Desert Fantasies (Mills & Boon M&B): Duty and the Beast / Cinderella and the Sheikh / Marrying the Scarred Sheikh

by Morey, Trish

  She nodded and let herself be steered towards the exit. Once outside the intense heat hit her like a wall, driving everything else from her mind. She’d come expecting the temperatures to be high, but this was searing. Direct sunlight made her grateful for the scarf she had fashioned into a hijab covering her head. Less about modesty, perhaps, and everything about practicality.

  ‘Please to come this way,’ Ali said, indicating a line of waiting cars. Sleek, expensive and so black you might imagine they’d been dipped in oil. And more incredibly they were surrounded by uniformed guards. Guards with guns.

  ‘Please. This way.’

  Polly looked over her shoulder in time to see Pete duck down into the third car. Graham was anxiously watching their expensive equipment safely stowed away, and John, Baz and Steve had already vanished.

  ‘Miss Anderson,’ Ali said, indicating the second car. As she moved towards it the door was held open. Disorientated, she meekly did what was wanted, only hesitating when she realised there was a man already inside. A man she recognised.

  ‘You?’ she said foolishly.

  Rashid Al Baha’s blue eyes met hers. ‘As you see.’

  ‘I—I wasn’t expecting to see… I mean…’ Oh, hell! Polly pulled at the scarf covering her blond hair in what she recognised was a nervous gesture. ‘Were you supposed to be meeting us? I’m sure we weren’t told—’

  His eyes seemed to dance. ‘This is a spontaneous gesture of hospitality. There is no way I could have arranged my timetable today to coincide with yours.’

  ‘Oh.’ And then, rather belatedly, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Afwan.’

  You’re welcome, she mentally translated, foolishly pleased the hours she’d spent poring over her phrase book were paying dividends. ‘Are you sure we’re allowed to be travelling together?’

  Rashid settled himself more comfortably in his seat, resting his head back on the rest. ‘You have an inaccurate view of my country.’

  ‘I merely wondered whether it was appropriate with you being a member of the royal family.’

  ‘Ah.’ He turned his head so that he could look at her. ‘I think you’ll find that, as a member of the royal family, I’m permitted to do as I choose.’

  Polly wasn’t sure what to answer. Her explanation hadn’t been true either, because she had wondered whether it was usual for a woman to travel alone in a private car with an Amrahi man who wasn’t a family member. And it seemed Rashid was totally aware of that. His blue eyes were still glinting. Teasing.

  Well, if he didn’t care, why should she? This wasn’t her country. She deliberately concentrated on fastening her seat belt. With the door shut and the tinted windows closed the atmosphere was pleasantly cool. Polly sighed and settled back into the softest leather seat she’d ever sat in. Soft as butter. She let her fingers rest on the suppleness of it and tried not to think how close Rashid Al Baha was to her. Or how much he unnerved her.

  And he really did unnerve her. On every level there was. This close she could feel him breathe, strong and even. It seemed to pulse through her. As did her awareness of his taut body, thighs slightly apart and feet firmly planted against the sway of the car.

  ‘You’ve just returned from a summit, I gather,’ she said in an effort to break the silence.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘D-did it go well?’ Steve’s words of caution came flooding into her mind. Politics was a no-go area. Part of the stipulations Rashid had made was that they didn’t film anything that could be construed as military or politically sensitive. ‘I don’t mean to pry, obviously.’

  He said nothing, merely watched her beneath hooded eyes.

  ‘I still can’t believe I’m really here.’ Polly nervously pleated one end of her scarf. ‘One minute I’m discussing whether we need to take the chandelier in the Great Hall down for cleaning and the next I’m here.’

  Not the greatest conversational gambit she’d ever tried, but it was the best she could do. Every sense she had was throbbing with awareness. Every hair on her body standing to attention. She couldn’t remember reacting to a man like this…ever. But then she’d never met a man quite like him.

  Polly turned to look out of the tinted car window. Partly because she needed to have something other than Rashid Al Baha to focus on, and partly because she was captivated by what she was glimpsing.

  The guidebooks she’d devoured hadn’t really prepared her. She’d come expecting desert and wide blue skies and was confronted by modern glass, steel constructions and six-lane motorways.

  ‘Amrah is a place of great contrasts,’ Rashid said, as though he’d been able to read her thoughts.

  ‘I had no idea Samaah would be like this. How old a city is it?’

  He shifted in his seat, drawing her attention back to him as much by that as his voice. ‘Centuries old, but its current incarnation is only forty. It has become a financial centre and brought a great deal of wealth to the country.’

  She’d known that. Only that wasn’t part of Elizabeth Lewis’s story and she’d not focused her attention on what that would mean. ‘Amrah doesn’t have oil, does it?’

  ‘Some, but the reserves are fast running out.’

  Polly turned again to look out of the window. She watched as the buildings sped past, unwilling to miss anything.

  If they’d arrived by sea, she knew from guidebooks she’d have been met with fortified ramparts dating back centuries. A testament to its troubled history. But this…was all so newly constructed.

  ‘Are you disappointed?’

  ‘Stunned.’

  ‘We have the camels and the Bedouin tents, too.’ His voice was laced with humour.

  Polly turned her head to look at him and smiled. Her first since getting into the car. She settled back into her seat. ‘Do you spend much time in the desert?’

  ‘Like most of my countrymen I return at least once a year to reconnect myself with my heritage. A tradition, if you will. Something you English seem to understand.’

  He said it as if she were a different species. ‘You’re half English.’

  ‘My mother is English, but I am entirely Arab.’

  How did he manage to turn his voice to flint? Polly adjusted her scarf, tucking one end carefully over her shoulder.

  ‘I’m flattered you have so obviously researched me,’ he continued, his voice slicing through the silence.

  Polly glanced up at his calmly arrogant face. Did he honestly think that? That she’d consciously sat down and ‘Googled’ him?

  She had. But she’d infinitely prefer it if he didn’t think it. ‘Merely read the magazines in the hairdresser’s,’ she corrected. ‘You’re often featured. Being royalty.’

  ‘Then I should be the one asking the questions, perhaps.’

  ‘There’s nothing particularly interesting about me—’ She broke off as she caught sight of the Majan International Hotel. ‘Isn’t that where we’re staying?’

  ‘There’s been a change.’

  Polly looked at him sharply. ‘What kind of change?’

  ‘I have decided to offer you the hospitality of my home while you are in Samaah. You and your colleagues,’ he added as blandly as though he hadn’t seen her quick glance through the back window to make sure they were still being followed.

  She wasn’t particularly reassured. Why was he doing this? He might have given them permission to film here, but even Minty hadn’t imagined he’d wanted them here.

  ‘Is that a spontaneous decision?’

  ‘Not at all. How else could I have arranged for cars to be here to meet you?’

  Quite. And Polly had the definite feeling very little in Rashid’s life was left to chance.

  ‘My sister is waiting to receive you. I was to have joined you later.’

  His sister?

  ‘Is it far from the airport?’

  ‘No.’

  Through the window to her left Polly could see they were still flanked by motorcycle outriders. It deflected her interest. ‘
Are they necessary?’

  ‘It is wise.’

  ‘Because we might be attacked?’

  ‘Because I might be,’ he returned coolly.

  Rashid watched the blond Englishwoman process that. He could sense her uncertainty, see the questions she wanted to ask but felt she couldn’t. For now that suited him perfectly well.

  He stretched. ‘It is a minimal threat but a significant one, particularly while there is uncertainty about Amrah’s political future.’

  ‘I’ve read about that.’ Her blue eyes met his. ‘I was sorry to hear your father’s ill again.’

  Just that. No spurious sympathy in her face. He’d spent much of last week receiving condolences from men he knew would be pleased to hear his father had died and one of his more conservative uncles named as successor. Words meant nothing, but her quiet statement felt genuine.

  It was that dichotomy again. The difference between what he knew and what he felt. She seemed genuine—but there was no one as plausible as someone who was making it her business to appear so.

  ‘His doctors have been able to buy him a few months, but I think he will shortly be in paradise.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘I think your sympathy should be reserved for the people he is to leave behind.’

  Pollyanna clutched at her scarf as it threatened to slide off her head. ‘That’s what I meant. It’s incredibly hard to lose a parent.’ Then, ‘Are you sure this is the right time to have visitors like us? We would be perfectly comfortable at the hotel. And we only mean to stay in Samaah for a couple of nights.’

  ‘I’m aware.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you rather be with your family?’

  ‘If I’m needed I will be called.’

  He watched her hesitate and then bite back whatever observation she had been tempted to make. That was just as well. He’d given more away in that single sentence than he’d intended.

  Her perfume, light but exotic, swirled around him like a wisp of smoke. It seemed to drug his mind, pull truths from his lips he’d prefer left unsaid. And the truth was she was probably right. This wasn’t the best time to have visitors in his home.

  And certainly not this one.

  Despite the dossier he’d read on Miss Pollyanna Anderson he remained uncertain of her motives in coming here. And, until he was, he’d every intention of controlling everything about her visit.

  ‘Your family is well?’

  Her blue eyes widened slightly. ‘My mother’s well enough.’

  ‘And your brothers?’

  ‘I don’t have any brothers.’

  It was very convincing. Yet she presumably chose to live in the home of her mother’s stepson, a man he knew for a liar and a cheat, because she wanted to.

  ‘I should have said stepbrothers,’ he corrected smoothly. ‘Your mother’s late husband had three sons, I believe?’

  ‘Yes. Anthony, the current Duke, is well, but I haven’t seen Benedict or Simon for months. They rarely come to the castle.’

  Did he believe that? All three brothers were directors of Beaufort Stud Farm with a financial stake in its success. It was inconceivable one brother should act alone in what was a family business.

  Polly twisted her gold chain bracelet with long, slender fingers. She was nervous. He had to be wary of her, yet when he looked at her he found himself wanting to reach out and place a kiss on the inside of her wrist.

  He wanted more than that if the tightening of his body was anything to go by.

  Another time, another place. Rashid let the silence stretch between them. His brother had asked him to act as his right arm and Hanif couldn’t afford negative publicity in the West. Not now. Not when his grandfather was looking to him to keep Amrah’s financial markets steady and praying for an easy handover of power.

  For now there was no choice but to keep this film crew close. Time enough to decide how much freedom he could allow them. Plenty of time to reach a conclusion about Pollyanna Anderson.

  The cavalcade approached the outer gates of his home. He felt Pollyanna stiffen beside him and she turned to look at him with wide eyes.

  ‘Welcome to my home,’ he murmured.

  ‘I-it’s so beautiful.’

  ‘Shukran.’

  The gates opened seamlessly and the cavalcade moved forward, coming to a gentle stop. Polly unfastened her seat belt and adjusted her scarf once again, wrapping it tightly round her hair and letting both ends fall down her back. Even through the heavily tinted windows the magnificence of the place they’d been brought to was immediately obvious.

  And it was old. How old she couldn’t possibly judge, as the architectural style was completely unknown to her. Her door was opened and Polly accepted the wordless invitation to get out of the car. She stood, speechless, looking up at the white marble columns and the huge carved wooden doors, as intimidating as they’d surely been designed to be.

  So incredibly beautiful. Breathtaking, really.

  ‘Not bad, is it?’ Pete remarked, coming up to stand beside her. ‘I’m sorry you had to travel with Sheikh Rashid alone. You were there one minute and not the next. I’m not sure how that happened.’

  Didn’t he? Polly was in very little doubt. She watched as Rashid paused to speak to one of his staff. She had no doubt he’d orchestrated everything that had happened. Nothing at all was left to chance.

  Which meant he’d intended to ride with her alone. Intended to talk to her.

  ‘Better be a bit careful about that. He’s got a reputation. Probably because he’s not allowed to play at home, if you know what I mean.’

  Polly’s eyes involuntarily wandered over to where Rashid was.

  ‘But those rules might not extend to you since you’re English. I can’t believe this,’ Pete said, looking about the palace with professional interest. ‘It’s incredible. I wonder if we can wangle filming here.’

  Rashid walked towards them, an Amrahi prince to the ends of his fingers, Polly thought. And, for the first time in her hearing, he spoke in Arabic she didn’t understand.

  ‘Come. We will have refreshments.’ The interpreter was almost beside himself with excitement. He was hovering about and practically rubbing his hands together in glee.

  John moved closer to where she was standing and spoke quietly, ‘This is a quite amazing honour. Try to follow my lead if you can. Hospitality is very important in this part of the world. There will probably be some kind of coffee-drinking ritual.’

  Polly nodded and moved to follow. John stopped her. ‘It’s possible you might not be included. You might be taken to have refreshments with the women. I don’t know. Just go with the flow. No point in upsetting him.’

  She wasn’t at all happy with that. The idea of being taken off, goodness only knew where, to make conversation with women who might or might not understand her language wasn’t appealing. Particularly when she knew Rashid was perfectly able to bend things to his will if he wanted to.

  Still, she’d fight that battle if she had to. Polly adjusted her scarf once more, conscious of the heat burning through the dark fabric.

  Rashid came to stand within six feet of her. ‘I wish to introduce you to my sister, who is acting as my hostess and who will be able to help you with anything at all while you are staying in my home.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She looked past him to where a very beautiful woman was standing.

  ‘My sister, Her Highness Princess Bahiyaa bint Khalid bint Abdullah Al Baha. Bahiyaa, this is Miss Pollyanna Anderson.’

  The other woman moved forward to shake her hand. Polly automatically extended her own.

  ‘You are very welcome, Miss Anderson.’

  ‘Polly, please.’

  ‘And I am Bahiyaa.’

  Older than Rashid? Younger? She couldn’t tell.

  ‘You must be tired from your flight.’

  Polly wasn’t sure about that. The only thing she knew with certainty was that beside Bahiyaa she was impossibly creased. Minty’s guide to all thing
s Amrahi hadn’t led her to expect anything like the exquisite gold embroidery on Bahiyaa’s tunic, or the carefully co-ordinated scarf she wore over her head. The sunlight caught the gold bangles at her wrist and the overwhelming impression was one of shimmering beauty.

  Erring on the side of caution, she, on the other hand, had picked a long-sleeved too-thick cotton top and paired it with an ankle-length linen skirt, both in olive-green. In the glamour stakes she was coming a very poor second.

  ‘Shall we move in out of the heat?’

  It seemed to be expected that the men would go first. Somehow with Bahiyaa beside her that didn’t seem rude. It was simply different from the way things were done in England. And, anyway, she’d never quite understood why it was polite to encourage a woman into a room first. She always hated being thrust into a room of people she didn’t know.

  They walked across a central courtyard and through another pair of intricately carved wooden doors. The ceiling of the room beyond soared and Polly’s eye was immediately captivated by the geometric decoration that seemed to cover every available surface.

  Another pair of doors, another room beyond. And then they came to a room that was exquisitely beautiful for an entirely different reason. Glass doors had been opened out onto a garden. Polly couldn’t see much of it but the scent of flowers wafting in was heady. Roses. Was that possible? Surely in these kinds of temperatures they must be incredibly difficult to grow?

  A low table was central to the room and around it there were long couches in rich port-coloured silk. Polly watched carefully as Bahiyaa sank gracefully down and copied her, carefully tucking her skirt around her legs.

  ‘As soon as you have had some refreshments I will take you to your room,’ Bahiyaa said with a warm smile. ‘By then your luggage will have been unpacked.’

  Would it? Oh, heck! Polly had this terrible mental picture of the contents of her suitcase. She’d thought she’d imagined every possible scenario, but staying in an Amrahi palace hadn’t been one of them. Having staff unpack for her was another.

  Opposite, John was lounging comfortably on his couch, deep in conversation with his host. Minty had said she’d wanted him particularly because he’d worked so often in Arab countries. He did make it look easy, but all the other team members seemed to be taking this whole experience in their stride. The Amrahi interpreter was smiling as though his life would never reach a greater height than this moment.