Flight to Romance
By
Tracy Sinclair
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
"I Have Already Chosen You."
"But that isn't fair! Why does it have to be me?"
His lazy glance took in every curve of her slim body before moving unhurriedly to the lovely face. "Because I wish it," he answered mockingly.
She felt the blood start to course through her veins at his sensuous appraisal and was furious at his ability to inflame her senses even while she was hating him. "You're being completely unreasonable," she raged. "This is just a whim on your part."
His face hardened. "I am used to indulging my whims."
TRACY SINCLAIR has worked extensively as a photojournalist. She's travelled throughout North America, as well as parts of the Caribbean, South America and Europe.
Dear Reader,
Silhouette Romances is an exciting new publishing series, dedicated to bringing you the very best in contemporary romantic fiction from the very finest writers. Our stories and our heroines will give you all you want from romantic fiction.
Also, you play an important part in our future plans for Silhouette Romances. We welcome any suggestions or comments on our books, which should be sent to the address below.
So enjoy this book and all the wonderful romances from Silhouette. They're for you!
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Silhouette Books
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Copyright © 1982 by Tracy Sinclair
Map by Tony Ferrara
First printing 1983
ISBN 0 340 33262 X
Chapter One
The telephone rang imperiously inside the small apartment, its shrill summons demanding an immediate answer. Jennifer Fairchild juggled her packages precariously and tried to find her door key in the large leather handbag slung over one shoulder. Why do telephones always ring at the wrong time, she wondered? When you're expecting a call, you can wait all day with never a jingle, but when your arms are full and you've had a long day—it never fails!
Finally, her fingers closed over the key ring just as a cardboard egg carton threatened to spill out of her grocery sack. Hastily righting the bag, she opened the door and made a dash for the phone.
"Where have you been? I was about to hang up," Tom Graystock's disembodied voice complained in her ear.
Graystock was her boss at the Visitor's Bureau, the organization responsible for telling the world about the charms of San Francisco and convincing everyone it was the ideal vacation spot. She had just left him less than an hour ago, and after a long day of taking dictation, answering the phone, and being generally useful, she wasn't very happy to hear his voice on the other end of the telephone.
Jennifer set the groceries down gingerly and kicked off her shoes with a sigh. Even an energetic twenty-two-year-old was entitled to be tired after a day like today. She pushed shining blond hair back from a heart-shaped face dominated by wide green eyes, shadowed now by fatigue.
"I had to stop at the market, Mr. Graystock."
"Oh… well, I'm glad I caught you anyway." He sounded faintly surprised. Like most men, Graystock had only a vague idea of what it took to run a home. He had never given any thought to the fact that even a single girl who lives alone has to shop and cook. "I have a tremendous favor to ask of you," he said, but his tone of voice indicated that it was more of an order than a request.
"What is it?" She sighed again, knowing ahead of time that it was going to be something she would rather not do.
"We're in a real bind down here. The State Department just called and said that Kalim Al Kahira is arriving at seven thirty tonight at International Airport. He's bringing a whole entourage in his private plane—about twenty or twenty-five people, I believe."
"Who is Kalim Al Kahira?" Jennifer asked, not really interested. The name was vaguely familiar though. Hadn't she heard something about him on the news recently?
"Get with it, Jenny, he's been written up in all the papers—the worldwide charity thing."
"Oh, yes," she said uncertainly, "I guess I did read about him."
His dry tone doubted it. "Well, to refresh your memory, Kahira is head of a group called the Children's Rescue Operation. He founded it, as a matter of fact. It was formed to take care of needy and orphaned children all over the world—the ones who are always caught in the shuffle when another senseless war breaks out."
That struck a chord and she said, "Oh, yes, I've heard of that organization. They do marvelous work."
"Yes. Kahira has been traveling all over the world to sign up as many participating nations as possible, and from what I hear he's been pretty successful."
"He must be a wonderful man," Jennifer commented admiringly.
Graystock's voice was suddenly dry. "Either that or a great politician."
"What do you mean?"
"Kahira is an industrialist with a finger in just about every important pie. Nobody even knows the extent of his holdings or his influence. But public opinion has been turning against these power brokers, so what better way to build a good image than to head up a children's charity?" he asked cynically.
"I think that's terrible!" Jennifer protested. "That's the trouble with people today—they're just too suspicious. How could you even think of such a thing?"
Graystock had the grace to sound slightly embarrassed. "Well, you must admit it's a rather unusual project for a bachelor, isn't it?" he asked defensively.
"Not necessarily, but I didn't even know he was one. I've heard of the work they're doing, but I really don't know anything about Mr. Kahira."
"Then you obviously don't read the gossip columns, Jenny. His name appears regularly, always linked with one beauty or another. None of them has been able to get him to the altar yet, but I don't imagine it's for lack of trying. The guy is a great catch."
"How old is he?" Jennifer asked curiously.
"I think I read somewhere that he's thirty-six."
"That seems awfully young to have built such an empire," she mused.
"Well, I guess he inherited a tidy sum to start with. He comes from one of the most distinguished families in Egypt. But you still have to give him credit. He could have been just another playboy instead of working his tail feathers off like he does."
Now it was Jennifer's turn to be cynical. "It sounds like he manages to combine the two."
"More power to him, I say!"
Ignoring the admiration in her boss's voice, she asked, "What is he doing here?"
"You never know with him, but I gather it's purely a sight-seeing trip. He was in Washington originally, to line up delegates to the first worldwide children's conference that's due to take place in Cairo. After that, Kahira and his party went to New York for a few days to woo the bankers. Everybody thought that would be the end of it but he decided all of a sudden that he wanted to see San Francisco before he went home. Maybe he just wants to relax and somebody told him about the Golden Gate Bridge and the cable cars—you know, all that publicity stuff the Bureau puts out."
Jennifer did indeed know. As secretary to Tom Graystock, part of her duties were to type up "all that publicity stuff."
"So anyway," he continued, "they headed the plane west and he's arriving here in two hours."
Jennifer was puzzled. "I don't understand. What does all this have to do with me?"
"I was co
ming to that. There are all kinds of high jinks planned for him tomorrow, but the mayor wants the Visitor's Bureau to do the preliminary work and this thing caught us shorthanded. Duggan is out sick, Smith is on vacation, and Paulson is on another assignment and can't get back in time. So it looks like you're elected."
"Elected to do what?" she asked. None of this made any sense so far.
"To take charge of Kalim Al Kahira. Act as liaison."
Jennifer gasped incredulously. "You must be joking! I don't even know what liaison people do."
"There's nothing to know—all the details are being taken care of. They're working frantically right now to clear out a whole floor of the hotel for his party and I've ordered a fleet of limousines to meet them at the airport. We're trying to anticipate his every whim. This is really big stuff for us and I don't intend to goof up."
"It sounds like you've thought of everything," she commented.
"We've sure tried," he answered grimly. "So how long will it take you to get down here?"
"I don't know why you need me if everything's done already." It certainly seemed that the situation was under control and she thought longingly of a hot bath and a bowl of soup with a good book propped up in front of it.
Time was slipping away and Graystock's temper along with it. "I just explained it to you, and if you expect to have a job tomorrow, you'd better get over here right away!" he shouted. "We need someone to greet him and show him around the city and you're it!"
For a minute Jennifer couldn't believe her ears! She thought he merely wanted her to handle the phones in the office. Was he actually suggesting that she play hostess to a prince of finance? "But I wouldn't have the faintest idea what to say to him," she cried in a panic. A thought occurred to her. "Does he speak English?"
"Of course. He was educated at Oxford. All those rich families send their children abroad for their education—their sons, at least. I think he speaks something like four or five languages."
"But I don't," Jennifer protested.
"It doesn't matter," Graystock assured her. "All you have to do is answer his questions about San Francisco. You know—how high is the Golden Gate Bridge and what makes the cable cars go up and down…"
"I don't know either one of those answers," she wailed.
"Then find out!" Graystock roared. "From the minute he steps off that plane, you're his official guide. And be sure to treat him with kid gloves. If he wants Chinese food, take him to the best place in Chinatown. If he wants to ride through Golden Gate Park, hire a carriage. Expense is no object—just give him what he asks for. That's what he's used to."
"But Mr. Graystock…"
He interrupted her impatiently. "I don't have time to argue with you. Be here in fifteen minutes."
Jennifer heard the emphatic click that disconnected them and she stared at the phone for an unbelieving moment. Her job had always been pleasant enough, although not very stimulating. In spite of the agreeable working conditions, there was no real future at the Bureau and she might have gotten restless except for the bright prospects in her future.
During the summer, Jennifer had done extensive volunteer work for the congressman from her district and in the process gotten to know him well. His chances for reelection in November were bright and he had practically promised her a job on his staff. The idea was heady stuff and she had her fingers crossed. Tom Graystock knew about the opportunity and was all for it.
"This is no place for you, Jenny." He was the only one who ever called her that. "Nothing ever happens around here."
That had been her feeling too, but it seemed they were both wrong. Who would ever have believed that from a routine job as a secretary she would suddenly be asked to mingle with the jet set?
Well, not exactly, she chided. Jennifer had always considered herself level headed and there was no sense getting panicky about this thing or painting a romantic picture either. So what if he was a millionaire industrialist? When you came right down to it, she was just going to be a tour guide like one of those ladies who took people around the museum. All she had to do was make a short welcoming speech and ask him how he would like to spend the evening.
What would he be like? Spoiled of course. Just look at all the commotion he was stirring up before he even got here. But what did he look like? She had forgotten to ask, but Jennifer was almost certain he would turn out to be short and fat. The fact that he was noted for his beautiful girl friends didn't mean a thing. There were always women willing to flock around that kind of money!
But this was no time for conjecture. The minutes were flying and decisions had to be made. First of all, what to wear? Shuffling rapidly through the closet, she considered and discarded several choices. The trouble was, her wardrobe wasn't geared to high society. Mostly it ran to skirts and blouses and sweaters. The only suitable dress was a soft yellow silk, but was it too daring? The halter neck plunged dangerously low in front and left her back bare almost to the waist.
She had bought it on sale and the price had been terribly steep, even marked way down. At the time, she had had no place to wear it, but she couldn't resist its silken luxury.
Smoothing the elegant fabric over her slender figure, Jennifer eyed herself with satisfaction and felt justified in skipping all those lunches to pay for what had seemed a terrible extravagance at the time.
With one eye on the clock, she jumbled the essentials into a small evening bag and caught up a white wool coat. Taking a last look in the mirror, Jennifer sighed.
Wouldn't it be nice to have a fancy fur wrap to go with the dress? She made a face at herself. Wasn't it enough that her date was practically a prince? Even Cinderella hadn't asked for a fur coat! Laughing at her own nonsense, she ran lightly down the stairs.
Graystock was pacing up and down the office like a caged lion even though she had almost set a record getting there. "It's about time! What took you so long?"
Jennifer was breathless. "I hurried as fast as I could."
"Well, you're here now—that's all that matters," he said, rather ungratefully, she thought, considering how she had rushed. "Come on, I'll walk you downstairs."
Now that the moment was actually at hand, all her doubts rushed back. "I still don't understand why you can't go yourself."
Her usually calm boss gritted his teeth. "All right, I'll change places with you. Do you feel capable of handling the calls from Washington, checking on the hotel, hiring men to—"
"Okay, I get the message," she interrupted. "I'm just so afraid I'll let you down." A terrible thought suddenly struck her. "How will I know him? He won't have any idea who to look for and suppose I miss him at the airport?"
"Don't worry. Private planes don't land where the commercial jets do. The chauffeur of your limousine knows where to go. When the plane comes in, you'll spot it. For one thing, there will be police swarming all over the place."
"But how will I recognize him?"
"Well, let's see—I saw him on television. He has dark hair and he's tall."
For what it was worth, there went half of her preconceived notion. "That's no help," Jennifer protested. "That description could fit most of the men in his party."
"Then ask somebody! I don't know how you're going to find him. Just find him!" Graystock exploded, and she realized that he was feeling the pressure too. It didn't add to her peace of mind. What kind of man was this who had everyone scurrying around like a flock of frightened starlings?
He was probably detestable—rich, spoiled, and utterly impossible. And she was responsible for entertaining him. Jennifer shivered at the thought. He would surely expect to be greeted by a movie star at the very least, and what was he getting?—Jennifer Fairchild, secretary and general flunky.
She would be at a disadvantage from the beginning. Would he at least be civil or would he come right out with his displeasure? It was no comfort to realize that he could do it in a choice of four or five languages.
In all too short a time the car arrived at the airport
, but instead of going to the main terminal, it turned left down a long dark road leading to a fenced-off area. The driver seemed to know where he was going and proceeded to a gate attended by a uniformed guard. After the two men exchanged a few words, the gate opened, and they drove right onto the field where a long sleek jet airplane had just landed. Mr. Graystock was vindicated for rushing her so mercilessly. It seemed Jennifer had arrived just in time.
As soon as the heavy door of the plane swung out and sideways, a swarm of men emerged. Most of them were young and they were all dressed in the conservative garb of the businessman—dark suit, white shirt, and tie. Looking at them, Jennifer's heart sank. How would she ever pick her quarry out of the group? But her fears were groundless.
After everyone else had bustled out there was a pause, and then a man appeared in the doorway. As he stood on the top step, she knew immediately that this was Kalim Al Kahira.
He was the only one dressed casually, but that wasn't the clue. It was a magnetic aura that set him apart from all the others, a leadership quality that was unmistakable. Waiting at the head of the stairs and surveying the field as though he owned it, he was the focal point of the scene—the cause of all the commotion but completely aloof from it. As he turned slightly, the moon silhouetted his strong profile, outlining the aquiline nose and firm chiseled lips.
Jennifer caught her breath, unaware that she was staring like an impressionable teenager. In the cold starlight there was something cruel and hawklike about his face. It conjured up wild rides across a windswept desert astride a beautiful Arabian stallion. This was no pudgy, lethargic little businessman. This was a captain of industry, a man of action! He was the fabric of every girl's dreams—rich, handsome, powerful—and utterly unattainable.
She stood at the edge of the crowd, gazing at him with shining eyes and parted lips, oblivious to the activity swirling around her. Busy men unloaded mounds of luggage and called to each other over the din. But the center of attraction was the top of the stairs where Kalim Al Kahira stood, and she knew intuitively that it would be true no matter where he was.
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