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 complie
d 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 l
ower 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?
Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife Page 2
