Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

Chapter TWO

BETHANNE wondered how much of the beach she was walking on belonged to the sheikh. She had not seen any sign of other people as she walked, and she estimated she’d gone almost a mile. The water was warm on her feet. The sand swished around her toes as the spent waves swirled around them. She wished she’d worn a hat or something; the sun was burning hot on her head. She was reluctant to return, however. The walk was soothing and just touching the ground where her father might have once stood gave her a connected feeling that had been missing a long time. She could imagine she’d run into him and they’d both express surprise and immediately begin talking and catching up. Then she’d realize he’d been extremely busy and had not died alone and unlamented somewhere unknown, but had simply let time slip by. He had never done so before, but Bethanne clung to hope.
Finally she turned to retrace her steps. Glad she’d left her shoes above the tide line as an indicator of where to return, she studied the lush vegetation that bordered the beach. The villa was almost invisible from the shore. When she caught a glimpse of it, she also saw someone sitting in one of the chairs near the path.
Her heart rate increased as she walked closer. Even before she could recognize him, she knew it was Sheikh Rashid al Harum. Rashid. She said the name softly. He rose as she approached, watching her. Conscious of her windblown hair, sandy feet, khaki pants rolled up to her knees, she knew she must appear a sight. Why couldn’t she have brought a dress that would look feminine and sexy? No, she had to be practical. What would he think?
“Did you enjoy your walk?” he asked.
She nodded, leaning over to roll down her pants and dust the sand off first one foot and then the other. Slipping on her shoes, she wished she had worn sandals. Glancing at her watch, she saw she’d been gone longer than she realized. It was approaching the dinner hour.
“It’s quite lovely,” she said, standing again. “I’d like to go swimming while I’m here.”
“My brother and I enjoyed the beach when we were children. The villa used to belong to my grandmother. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone swimming here.”
End of conversation. She cast around for something else to say. But the topic she wanted to discuss was, of course, the charade he’d insisted upon. So—
“I don’t think this is going to work,” she said.
“Because?”
“I’ve had time to think about it. No one’s going to believe you have fallen for some jet jockey from America. First of all, where would we have met? Then, let’s face it, I’m no femme fatale.”
His gaze skimmed over her. Bethanne felt her blood heat. She wished she could read minds. What did he think when he looked at her? When he again met her eyes, he smiled.
Bethanne’s heart flipped over. The way his eyes crinkled with that smile had her fascinated. It changed his entire demeanor. He was the best-looking man she’d ever met. He had to know the effect he had on women. On her.
Flustered, she tried to appear unaffected, but suspected the color rising in her cheeks gave her away.
“You look like you could be most intriguing, with the right clothing.”
“And that’s another thing. I would not have come to visit bringing only uniforms and casual clothes! I expected to be searching for my father, not going anywhere where I needed to look like I could attract a sheikh.”
He laughed. “Even in your casual clothes, people would know why you would attract a sheikh. But clothing is easily remedied. In fact, I took the liberty of having some dresses sent to your room. Please accept as a token of my appreciation for your help.”
“Help? You practically kidnapped me.” What had he meant by people would know why you would attract a sheikh? Did he like the way she looked?
“Hardly that. You agreed to help in exchange for my resuming the search for your father. I don’t think we’ll turn up anything at this late date, but I will make some inquiries.”
Bethanne considered the terms. She was not going to stop believing in her father just on the sheikh’s say-so. She knew her father would never betray anyone. Still, any help would be appreciated. “Okay, it’s your party. If you think we can fool people, good luck.”
“You underestimate yourself. No one will ever doubt that I could be interested.”
“Nicely said. Maybe there is a ghost of a chance,” she said. Her heart rate increased with his compliment. And the look in his eyes. Definite interest.
“Dinner will be served at seven. Perhaps you would join me on the veranda then?” he asked.
“Thank you, I should be delighted.” She nodded regally and swept by, wishing she wore a lovely dress and didn’t have sand chafing her feet.


Bethanne gazed at the closet full of clothes five minutes later. Rashid’s last words echoed in her mind. No one could doubt he could be interested if she wore some of these dresses. How had he arranged to have so many different ones delivered in the few hours since he deposited her at the villa?
Duh, money can accomplish anything, she thought as she fingered the light silks and linens. She pulled out a blue dress that matched her eyes.
Pampering herself with a luxurious bath and then paying careful attention to her hair and makeup, Bethanne felt a bit like she’d imagine Cinderella felt dressing for the ball.
Fatima had knocked on the door as she was slipping on the dress. She smiled and nodded, saying something in Arabic that Bethanne didn’t understand. But the universal signs of approval were obvious. What had the sheikh told this woman about their charade?
The blue of the dress did indeed enhance the color of her eyes. During her walk the sun had tinted her skin with a light tan and the constant hint of excitement at the thought of dining with a sheikh had her on tenterhooks and brought additional color to her cheeks.
Descending the stairs shortly before seven, she wished Rashid were at the bottom to see her descend. The designer dress hugged her figure and made her feel as sexy as a French movie star. She hoped it would replace the image he had of her windblown and disheveled from her walk.
Reaching the ground floor, she headed toward the sound of male voices. She entered a formal sitting room a moment later, just as the butler left. She took a deep breath, dismayed to find her stomach full of butterflies and her palms growing damp. Why this sudden attack of nerves? He was the same. Nothing had changed. But she felt as if the stakes had been rachetted up a notch. She had to find her father to prove his innocence. It became important that the sheikh not think she came from a dishonored family.
As if sensing her arrival, the sheikh turned.
“Thank you for the dress. It’s more than expected and quite lovely,” Bethanne said quickly, her words almost too fast to understand. Her heart rate tripled and she gripped her poise and tried to act as if she were comfortable greeting Arabian sheikhs every day.
“It is of no consequence. I hope your stay in Quishari will be enjoyable. If you need anything while here at the villa, do ask.”
“I look forward to seeing Quishari while I’m here. Since I assume I’ll have some free time while you’re at work, perhaps you could recommend a guide who speaks English? If I can hire a car, I can explore on my own. I’ve heard so much about the country for years. I can’t believe I’m here.” Or at least under these circumstances. Her father had loved Quishari. She knew she would as well.
“I shall put one of my drivers and cars at your disposal. Do allow me to show you the major sights of my country. I am anxious to try out the plane. If you would fly it for me, we can put it through its paces tomorrow.”
“I’d love to. I am at your service,” she said, feeling almost giddy with the thought she might actually fly where her father had flown. And find time to talk to maintenance men who might know what happened to him. She was a bit surprised the al Harum family had not done more to pursue the issue. Had they merely dismissed it as casual theft and written off a plane? she wondered.
Perhaps in the greater scheme of things, it didn’t cost much from their perspective. But she would have thought Rashid the type to go after someone who had done him wrong and make sure justice triumphed.
“Then I will see that you have every opportunity to explore. I’m quite proud of our heritage and history. Some of the architecture in the old section of town is renowned.”
“I look forward to seeing it all.” In truth, she never expected Rashid to spend a moment with her if not in a public forum in an attempt to discourage gossip.
“Did the dresses fit?”
She loved hearing that deep, melodious voice with its trace of British accent. Why were Americans such suckers for accents? Her Southern drawl sounded out of place in the posh cosmopolitan sitting room with elaborate brocade sofas and antiques dating back centuries.
“The ones I tried on fit perfectly. I loved this one the best.”
“It was the color of your eyes,” he said.
She caught her breath. Had he noticed enough to request this special color? She searched his eyes for a hint of the truth, but though he looked at her for a long moment, his expression gave nothing away. He’d be terrific at high-stakes poker.
“I thought from your visa photo that you seemed young to be an experienced pilot. Now it appears you’re far too feminine to fly planes.”
“I’ve had plenty of training.” She didn’t know whether to be flattered at the subtle compliment or defensive for her abilities. Did he think women weren’t as capable as men to pilot aircrafts?
“You graduated from the U.S. Air Force Academy, took flight training and flew a number of fixed wing crafts and helicopters while serving,” Rashid said. “I read your background sent from Starcraft.”
“You needn’t worry I can’t handle your new jet.”
He laughed, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I never doubted it. You brought it safely from the United States. Come, dinner will be ready by now.” He offered his arm to Bethanne. She took it, feeling awkward. She was more at ease in the casual restaurants she normally patronized than dining with an Arabian sheikh. But her experiences taught her how to meet every challenge—even this one.
Dinner proved to be less disconcerting than she’d expected. Once seated, the conversation centered around the new jet, its performance and the enhancements Rashid had ordered. After they ate, Rashid insisted they share hot tea on the veranda overlooking the garden. By the time it grew dark, Bethanne was glad to retreat to her bedroom. It had been a long day. One that had not ended as expected.
He bid her good-night at the foot of the stairs and even as she climbed them, he left the villa. The sound of his car faded as she shut her bedroom door.
Bethanne twirled around the large room in sheer joy. She felt as if she were a part of a fairy tale. Handsome sheikh, beautiful setting, lovely clothes and nothing to do but fly a plane at his whim. Could life be any better?
Falling asleep to the soft soughing of the sea relaxed Bethanne like nothing else. Before dropping off, she vowed she’d begin her search for her father tomorrow. But for tonight, she wanted to think about the dashing sheikh who chose her for his special guest—if only temporarily.


Minnah awakened Bethanne the next morning when she entered the bedroom carrying a tray of fragrant hot chocolate and a basket of fresh pastries and croissants. Breakfast in bed was not a luxury Bethanne enjoyed often and she plumped up her pillows and took the heavy silver tray on her lap with delight. There was an English newspaper folded neatly on one side.
“Thank you,” she said as the woman went to the French doors to open them wide to the fresh morning breeze.
“I will bring you bathing suits after your breakfast. His Excellency suggested you’d like a swim before starting your day.” The maid’s English was practically flawless. “Later a driver will pick you up to take you to the airport. His Excellency is anxious to fly in the new plane.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Bethanne said, already savoring the rich dark chocolate taste of the hot beverage. The feeling of being a princess living in the height of luxury continued. But she dare not waste a moment.
“Before you leave,” she said to Minnah, “did you know Hank Pendarvis? He was also a pilot for the sheikh. Or at least the oil company.”
The maid tilted her head slightly as she tried to remember. Finally she shook her head slightly. “I do not know him.”
That would have been too easy, Bethanne thought. She thanked her and resumed eating breakfast.
Selecting a one-piece blue swimsuit from her new wardrobe a short time later, she donned the accompanying cover-up and headed for the beach. A short swim would be perfect. It was warm enough to enjoy the water without the blazing heat that would rise later in the day. Fatima accompanied her. She had been informed of Bethanne’s plans by the maid. For the time being, Minnah would act as the go-between. Bethanne wondered how she’d learned English. When they reached the beach, Fatima sat on one of the chairs near the edge, apparently content to watch from a distance.
Feeling pampered and spoiled, Bethanne relished each sensation as her day started so differently from normal. Shedding the cover-up near the chairs, she ran to the water, plunging in. It was warm and buoyant. Giving in to the pleasure the sea brought, she swam and floated and thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had a goal to reach and a job to do. But for a few moments, she felt carefree and happy.


At the airport an hour later, Bethanne’s attitude changed from bemused delight to efficient commander. She talked to the ground crew through a translator the sheikh had provided, reviewing items on the checklist. She listened to how they had refueled the aircraft. She did a visual inspection of the jet. She wasn’t sure when the sheikh would want to take the maiden flight, but she was ready when he was. Now she had nothing to do but await his arrival.
She beckoned the translator over. “Can you ask among the crew if any of them knew Hank Pendarvis? He was a pilot and probably flew from this airport,” she said.
He nodded and walked back to the group of men.
Two spoke to his question and both looked over at Bethanne. Breaking away from the rest, the two men and the translator walked to her.
“These men knew him. He was a pilot for His Excellency’s father, Sheikh Rabid al Harum.”
“Is he dead?” she asked bluntly, studying the two men who had known her father.
One man looked away when the question was posed in Arabic. The other looked sad and shook his head at Bethanne, speaking rapidly.
“It is unfortunate, but it appears he has vanished. Was he a friend of yours?”
Bethanne didn’t want to reveal her connection to all and sundry. “An acquaintance. I heard he had a job in Quishari and hoped to look him up while I am here.”
There was lengthy conversation between the three men, with a couple of glances thrown her way as the one man grew quite passionate.
Finally the translator turned to her. “The man was a pilot. One day he took a plane without permission. He never returned. It is surmised he either flew to another country or the plane crashed. No one has heard from him in almost three years. And the plane has not flown over Quishari skies since then.”
She wanted to protest that her father was not a thief, but these men confirmed what Rashid had said. But it couldn’t be. Her father was nothing like that. He was loyal to the al Harum family. Loved his job. He would not risk it to steal a plane, no matter what the provocation.
“Did they search for a crashed plane?” she asked, holding on to her composure with effort. Had no one been concerned when he disappeared? Had they so quickly condemned him as a thief that no one searched in case there had been an accident? Her heart ached. Her father had to be dead. He would have contacted her long before now if he could have. She refused to believe he stole the plane.
Another bout of conversation and then one of the men shrugged and turned to walk back to the group. The other continued talking and then watched Bethanne when the translator told her a search was impossible when no one knew where he’d gone. The desert was vast, uninhabited for the most part. Without knowing the direction he’d taken, it was fruitless to search.
“And no one knew why he took the flight?” she asked. How far could she push without giving away her avid interest?
“He was pilot to the old sheikh who died shortly after the man disappeared. His son had no knowledge of the reason he took the plane. There is no more,” he ended sadly.
“Thank you.” She forced a smile at the man who had conveyed the information. Refusing to let her dismay show, she walked back to the plane.
She wished she had some time alone to assimilate the cold facts. What would have compelled her father to take a plane if not authorized? He hadn’t owned a plane, just flew for whoever hired him. Where could he have been going? Why was there no debris if he’d crashed? Someone flying over an accident site must have seen it. Maybe he’d flown off the normal route. Maybe he had not filed a flight plan and no one knew where to look. Yet, how could he have flown without filing a plan? She’d had to fill out enough paper to fill a box when requesting routes into Quishari. Even this morning when saying she wanted to take the jet up, she’d had to fill out a half-dozen forms.
She entered the plane and wandered through the sumptuous cabin. The interior had been designed to the specifications requested by Rashid al Harum. She sat on the sofa, encased in comfort. The microsuede fabric was sensuous to the touch, feeling like velvet. The thick Persian rug on the floor felt sumptuous beneath her feet. She’d like to take off her shoes and scrunch her toes in the luxury. It was like a fine drawing room. The only time she flew, when not piloting an aircraft, she was crammed into the cheapest seats possible returning to base. What would it be like to fly high above the earth in such elegant furnishings? Nothing like the flights she knew.
For a moment she imagined herself sitting next to the sheikh as they cruised high above the Arabian desert. He’d offer her a beverage. They’d sit close together, heads bent toward each other, enjoying each other’s company.
Rashid Al Harum entered, ducking his head slightly to clear the lintel. He looked surprised to see her.
Bethanne jumped to her feet instantly, her face growing warm with embarrassment. Bad enough to be daydreaming, but to be caught sitting as if she had nothing to do was problematic.
“I’m sorry. I just took a moment to test the sofa,” she said in a rush. She had no business imagining herself as a guest aboard this lovely plane. She was here to work!
“And is it as comfortable as it looks?” he asked, taking her presence in the cabin of the plane instead of the cockpit with equanimity.
“Fabulous. The seat belts are discreet. I feel like I’m in a small living room somewhere. I hope it meets your expectations.” She stepped toward the front of the plane, hoping to squeeze by, but his presence filled the narrow space.
“If you’re ready to depart, I’ll begin the preflight checklist,” she said, overwhelmed a bit by his proximity. It wasn’t only his sheer masculinity, which made her feel quite feminine, it was the way he carried himself—with all the confidence in the world. And his good looks would give anyone a run for his money. Tall, dark and handsome was such a cliché—and now Bethanne knew exactly why. He looked like the dream of every young woman anywhere with his fabulous features, dark hair and chiseled lips that she’d like to touch hers just once.
Get a grip, girl, she admonished herself. They would never have met in other circumstances. And the only thing he wanted to touch was the fancy furnishing of his new jet. Or the signed copy of the contract for the deal he was working on.
To further her efforts to return to reality instead of indulging in fantasy, she reminded herself the man thought her father a thief. But instead of putting a damper on things, it strengthened her resolve to find her father to clear his name. For his sake, and for hers. She wanted Rashid to think well of her no matter what.
He stepped aside and Bethanne squeezed by, careful to make sure she didn’t touch however much tempted. Breathless with the encounter, she hurried to the pilot’s seat and sank down, grateful for the few moments’ solitude. She ran through the preflight checklist in the cockpit, hoping she could concentrate on flying and not have her mind winging its way back to the cabin and the sexiest man she’d ever encountered.
“Ready when you are,” Rashid said, slipping into the second seat a few minutes later.
“You want to fly up here?” she squeaked.
“Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t a man want to spend time with his special friend?”
She glanced out the window at the scurry of activity in preparation for departure. The ground crew could easily see into the cockpit. Of course he wanted to bolster the conception they were involved.
“Okay. Ever flown up front before?”
“From time to time.”
In only minutes they were shooting into the sky, the power of the rear engines thrusting them effortlessly into the air. Bethanne had no trouble focusing on the controls. The best part of everything was soaring above the earth. She had calculated the route south along the coast and had it approved by ground control. Flying for one of the top businessmen in the country gave her special privileges not normally afforded.
Slowly Bethanne leveled out and then gradually climbed to their cruising altitude. She prided herself on her smooth flights. The smaller planes were more susceptible to variations in air currents. Today was all about showing off how smoothly the jet rode.
Once they reached cruising level, Rashid nodded. “Good ride.”
For a few moments, she’d forgotten he was there. Now, suddenly the space seemed to shrink. The scent of aftershave lotion the sheikh used tickled her nose and made her heart beat faster. She kept her eyes ahead, but could still envision every inch of his face as if he had put a photograph in front of her.
“Do you fly?” she asked.
“No. I leave that to the experts. But I sit up here with my pilot sometimes. I like the panoramic views which I don’t get from only one side of the airplane. And I like the feeling of freedom. Must be one reason you enjoy it.”
“The primary reason, I guess. It’s fabulous.” She wished her pulse would slow.
“Unusual profession for a woman, at least in Quishari.”
“Not that many women pilots in the U.S., but we’re growing in numbers.”
“Did you always want to fly?”
She nodded. “From when I was a little girl. It was always magical to me. Soaring high above the earth. My dad—” She stopped abruptly. “Sorry, I’m rambling on.”
“If I didn’t want to learn more, I wouldn’t have asked the question. Your father got you interested?”
She nodded stiffly, still feeling raw with what she’d learned this morning. She wanted to defend him to the sheikh. But she had only a daughter’s loyalty to offer. She needed more facts.
“I, too, am following in my father’s footsteps. He and my uncles built the oil company to the stature it is today before they died. The loss of them has been a tragedy for my family. My father built an empire through hard work and integrity. My brother and I and one remaining uncle are hoping to build it to even new levels.”
“Lofty plans. From what I know, Bashiri Oil is already a leader.”
“I hope to be remembered as my father is—someone with vision and the ability to achieve results.”
Rashid was charming, Bethanne thought to herself. It was probably second nature to him, which would go a long way in achieving his ends.
“So how is our charade going? No accusations of impossibility?” she asked.
“No one would dare question my word,” he said.
“Good.”
“My mother expects us for dinner tonight. I accepted on behalf of both of us.”
“She’ll spot the incongruity.”
“I fully expect her to question you about everything. It’s up to you to make sure you allay any suspicions. One thing to keep in mind, if she discovers who your father was, she will never believe the relationship.”
She resented his suggesting she would be less than worthy of being considered as a wife for the sheikh because of her father.
“I have done nothing wrong. And I don’t believe my father has, either.”
“Nevertheless, don’t volunteer that information.”
The sooner she found out the truth, the better, Bethanne fumed.
“Down there, circle around,” he said.
Spotting a chain of oil rigs off the shore, she angled down slightly. “Are those the rigs you wanted to see?” One in the distance seemed to shimmer in the heat, gold flames reaching high. “Is that one on fire?” she asked in disbelief as they flew closer.
“Damn. I was hoping it wasn’t. If Khalid is in the midst of it, I’ll skin him alive.”
She blinked at the vehemence of his tone. Who was Khalid? Did Rashid suspect the man had started the fire?
She contacted air traffic control to alert them to her altered plan, then began a wide sweep to the right around the chain of derricks. The last one in the line billowed flames, easily seen from their height. How frightening it would be if they were closer.
“How do you put out oil fires?” she asked, keeping a distance from where the heated air would be rising. Even at this distance they rocked slightly from the thermals.
“Best left to the experts. Which Khalid is. Not that it’s any guarantee of his safety.”
“And Khalid is?” she asked quietly, taking in his tenseness as he stared at the scene below.
“My brother.”
“Oh.”
Bethanne made the wide circle twice, then Rashid told her to return to the airport. “I need a phone.”
“Don’t forget this aircraft is equipped with the latest in satellite technology,” she said, feeling a bit like an ad on television.
“I had, thank you.” He rose and headed for the back of the plane.
“Whoosh,” Bethanne said, feeling the atmosphere around her grow lighter with him gone. She hoped Khalid wasn’t in the thick of things or he was sure to get the full brunt of his brother’s anger.
How odd that his brother fought fires. They had more than enough money to hire the best. Why put his life on the line?
She wished she knew more about Rashid and his family. Her father had held the family in high esteem. He had enjoyed working for them, although he hadn’t told her much about them. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to the man, but it would be wiser to ignore that attraction. Where did she think it could lead? The pretense would end once Rashid finalized his important deal.
A short while later, she lined up the jet on the glide path the tower indicated. The landing was as smooth as silk. She taxied to the hangar and cut the engines.
“Now what?” she wondered aloud as she began the end of her light checklist.
“You return to the villa, I to work,” Rashid said from the door. “Nice flight, thank you.”
Bethanne felt a rush of pleasure at his words. Not every multigazillionaire even noticed the people who worked for him, much less offered any praise for a job well done.
“Nice aircraft,” she responded. “Were you able to use the phone feature?”
“It worked perfectly. The ride was comfortable. The appointments are just as I wanted. I’m sure I’ll have years of use from it.”
Bethanne pictured him lounging in the cabin for flights around the Middle East or as far as Europe. This model was the best plane Starcraft produced and she was pleased the buyer seemed satisfied.
“Was your brother at the fire?”
“Yes, and says he has it under control.”
“Scary job.”
“Dangerous, too. I have instructed one of my drivers, Teaz Suloti, to drive you wherever you wish while visiting. Teaz speaks English. Of course, you have complete use of the villa. The library has a number of books in English.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty tonight. We’ll dine with my mother at her place at seven.”
“Right. Shouldn’t I know more about you if we’re pretending to be involved?”
“Like?”
“Oh, come on. People who know each other and are attracted to each other want to know more about the other person. The early stages are questions and reminiscences and all. Did I misunderstand or do you want people to think we are on the brink of an engagement?”
“You are correct. I had forgotten.”
“Forgotten what?”
“How people who are involved act.”
She frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”
“Nothing you need be concerned with. I’ll come earlier than planned and brief you on important parts.”
“So I should have a dossier on myself prepared as well?” she asked.
“Not necessary. We have information on your visa request. I can wing the rest.”


Bethanne settled back into the luxury seats of the limousine a few moments later, wishing she could have continued to spend time with the sheikh—if only to listen to his deep voice with its pleasing accent. She also had a bunch of questions. She knew so little about the man. She couldn’t face his mother and not give away the show. She hoped he knew what he was doing.
When they reached the villa, she’d ask about her father to everyone she came into contact with on the sheikh’s staff. Someone must have befriended him. He had a sparkling wit and genuine interest in people and places. Had they all condemned him without a fair hearing?
When they reached the villa, the driver opened the door and stood by, waiting for her to get out.
Once on the pavement, Bethanne stopped and looked at Teaz. “Did you know Hank Pendarvis?” she asked.
For a few seconds he made no move or response. Then he nodded abruptly—once.
“Do you know what happened to him?”
“He was the pilot for the old sheikh. He flew away one day and never returned.” His English was heavy with Arabic accent, but Bethanne had no trouble understanding him.
“Do you know where he was going?”
The same stare, then a quick shake of his head.
“Thank you,” she said. She started for the front door when a thought occurred. Turning, she saw Teaz still staring at her. “Do you know where he lived?”
“In the Romula section of old town.”
She waited, hoping for more, but he said nothing. She had the address. Might as well go and see if she could find someone there who knew him.
“Maybe you could drive me there tomorrow if the sheikh doesn’t need me.” She’d love to see the old city. Match photos with the historic buildings. See a square with coffee cafés and stalls of goods for sale. Skirting Alkaahdar from the airport to the villa showed only the modern high-rises of shining steel and glass. She knew the older section would have been built in the more traditional Moorish architecture that she’d so loved in southern Spain.
“I am at your service,” he said with a slight bow.
Entering the quiet villa, Bethanne paused at the bottom of the steps, then on a sudden whim turned and headed toward the sitting room she’d been in last night. A quick glance showed it empty. Moving down the wide hall, she peered into the dining room they’d used. The last room in the hall was the library the sheikh had mentioned. Books lined three walls. The French doors stood open, keeping the room fresh and cool. Stepping inside, she saw a large desk to one side. From the computer on top and the scattered papers, she knew it had been recently used. Who by? From their conversation, she’d surmised Rashid lived elsewhere. This was a second home.
She stepped in and crossed to the desk. She wouldn’t open drawers and nothing was visible that would tell her anything about her father. It had been three years. Time enough to put away anything of interest.
“Where did you go, Dad? And why?” she muttered softly.
She sat in the desk chair, picturing Rashid sitting behind the desk, working on major deals for oil exports. What did he do for leisure? How come he was not married at his age? Most men she knew had married in their twenties. Rashid had to be close to mid-thirties.
Though she herself was still unwed.
She swiveled back and forth in the chair. Spotting the computer, she sat up and turned it on. Maybe she could search out what she could find about Rashid al Harum. She would not go to dinner unprepared.


Rashid leaned back as the car pulled away from the office. He was on his way to pick Bethanne up for the command dinner. He had thought about her questions, wondering what she felt important to know if preparing for a confrontation with a future mother-in-law.
He thought about Marguerite for the first time in years. How foolish he’d been not to recognize her type when they’d met. He’d fallen for her in a big way. Marguerite had been beautiful and sophisticated and very good at having fun. She’d often spoken about how much fun they’d have together.
Spending his money.
How gullible he’d been. No longer. He had agreed to the possibility of marriage to Haile as a way to connect the two families who had a strong mutual interest in oil. Now that was off the table, he could resume his solitary way of life. It would take another monumental deal to have him consider the institution again soon.
Lucky break, Haile’s running away.
He wondered if his mother would ever see it that way. He’d have to be careful in what he conveyed to her this evening. She could accept things or constantly stir things up in her desire for answers.
How good an actress was Bethanne Sanders? Could he depend upon her? How ironic the woman he was looking to for help was the daughter of a man his family despised. If she was anything like her father, he was playing a dangerous game.
He entered the villa a short time later and paused in the large foyer. The stairs leading up were to his left. The space to the right led to various rooms and eventually back to the kitchen. The evening breeze circulated, keeping the house cool and inviting. Why didn’t he stay here more often? he wondered. His grandmother had left it to him when she died last summer. She’d bequeathed another dwelling and surrounding land on the other side of the city to his twin. Khalid had yet to take up residence. Both too busy.
Fatima started down the stairs, surprised to see him. “I didn’t know you were here, Excellency,” she said. She clung to the railing and looked back up. “I can tell her you have arrived.”
“Please ask her to join me in the salon.”
Rashid waited by one of the French doors. The entire estate was cooler than his flat in the city. He liked living closer to the action, but he had forgotten how much he’d enjoyed visiting when his grandmother was alive. Only a few minutes’ drive from the heart of the capital, yet the estate was serene and lovely, and quite different from the glass and steel of the high-rise where he had his flat.
When he heard the rustle of silk, he turned and watched as Bethanne entered the room. She looked lovely in a rose-colored dress that was most demure. Her hair was done in a neat style, up and off her neck. She wore no jewelry, but her modest attire would please his mother.
“Good evening,” she said with a bright smile. For a moment Rashid wished she meant the smile, that she was actually happy to see him. It was a foolish, fleeting thought.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you—it’s the dress.” She turned slowly and grinned. “I could get used to dresses like this. Most of the time I wear my uniform or shorts when hanging around at home.”
He’d like to see her in shorts or a bathing suit. Or nothing at all.
Looking away quickly lest he give a hint of his errant thoughts, he walked to one of the chairs and gestured for her to sit in another.
She did so elegantly. What were the odds of having a suitable woman arrive just when Haile disappeared? One who seemed as at home here in his villa as she did behind the controls of the jet?
“So let the inquisition begin,” he said whimsically.
She shrugged. “I looked you up on the Internet. There’s quite a lot written about you and your brother. You have a lot of good press. Is that designed? Or are you genuine?”
“I’d like to say genuine. We are not given to excesses. We enjoy our work and do our best for it.”
“Your brother is harder to find out about, but you are often in the press. But no special woman—hence the arrangement with Miss Haile, I suppose.”
He kept his face without expression. At least the old press about his and Marguerite’s disastrous breakup was old news, probably not in the top articles brought up when his name was entered in a search engine. He had his father to thank for that.
“So I know more about you than this morning. Enough to fool your mother? That I’m not sure. There’s not much personal, like what your favorite food is or if you had a dog when you were a child.”
He relaxed. She was not probing for intimate details, just basic facts.
“My favorite food is candied dates. My brother and I had a wonderful dog when we were children. I miss him to this day. But my life is too busy and hectic to have a pet.”
She settled and began a litany of questions, firing them off as if on an invisible checklist—favorite book, movie, activity, color. Did he consider himself close to his family? Did he have special friends she should know about? A hobby that consumed him? How had he done in school? What did he like about his job and what did he wish to change? Who did he admire most in the world?
It was a novel experience to be so questioned. Not once did she ask about material things.
Finally she stopped. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, looking as if she were about to jump to her feet.
Rashid looked at her. “My turn.”
“I thought you had all you needed from the report Starcraft sent,” she said, looking amused.
“Ah, but I didn’t realize all the nuances of information necessary for an almost-engaged couple’s knowledge bank. I do not know your favorites or your passions.”
“Favorite color—blue. Food, anything with dark chocolate. Passions—flying. I have no boyfriend, which is lucky for you or we couldn’t be doing this stupid charade. I am not close to my mother—nor the man she married after she divorced my father when I was little. I love traveling and seeing the world. I have experience shooting down other aircraft.”
She looked adorable as she recited her list ending proudly with her startling fact. He was fascinated by the play of emotions across her face. Now sitting on the edge of her chair, her animation was a delight. Would his mother like her? What was not to like? As long as she didn’t find out Bethanne’s father’s name.
“I hope there will be no need of the latter while you are in Quishari.”
She laughed aloud. “I should hope never again, but it was training I received and just knowing I could do it improves my confidence. If I get into situations that make me uncomfortable, I remember I could shoot down a plane if needed and probably no one else in the room could.”
“A strange way to improve confidence.”
“It’ll help when meeting your mother.”
He laughed at that. This American woman was intriguing. He had even more reason to thank Haile for fleeing. If nothing else, Rashid planned to enjoy the next few days with Bethanne by his side. Without expectations on either part, they were free to enjoy the other’s company without looking for hidden nuances or motives.
He rose. “Come, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon. And tardiness is something my mother does not like.”
“Tell me about her—I want her to be satisfied with the story we tell. Will she be hurt when the truth comes out?”
“Why should the truth ever come out?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise. “Truth always comes out. You just make sure you put the right spin on it so she’s not hurt by your deception.”
“I would do nothing to hurt my mother.”
“Good answer.”
They were soon ensconced in the limo and on their way to the city.
“Where does your mother live?” Bethanne asked.
“In a penthouse apartment near the heart of the city, overlooking parts of the old section. She loves being in the center of things. It helps being close to friends since my father died.”


“The soup is delicious,” Bethanne said later, sipping the savory concoction. “So far I’m really enjoying the food here. I have a real sweet tooth and the candied walnuts really appeal. I shall have to buy a large package to take home when I leave.”
Madame al Harum looked at her.
“And when do you leave?” she asked.
Bethanne smiled and glanced at Rashid. “Not for a long time, I hope.”
She also hoped she was playing the role assigned her to his satisfaction. She’d been as gracious as she knew how when meeting his mother. She could tell at once that Madame al Harum did not like her. For one thing, she seemed to disapprove of tall, willowy blondes. She probably wanted a proper Arab woman for her son.
Then she expressed dismay that Bethanne was a pilot. It was too dangerous and too unseemly for a woman. Bethanne decided not to mention shooting down planes. She knew his mother would not appreciate that tidbit.
Dinner was easier. The food took some attention. She counted the minutes until they could finish and leave.
“And where is home for you?” the older woman asked.
“Galveston, Texas, right on the water. Galveston’s an island that has been home all my life.”
“What does your father do?”
“He’s an antique dealer. But I have to say, history in Texas doesn’t go back as far as here in Quishari. The old part of the capital city is thousands of years old. Texas has only been around for a few hundred years.”
Rashid looked as if he were enjoying the meal. But Bethanne didn’t think she was winning Brownie points with his mother.
“Tell me how you became interested in flying,” Rashid said when the main course was served.
Grateful for the change of topic, Bethanne plunged right in.
“My father loved to fly and took me up in small planes almost as soon as I could sit up by myself.” She smiled in memory. “It seemed logical when I got older that I, too, would love to fly. I actually learned when I was a teenager, to my mother’s dismay. When I was accepted to the Academy, she really flipped. But I think Dad talked her in to letting me choose my own way. Anyway, I learned to fly a variety of aircrafts and here I am.”
“So your father taught you to fly?” Rashid asked.
“No. That I had to do on my own. He was away more than home, actually. Probably why I’m following in his footsteps and seeing the world.” She met his eye, holding it for a moment, silently refuting his ideas about her father.
“And that was your reason for choosing to attend a military academy?”
His mother’s eyes grew large at that.
“Some of the recruitment material said join up and see the world. I knew I’d have the best education and pilot’s training available. And I had a variety of aircraft to train on. I loved learning. And the service requirement enabled me to see Minot, North Dakota, in the dead of winter. Then a tour of Alaska. Can you imagine? I’m one who loves the sun and sea, and my two duty stations were the coldest in the U.S. I left the service when my commitment was up and landed a spot with Starcraft.”


Rashid enjoyed watching Bethanne talk. He glanced at his mother. She had on that polite face she wore when tolerating others, but not connected to them. He felt a twinge of compassion for her. She would have been so happy to have Haile sitting where Bethanne was sitting. She had met the woman on a trip to Morocco and had definitely approved of her.
He had seen pictures. She was a pretty woman. But not striking as Bethanne was. And he doubted she’d have shown much personality around his mother.
What would be his mother’s reaction when he told her about Haile’s fleeing? Nothing would bring her more happiness than to see one of her sons married—especially to a woman she liked. The fact he was the eldest—by seven minutes—made it seem as if the destiny of his family rested on his shoulders. One day he would have to marry—to father the next generation. He pushed aside the thought. As soon as the deal with al Benqura was finalized, he’d tell his mother Bethanne hadn’t turned out to be the one for him after all. Maybe he’d even ask her help in finding him a suitable bride. Being a grandmother would delight her, he was sure.
“Tell me about North Dakota,” he invited. “The only time I see snow is when we ski in Switzerland.”
He was charmed by her storytelling skills. She made her experiences seem amusing while also revealing her reactions to different situations. She was skilled at entertaining and in giving him what he wanted—a devoted companion intent on meeting his needs. He hoped his mother saw her in that light. For a little while he could imagine what life would be like married to Bethanne. Never boring, of that he was sure.


She was having way too much fun, Bethanne thought at one point. This man was being polite in asking questions so she could talk, but she didn’t need to give them her life’s history—though Rashid did seem to be enjoying her rendition of her brief stint as an Air Force pilot. His mother looked rather horrified.
Glancing around, she could hardly believe she was sitting in an elegant penthouse overlooking the capital city. The furnishings were amazing. She wished her stepfather could see them. And surrounding the penthouse was a spacious terrace that had banks of pots with fragrant flowers. The doors were opened to allow the breeze to enter. It was delightful.
“You have a beautiful home,” she said to her hostess. She had to find common ground or this dinner would end awkwardly.
Madame al Harum inclined her head regally. “I decorated it for my husband. He loved to retreat from the world and find a place of beauty.” She glanced at her son. “It’s important that two people have much in common to make a happy marriage.”
Bethanne also looked at Rashid. His mother wasn’t buying their supposed commitment at all. Would he tell her now?
“Similar likes and dislikes, certainly,” Rashid said. “But there is something to be said about learning about each other as the years go by, and have enough differences to be interesting.”
His mother gave Bethanne a sour look and then nodded to her son. “That is important as well.”
The rest of the meal processed without much comment. Bethanne was glad this was only a charade. She would not like being married into a family where the mother didn’t like her. Or was it only because of her disappointment Haile hadn’t come?
They did not stay long after dinner finished.
The ride back to the villa was completed in almost total silence. Bethanne knew Rashid had to be regretting his impetuous suggestion about their charade. Perhaps he’d end it tonight. The thought depressed her.
To her surprise, Rashid did not simply leave her at the door.
“It’s early yet. If you are not tired, perhaps a few minutes on the veranda,” he suggested.
“That would be nice. So do we change the charade now that we both know your mother doesn’t like me?”
“My mother does not dictate my life. She is annoyed I didn’t bring Haile tonight. She was instrumental in making that arrangement.”
“It’s more than that. She doesn’t like me. Not just because I’m not Haile, but because of who I am,” Bethanne said. She didn’t need everyone in the world to like her, but she was a bit hurt Rashid’s mother found her wanting.
“It’s of no account,” he said.
Of course not. This wasn’t real. It was make-believe—until he had his huge deal signed and sealed. Then she’d be on the next plane to Texas and his life would resume its normal course. Gossip would be quelled. He’d get his way and his mother would be very relieved.
“Her home was lovely,” she said, looking for conversation. “Did you grow up there?”
“There and here and other places.”
He looked out at the garden, visible now by the discreet lighting illuminating paths and special plants. He could hear the soft sound of the sea, noticeably different from faint traffic noise. “My flat today is not as pretty as this estate. It’s downtown, not far from Mother’s. I like living there yet I had almost forgotten how enjoyable this place is.”
“Well, I appreciate being allowed to stay here. It’s so much better than a hotel.”
“I’m sure my grandmother would have been delighted to have visitors enjoy her home. She spent several months a year here. But had other property, as well.”
Well, duh, Bethanne thought. His family probably had two dozen residences among them. She wondered idly if there were enough bedrooms among all the residences for him to sleep in a different one each night of the month. What must that feel like?
She had a sudden longing for her small apartment, with its familiar furnishings and photos. It might be fun to consider being Cinderella, but at the end of it all, wasn’t she happier in her own home?


As Bethanne prepared for bed some time later, she thought about the evening. It would not have been better for Rashid’s mother to welcome her into the family. She was not truly involved. And if the woman had liked her, she would have been disappointed when the charade was exposed.
Talking with Rashid on the veranda had given her a glimpse of what life married to him could be like. Only—there was no good-night kiss. She sighed softly. Was she going to be disappointed with no kiss before returning home? Yes. Yet she wasn’t bold enough to kiss him.
Before turning off the lights, she opened the French doors to let the sea breeze sweep in. The light curtains billowed. The scents and fragrances from the garden were a delight. She slipped between cool sheets and lay down.
An hour later Bethanne was still wide awake. She’d tried lying on one side then the other, then flat on her back. Nothing worked. If she had a book or magazine to read, it might lead to sleep. She considered the situation, then sighed and got up. She had not brought a robe, thinking she’d be alone in a hotel room and not need one. Quietly she dressed in her slacks and shirt. Bare feet would be okay, she was sure. It was unlikely she’d run into anyone. It was after eleven. Surely all the staff had retired for the night.
She opened the door and stuck her head out, struck suddenly with the romantic-comedy picture that flashed into her mind. People sneaking from one room to another, peering into the hall to make sure the coast was clear. She planned nothing of the sort and stepped boldly out. She walked down the stairs, surprised when she reached the foyer to see a light coming from the library.
Silently she walked to the doorway. When she was within hearing distance she heard a phone. It was answered before the second ring.
The words were in Arabic, but she recognized Rashid’s voice. She thought he had left long ago. When he’d bid her good-night, he said he had to pick up something from the library.
He was still here, and the phone call wasn’t going well—not if the terse tone was anything to go by. She hesitated at the doorway, not wishing to interrupt, but still wanting something to read. She’d come this far; she’d wait for the conclusion of the call and then step in to find a book.
The conversation didn’t take as long as she’d expected before a harsh word was sounded, then a string of them. She wondered what was going on. He sounded angry. Sudden silence ended the call.
When the silence had lasted several minutes, she took a breath and stepped closer, knocking slightly on the door frame. She saw him standing by open French doors. His back was ramrod straight. His body seemed to radiate strong emotion in contrast to the stillness with which he held himself.
He spun around, glaring at her for a second. Then he quickly adjusted his expression to reveal nothing.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. I thought you left a while ago.”
“I did. Then I remembered a file I had left and returned for it. I was about to leave when I got a phone call on my mobile phone.” He still held it in his hand.
“I heard. Not that I understood a word, but it didn’t sound like a very friendly call.”
“It was from al Benqura. He found out about Haile. She contacted him. He was angry with me for not letting him know.”
“How awkward that would have been.”
Rashid sighed and walked back to the desk, leaning against it and nodding. “Awkward for him. He’s threatening to end the deal. I told him in no uncertain terms that would not be acceptable unless he never wanted dealings with anyone in Quishari again.”
Bethanne could empathize with the father whose daughter had run away and put him in a difficult situation. She watched as Rashid gradually relaxed. He was quick to anger, but also quick to regain his equilibrium. She saw when his curiosity was piqued by her arrival.
“What are you doing here?” His gaze dropped to her bare feet. His lips curved in a slight smile.
“I came for a book to read. I can’t seem to sleep. You said you had some English books—I thought I’d get one of those.”
He nodded and gestured to the shelving on the left. “English books on that wall. My grandmother used to entertain several friends from Great Britain. She has an assortment. The mysteries are on the lower shelves.”
She crossed, conscious of his regard, and began to scan the titles. Finding a couple that sounded promising, she drew them from the shelf. Had Rashid read them? Could they discuss them after she finished?
Deciding to take both, she hugged them to her chest as she turned to face him.
“Now what?” she asked.
“You read them and fall asleep?” he asked.
“I mean with our charade. Did the phone call help or change things?”
“We continue. Whichever way the winds blow, we will adapt.”