was consummated. Or even then, if he could help it.
For a moment he remembered their meeting on the plane. She had caught his attention instantly. She was far different from anyone he knew. Wasn’t it his luck she was off-limits because of her father. He would love to explore the attraction he felt when he first saw her standing proudly at the top of the stairs. But as the daughter of a thief, he could not let himself enjoy their relationship. He needed to be on guard for any nefarious activity on her part. The apple never fell far from the tree. Was she also not to be trusted?
Hank had worked for his father for many years when he stole the latest jet in their fleet. What had caused his actions? They’d probably never know unless they found him. But he’d watch his daughter. Their family would not be caught unawares a second time.
He was in a tight spot—balancing the minister on one hand, his mother’s interest on another, and needing to keep his guest visible enough to satisfy curiosity, and secluded enough to insure she could not threaten the situation.
In addition, he was now committed to delving into the old business of the theft of their plane. Three years ago, when his father died, Rashid had stepped into his place at the oil company. Khalid had worked on locating Hank and the plane—with no tangible results. They’d accepted the loss and moved on. Would they have any more success now?