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

by Morey, Trish

  “It’s warm,” he said when she appeared, letting some sand drift from his hand.

  “Sometimes I sit on the beach in the night, relishing the heat held from the day.”

  “Sand makes glass,” he commented.

  “Yes. I’ve heard that lightning strikes on beaches produces glass—irregular in shape and not usually functional. I’d like to see some.” She sat beside him. “I like the fact I’ll know your brother and Bethanne at the reception.”

  “And me.”

  “Yes, and you. We aren’t staying long, right.”

  “I said not long. Why are you nervous? You’ve been to university receptions—this would be sort of the same, just a different group of people. You’ll be bored out of your mind with all the talk about oil.”

  She smiled at his grumbling. “Is that the normal topic?”

  “With a heavy presence of Bashiri executives it usually is. The minister of finance is not in charity with us right now. Rashid closed a deal he didn’t like. But I’m sure a few million for pet projects will sweeten his disposition.”

  Ella didn’t want to talk about money or family. She jumped up. “I’m going to walk.”

  He rose effortlessly beside her and kept pace.

  “Tell me more about the oil fields you’ve been to,” she said, looking for a way to keep her thoughts at bay. She liked listening to Khalid talk. Might as well give him something to talk about.

  The next afternoon Ella had a good time shopping. Once inside boutiques, she didn’t glance outside. While in the car she had seen no one that appeared to be paying the two of them any attention. Bethanne was fun to shop with. She looked beautiful in the elegant cool colors that went so well with her blond hair. Twice, salesclerks offered jewel-tone dresses and Bethanne had suggested Ella try them on. Of course the sizes were wrong. Ella was slight, almost petite, not nearly as tall as the American. She was tempted, but conscious of her limited funds, cheerfully refused. She had dresses that would suit. She wasn’t going to spend a week’s worth of groceries on a dress she’d wear for about an hour.

  Bethanne decided on a lovely blue that mimicked the color of her eyes.

  “Done. Let’s get some coffee. And candied walnuts. They’re my favorites,” she said when she received the dress in a box.

  Having the chauffeur stow the dress in the limo’s trunk, Bethanne asked him to take them to an outside café. When they found a coffee house with outside seating on a side street, she had him wait while she and Ella went for coffee.

  “This was fun,” Bethanne said. “I hope we can become friends. I will be marrying Rashid in a few months and don’t know but a handful of people in Quishari. And most of them don’t speak English. So until I master this language, I’m left out of conversations.”

  “I would like another friend. Tell me about Texas. I’ve never been to the United States.”

  “Where have you been that you learned so many different languages? And that’s not even your career, like the professor’s is.”

  “I went to school in Switzerland for a few years and in England.”

  “And the Arabic?”

  “That I learned because Alexander was learning it and planned to come to an Arabian country to work.”

  “Alexander was your husband?” Bethanne asked gently.

  Ella nodded. “We knew each other from when we were small. I loved him it seems all my life.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Bethanne said.

  “Me, too.” Ella didn’t want to think about it. Every time she grew sad and angry. It had happened. Nothing could change the past. She had to go on. Today she was with a new friend. And beginning to look forward to the reception on Saturday.

  Ella worked through the next two days culling her collection, deciding which pieces to display and which to hold in reserve.

  She tried on the dresses she’d worn to university events, dismayed to find she had lost more weight than she’d thought. They all were loose. Finally she decided on a dark blue long gown that shimmered in the light and almost looked black. If she wore her hair loose, and the pearls she received when she was eighteen, she’d do. It wasn’t as if it were a real date or anything. But she wanted to look nice for Khalid’s sake. If he broke his normal habit of nonattendance, it behooved her to look her best.

  Saturday evening, Ella prepared for the reception with care. She had some trepidation about venturing forth into such a large gathering, but felt safe enough since the guests would most likely all be from Quishari. Her hair was longer than she usually wore. The waves gleamed in the light. She hoped she would pass muster as a guest of a sheikh. Her heart tripped faster when she thought of spending the evening with his family and friends. And some of the leaders of the country. She planned to stay right by Khalid’s side and remind him how soon they would leave.

  Promptly at seven he knocked on the door of the cottage. She picked up a small purse with her keys and went to greet him.

  “You look lovely,” he said when she opened the door.

  She thought he looked fantastic. A man should always wear a tux, she decided.

  “I could say the same. Wow, you clean up good.”

  “Ready?”

  “Yes.” She pulled the door shut behind her. To her surprise, Khalid had a small sports car waiting. She had expected a limousine as Rashid used. She liked the smaller car; less intimidating. More intimate.

  “If we were going for a spin in the afternoon, I’d put the top down. But not tonight.”

  “Thank you. I spent hours on my hair.”

  “Literally?”

  She laughed, feeling almost carefree for the first time in months. “No, I just washed and brushed it.”

  He reached over and took some strands in his fingers. “It feels soft and silky. I wondered if it would.”

  She caught her breath. His touch was scarcely felt, yet her insides were roiling. She looked out the windshield, trying to calm her nerves. It was Khalid, cranky neighbor, reluctant landlord. She tried to quell the racing of her heart.

  When they arrived at the reception, Ella was surprised to find it held in a large hotel. “I thought your mother would have it at her home,” she commented when he helped her from the car. A valet drove the sports car away.

  “Too many people, too much fuss. She prefers to have it taken care of here.”

  “Mmm.” Ella looked around. She hadn’t been to such an elegant event in years. Suddenly she felt like a teen again, proud to be going to the grownup’s affair. Excited. She could do this, had done so many times before. But she preferred smaller gatherings, friends to share good times. Like she and—

  No, she was not going there. Tonight was about Khalid. She owed him for his reluctant help. So she’d do her best to be the perfect date for a man of his influence and power.

  “Khalid, I’m so glad you came. Rashid said you would—but your track record isn’t the best.” A beautiful woman came up and embraced him. She smiled at him, patted his good cheek then turned to look at Ella.

  “Salimeia, may I present Ella Ponti. Salimeia is my cousin,” Khalid said, looking somewhat self-conscious.

  Ella couldn’t imagine he felt that way. She was aware of his self-confidence—almost arrogance when around her. She watched as he gave a quick glance around the gathering.

  An older woman, dressed in a very fashionable gown came over, her eyes fixed on Khalid.

  “I am so glad you came,” she said, reaching out to grab his hands in hers.

  “Mother, may I present Ella Ponti. Ella, my mother, Sabria al Harum.”

  “Madame, my pleasure,” Ella said with formal deference.

  “How do you do?” Khalid’s mother looked at him in question, practically ignoring Ella.

  “I’m glad he came, too. Mo is here. I’ll find him and tell him you’re here,” his cousin said. She smiled and walked away.

  “Ella is my tenant,” he clarified.

  She looked horrified. “Tenant? You are renting her the h
ouse your grandmother left you?”

  “No, she has the cottage on the estate and has lived there for a year. Didn’t you know about her, either?”

  Ella expected the woman to shoo her out the door. She was not the warm, friendly woman her mother-in-law had been.

  Sabria al Harum thought for a moment. “The artist Alia was helping?” she guessed.

  Ella nodded once. She felt like some charity case the way the woman said it.

  “I did not know she had her living on the premises.” She said it as if Ella was a kind of infestation.

  “I do live there and have an airtight lease that gives me the right to stay for another four years,” Ella said with an imp of mischief. She did not like haughty people.

  “Nonsense. Khalid, have our attorneys check it out.” His mother sounded as if any inconvenience could be handled by someone else.

  Ella hid a smile as she looked at Khalid.

  “Already done, Mother. Ella’s right, she has the right to live there for another four years.”

  Other guests were arriving. Khalid took Ella’s arm and gently moved her around his mother. “We’ll talk later,” he said. “You have other guests to greet.”

  “Gee, is she always so welcoming?” Ella said softly, only for his ears.

  “No. She is very conscious of the position our family holds in the country. Perhaps because she came to the family as an adult, not raised as we were. Come, I see someone I think you’ll enjoy meeting.”

  She went willingly, growing more conscious of the wave of comments that were softly exchanged as they passed. She caught one woman staring at Khalid, then looking at Ella. Giving in to impulse, she reached out to take his arm. It automatically bent, so she could have her hand in the crook of the elbow. He pressed her against his side. She moved closer, head raised.

  Khalid introduced her to a friend and his wife. They chatted for a few moments, Khalid mentioning Ella’s art. Both were interested.

  “My uncle has a gallery in the city. Do send me your catalog so I can send it to him,” the wife said.

  “I would love to. Thank you.” Ella replied.

  They mingled through the crowd. Once the complete circuit of the ballroom had almost been made, she tugged on Khalid. He leaned closer to hear her over the noise. “Once we’ve made the circle, we leave, right?”

  “If you’re ready.”

  “Ah, Khalid, I heard you came tonight.” A florid faced, overweight man stepped in front of them. “Tell your brother to stop sending our business outside of the country. There are others who could have handled the deal he just consummated with the Moroccans.” He looked at Ella. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Ella, the finance minister, Ibrahim bin Saali. This is Ella Ponti.”

  The minister took her hand and held it longer than needed. “A new lovely face to grace our gatherings. Tell me, Miss Ponti, are you from Quishari?”

  She tugged her hand free and stepped closer to Khalid. “I’ve lived here for years. I love this city.”

  “As do I. Perhaps we can see some of the beauty of the city together sometime,” he said suavely.

  Ella smiled politely. “Perhaps.”

  “Excuse us,” Khalid said, placing his hand at the small of her back and gently nudging her.

  They walked away.

  “That was rude,” she said quietly in English.

  “He was hitting on you.”

  “He’s too old. He was merely being polite.”

  “He does not think he’s too old and polite is not something we think of when we think of Ibrahim.”

  She laughed. “I don’t plan to take him up on his offer, so you’re safe.”

  Khalid looked at her. “Safe?”

  She looked back, and their eyes locked for a moment. She looked away first. “Never mind. It was just a comment.”

  Khalid nodded, scanning the room. “I think we’ve done our duty tonight. Shall we leave?”

  “Yes.”

  He escorted her out and signaled the valet for his car. When it arrived, he waited until Ella was in before going to the driver’s side. “Home?”

  “Where else?” she asked.

  “I know a small, out-of-the-way tavern that has good music.”

  “I love good music,” she said.

  He drove swiftly through the night. What had possessed him to invite her to stay out longer? She had attended the reception, he got some points with his mother, though she hadn’t seemed that excited to meet Ella. They could be home in ten minutes.

  Instead he was prolonging the evening. He’d never known anyone as interesting to be around as his passenger. She intrigued him. Not afraid to stand up to his bossiness, she nevertheless defended Ibrahim’s boorish behavior. He smiled. Never could stand the man. He had been afraid for a moment Ella might be tempted by Ibrahim’s power and position. Not his Ella.

  He had to give her credit. No one there had guessed she’d come as part of a bargain. No one made comments about how such a pretty woman was wasting her time with him.

  The tavern was crowded, as it always was on Saturday nights. It was one place few people recognized him. He could be more like anyone else here, unlike the more formal events his mother hosted. There were several men he knew and waved to when they called to him. Shepherding Ella to the back, they found an empty table and sat, knees touching.

  Ella looked around and then at Khalid. “I hear talk and laughter, but no music.”

  He nodded. “It starts around eleven. We’re a bit early. Want something to eat or drink?”

  “A snack would be good. We hardly got a chance to sample the delicacies your mother had available.”

  “Want to go back?”

  “No. This suits me better.”

  “Why is that?” he asked. He knew why he preferred the dim light of the tavern, the easy camaraderie of the patrons. The periodic escape from responsibilities and position. But why did she think it was better?

  “I don’t know anyone.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. Wouldn’t it be better to know friends when going to a place like this?”

  She shrugged. “Not at this time.”

  “Did you have a favorite spot you and your husband liked to frequent?” he asked. He wanted to know more about her. Even if he had to hear about the man who must have been such a paragon she would never find anyone to replace him.

  She nodded. “But I don’t go there anymore. It’s not the same.”

  “Where do you and your friends go?” he asked.

  “Nowhere.” She looked at him.

  Her eyes were bright and her face seemed to light up the dark area they sat in.

  “This is the first I’ve been out since my husband’s death. Friends come to visit me, but I haven’t been exactly in a party mood. But this isn’t like a real date or anything, is it? Just paying you back for letting me use the salon for my pictures.”

  “Exactly. You wouldn’t want to go on a real date with me. I know about that from my ex-fiancée.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This.” He gestured to the scar on the side of his face.

  “Don’t be dumb, Khalid. That has nothing to do with it. I still feel married to Alexander and am faithful.”

  Khalid nodded and looked away, feeling her words like a physical blow. Even if they got beyond the scar, she would never be interested in him. She loved a dead man. He wished they’d gone straight home. She could be with her memories, and he could get back to the reality of his life. Only her words had seemed so wrong.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HE LOOKED back at her. “You’re not serious? You are not married—that ended when your husband died. And you are far too young and pretty to stay single the rest of your life.”

  She blinked in surprise. “I’m not that young.”

  “I’d guess twenty-five at the most,” he said.

  “Add four years. Do you really think I look twenty-five?” She smiled in obvious pleasur
e.

  Khalid felt as if she’d kicked him in the heart. “At most, I said. Even twenty-nine is too young to remain a widow the rest of your life. You could be talking another sixty years.”

  “I’ll never find anyone to love like I did Alexander,” she said, looking around the room. For a moment he glimpsed the sorrow that seemed so much a part of her. He much preferred when she looked happy.

  “My grandmother said that after her husband died. But she was in her late sixties at the time. They’d had a good marriage. Raised a family, enjoyed grandchildren.”

  “I had a great marriage,” she said.

  “You could again.”

  She looked back. “You’re a fine one to talk. Where’s your wife and family?”

  “Come on, Ella, who would marry me?”

  “No one, with that attitude. How many women have you asked out in the last year?”

  “If I don’t count you, none.”

  “So how do you even know, then.”

  “The woman I was planning to spend my life with told me in no uncertain terms what a hardship that would be. Why would I set myself up for more of the same?”

  The waiter came and asked for drink orders. Khalid ordered a bowl of nuts in addition.

  “She was an idiot,” Ella said, leaning closer after the man left.

  “Who?”

  “Your ex-fiancée. Did she expect life to be all roses and sunshine?”

  “Apparently.” He felt bemused at her defense. “Shouldn’t it be?”

  “It would be nice if it worked that way. I don’t think it does. Everyone has problems. Some are on the inside, others outside.”

  “We know where mine is,” he said.

  She shocked him again when she got up and switched chairs to sit on his right side. “I’ve noticed, you know,” she said, glaring at him in defiance.

  “Noticed what?” He was growing uncomfortable. He tried to shelter others from the ugly slash of burned skin.

  “That you always try to have me on your left. Are you afraid I’ll go off in shock or something if I catch sight of the scar?”

  “No, not you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Just, no, not you. You wouldn’t do that, even if you wanted to. I’d say your parents raised you very well.”