by Liz Fielding
She, on the other hand, would have been ruined. No one would have believed she was an innocent dupe. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have believed it either.
She looked at the bed with longing, sorely tempted to just crawl beneath the covers and sleep away the next eight hours. No one would disturb her, expect anything from her.
But, since sleeping away the entire seven days was out of the question, she needed to snap out of it.
She’d been knocked off her feet by the heightened tension, that was all. Unsurprising under the circumstances. Anyone would be unsettled. Kal al-Zaki’s presence had been unexpected, that was all. And she turned to the toilet case and overnight bag that had been placed on a stand.
The first was packed with everything a woman could ever need. The finest hairbrush that money could buy, the best skin care products, cosmetics, a selection of sumptuous scents; a perfect distraction for out of control hormones.
She opened one, sighed as she breathed in a subtle blend of sweet summer scents, then, as she sprayed it on her wrist, she caught an underlying note of something darker that tugged at forbidden desires. That echoed the heat in Kal al-Zaki’s eyes.
Dropping it as if burned, she turned to the overnight bag. On the top, in suede drawstring bags, were the cases for the jewellery she was wearing, along with a selection of simpler pieces that Lady Rose wore while ‘off duty’.
There was also a change of clothes for the long flight. A fine silk shirt the colour of champagne, wide-cut trousers in dark brown linen, a cashmere cardigan and a pair of butter-soft leather loafers in the right size. Supremely elegant but all wonderfully comfortable.
Rose had also packed a selection of the latest hardback bestsellers to while away the long flight. But then she hadn’t expected that her stand-in would be provided with company.
Or not. According to Princess Lucy, it was up to her.
While she’d urged Rose to allow him to show her the sights, she’d made it clear that if she preferred to be alone then Kal would not intrude.
Not intrude?
What had the woman been thinking?
Hadn’t she looked at him?
Anyone with half a brain could see that he wouldn’t have to do a damn thing. One smile, one touch of his hand and he was already indelibly imprinted on her brain. In her head for ever more.
Intrusion squared.
In fact, if she didn’t know better, she might be tempted to think that the Princess had planned a holiday romance as a little treat for her friend.
The idea was, of course, patently absurd.
Not that she didn’t deserve a romance. A dark-eyed prince with a killer smile who’d sweep her off her feet.
No one deserved a little fun more than Rose, but anyone who knew her would understand just how impossible a casual, throwaway romance would be for her. And that was the essence of a holiday romance. Casual. Something out of time that had nothing to do with real life. That you left behind when you went home.
Anyone who truly cared for her would understand that.
Wouldn’t they?
About to remove the pin that fastened the tiny hat to her chignon, she paused, sank onto the edge of the bed as a phrase in Lucy’s letter came back to her.
Don’t give Rupert a single thought…
She and Lucy were in total agreement on that one. Rose’s grandfather, the newspapers, even the masses out there who thought they knew her, might be clamouring for an engagement, but she’d seen the two of them together. There was absolutely no chemistry, no connection.
Rose had made a joke about it, but Lydia hadn’t been fooled for a second. She’d seen the desperation in her face and anyone who truly cared for her would want to save her from sleepwalking into such a marriage simply because it suited so many people.
Could Princess Lucy have hoped that if she put Rose and Kalil together the sparks would fly of their own accord without any need to stoke the fire? No doubt about it, a week being flirted with by Kal al-Zaki would have been just the thing to bring the colour back into Rose’s cheeks.
Or was it all less complicated than that?
Was Lucy simply relying on the ever-attendant paparazzi, seeing two young people alone in a perfect setting, to put one and one together and make it into a front page story that would make them a fortune?
Who cared whether it was true?
Excellent plan, Lucy, she thought, warming to the woman despite the problems she’d caused.
There was only one thing wrong with it. Lady Rose had taken matters into her own hands and was, even now-in borrowed clothes, a borrowed car-embarking on an adventure of her own, safe in the knowledge that no one realised she’d escaped. That she could do what she liked while the world watched her lookalike.
Of course there was nothing to stop her from making it happen, she thought as she finally removed the hat and jewellery she was wearing. Kicked off her shoes and slipped out of the suit.
All it would take would be a look. A touch. He wasn’t averse to touching.
She began to pull pins from her hair, absently divesting herself of the Lady Rose persona, just as she did at the end of every gig.
And she wouldn’t be the victim this time. She would be the one in control, watching as the biter was, for once, bit.
Then, as her hair tumbled down, bringing her out of a reverie in which Kal touched her hand, then her face, her neck, his lips following a trail blazed by his fingers she let slip a word that Rose had probably never heard, let alone used.
It had taken an age to put her hair up like that and, unlike Rose, she didn’t have a maid to help.
Just what she deserved for letting her fantasy run away with her. There was no way she was going to do anything that would embarrass Rose. Her part was written and she’d stick to it.
She began to gather the pins, but then realised that just because Rose never appeared in photographs other than with her hair up, it didn’t mean that when she shut the door on the world at the end of the day-or embarked on an eight-hour flight-she’d wouldn’t wear it loose.
She was, after all, supposed to be on holiday. And who, after all, knew what she did, said, wore, when she was behind closed doors?
Not Kalil al-Zaki, that was for sure.
And that was the answer to the ‘keeping up appearances’ problem, she realised.
Instead of trying to remember that she was Lady Rose for the next seven days, she would just be herself. She’d already made a pretty good start with the kind of lippy responses that regulars on her checkout at the supermarket would recognise.
And being herself would help with the ‘lust’ problem, too.
For as long as she could remember, she’d been fending off the advances of first boys, then men who, when they looked at her, had seen only the ‘virgin’ princess and wanted to either worship or ravish her.
It had taken her a little while to work that one out but, once she had, she’d had no trouble keeping them at arm’s length, apart from the near miss with the actor, but then he’d been paid to be convincing. And patient. It was a pity he’d only, in the end, had an audience of one because he’d put in an Oscar-winning performance.
Kal, despite the way he looked, was just another man flirting with Lady Rose. That was all she had to remember, she told herself as she shook out her hair, brushed it, before she freshened up and put on the clothes Rose had chosen for her.
So which would he be? Worshipper or ravisher?
Good question, she thought as she added a simple gold chain and stud earrings before checking her reflection in a full length mirror.
It wasn’t quite her-she tended to favour jeans and funky tops. It wasn’t quite Lady Rose either, but it was close enough for someone who’d never met either of them, she decided as she chose a book, faced the door and took a slow, calming breath before returning to the main cabin.
In her absence the seats had been turned around, the cabin reconfigured so that it now resembled a comfortable sitting room
.
An empty sitting room.
CHAPTER THREE
HAVING screwed herself up to be ‘relaxed’, the empty cabin was something of a let-down, but a table had been laid with a lace cloth and, no sooner than she’d settled herself and opened her book, Atiya arrived to serve afternoon tea.
Finger sandwiches, warm scones, clotted cream, tiny cakes and tea served from a heavy silver pot.
‘Is all this just for me?’ she asked when she poured only one cup and Kal had still not reappeared.
She hadn’t wanted his company, but now he’d disappeared she felt affronted on Lady Rose’s behalf. He was supposed to be here, keeping her safe from harm.
‘Captain Jacobs invited Mr al-Zaki to visit the crew on the flight deck,’ Atiya said. ‘Apparently they did their basic training together.’
‘Training?’ It took her a moment. ‘He’s a pilot?’
Okay. She hadn’t for a minute believed that he was bothered by the take-off, but she hadn’t seen that coming. A suitable career for a nephew of an Emir wasn’t a subject that had ever crossed her mind, but working as a commercial airline pilot wouldn’t have been on her list even if she had. Maybe it had been military training.
A stint in one of the military academies favoured by royals would fit.
‘Shall I ask him to rejoin you?’ Atiya asked.
‘No,’ she said quickly. She had wanted him to keep his distance and her fairy godmother was, apparently, still on the case. ‘I won’t spoil his fun.’
Besides, if he returned she’d have to share this scrumptious spread.
Too nervous to eat lunch, and with the terrifying take-off well behind her, she was suddenly ravenous and the temptation to scoff the lot was almost overwhelming. Instead, since overindulgence would involve sweating it all off later, she managed to restrain herself, act like the lady she was supposed to be and simply tasted a little of everything to show her appreciation, concentrating on each stunning mouthful so that it felt as if she was eating far more, before settling down with her book.
Kal paused at the door to the saloon.
Rose, her hair a pale gold shimmer that she’d let down to hang over her shoulder, feet tucked up beneath her, absorbed in a book, was so far removed from her iconic image that she looked like a completely different woman.
Softer. The girl next door rather than a princess, because that was what she’d be if she’d been born into his culture.
Was the effect diminished?
Not one bit. It just came at him from a different direction. Now she looked not only luscious but available.
Double trouble.
As he settled in the chair opposite her she raised her eyes from her book, regarding him from beneath long lashes.
‘Did you enjoy your visit to the cockpit?’
An almost imperceptible edge to her voice belied the softer look.
‘It was most informative. Thank you,’ he responded, equally cool. A little chill was just the thing to douse the heat generated by that mouth. Maybe.
‘Did your old friend offer you the controls?’ she added, as if reading his mind, and suddenly it all became clear. It wasn’t the fact that he’d left her side without permission that bothered her.
The stewardess must have told her that he was a pilot and she thought he’d been laughing at her fear of flying.
‘I hoped you wouldn’t notice that little bump back there,’ he said, offering her the chance to laugh right back at him.
There was a flicker of something deep in her eyes and the suspicion of an appreciative dimple appeared just above the left hand corner of her mouth.
‘That was you? I thought it was turbulence.’
‘Did you?’ She was lying outrageously-the flight had been rock steady since they’d reached cruising altitude-but he was enjoying her teasing too much to be offended. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve flown anything this big. I’m a little rusty.’
She was struggling not to laugh now. ‘It’s not something you do seriously, then?’
‘No one in my family does anything seriously.’ It was the standard response, the one that journalists expected, and if it didn’t apply to him, who actually cared? But, seeing a frown buckle the smooth, wide space between her eyes, the question that was forming, he cut her short with, ‘My father bought himself a plane,’ he said. ‘I wanted to be able to fly it so I took lessons.’
‘Oh.’ The frown remained. ‘But you said “this big”,’ she said, with a gesture that indicated the aircraft around them.
‘You start small,’ he confirmed. ‘It’s addictive, though. You keep wanting more.’
‘But you’ve managed to break the habit.’
‘Not entirely. Maybe you’d like a tour of the flight deck?’ he asked. She clearly had no idea who he was and that suited him. If she discovered that he was the CEO of a major corporation she’d want to know what he was doing playing bodyguard. ‘It sometimes helps ease the fear if you understand exactly what’s happening. How things work.’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’ Then, perhaps thinking she’d been less than gracious, she said, ‘I do understand that my fear is totally irrational. If I didn’t, I’d never get on one of these things.’ Her smile was self-deprecating. ‘But while, for the convenience of air travel, I can steel myself to suffer thirty seconds or so of blind panic, I also know that taking a pilot’s eye view, seeing for myself exactly how much nothing there is out there, will only make things worse.’
‘It’s really just the take-off that bothers you?’ he asked.
‘So far,’ she warned. ‘But any attempt to analyse my fear is likely to give me ideas. And, before you say it, I know that flying is safer than crossing the road. That I’ve more chance of being hurt going to work-’ She caught herself, for a fraction of second floundered. ‘So I’ve heard,’ she added quickly, as if he might dispute that what she did involved effort.
While opening the new wing of a hospital, attending charity lunches, appearing at the occasional gala might seem like a fairy tale existence to the outsider, he’d seen the effort Lucy put into her own charity and knew the appearance of effortless grace was all illusion.
But there was something about the way she’d stopped herself from saying more that suggested…He didn’t know what it suggested.
‘You’ve done your research.’
‘No need. People will insist on telling you these things,’ she said pointedly.
Signalling that the exchange was, as far as she was concerned, at an end, she returned to her book.
‘There’s just one more thing…’
She lifted her head, waited.
‘I’m sure that Lucy explained that once we arrive in Ramal Hamrah we’ll be travelling on to Bab el Sama by helicopter but-’
‘Helicopter?’
The word came out as little more than a squeak.
‘-but if it’s going to be a problem, I could organise alternative transport,’ he finished.
Lydia had been doing a pretty good job of keeping her cool, all things considered. She’d kept her head down, her nose firmly in her book even when Kal had settled himself opposite her. Stretched out those long, long legs. Crossed his ankles.
He’d removed his jacket, loosened his tie, undone the top button of his shirt.
What was it about a man’s throat that was so enticing? she wondered. Invited touch…
She swallowed.
This was so not like her. She could flirt with the best, but that was no more than a verbal game that she could control. It was easy when only the brain was engaged…
Concentrate!
Stick to the plan. Speak when spoken to, keep the answers brief, don’t let slip giveaways like ‘going to work’, for heaven’s sake!
She’d managed to cover it but, unless she kept a firm rein on her tongue, sooner or later she’d say something that couldn’t be explained away.
Lady Rose was charming but reserved, she reminded herself.
&nb
sp; Reserved.
She made a mental note of the word, underlined it for emphasis.
It was too late to recall the ‘helicopter’ squeak, however, and she experienced a hollow feeling that had nothing to do with hunger as Kal, suddenly thoughtful, said, ‘You’ve never flown in one?’
She had never been in a helicopter, but it was perfectly possible that Lady Rose hopped about all over the place in one in order to fulfil her many engagements. Quite possibly with her good friend Princess Lucy.
She hadn’t thought to ask. Why would she?
After what seemed like an eternity, when she was sure Kal was going to ask her what she’d done with the real Lady Rose, he said, ‘So?’
‘So?’ she repeated hoarsely.
‘Which is it to be?’
‘Oh.’ He was simply waiting for her to choose between an air-conditioned ride in leather-upholstered comfort, or a flight in a noisy machine that didn’t even have proper wings. Her well-honed instinct for self-preservation was demanding she go for the four-wheeled comfort option.
Her mouth, taking no notice, said, ‘I can live with the helicopter.’
And was rewarded with another of those smiles that bracketed his mouth, fanned around his eyes, as if he knew just how much it had cost her.
‘It’s certainly simpler,’ he said, ‘but if I get scared you will hold my hand, won’t you?’
Lydia, jolted out of her determined reserve by his charm, laughed out loud. Then, when he didn’t join in, she had the weirdest feeling that their entire conversation had been leading up to that question and it was her breath that momentarily caught in her throat.
‘I don’t believe you’re scared of anything,’ she said.
‘Everyone is scared of something, Rose,’ he said enigmatically as he stood up. ‘I’ll leave you to enjoy your book. If you need me for anything I’ll be in the office.’
Showers, bedrooms, now an office…
‘Please, don’t let me keep you from your work,’ she said.
‘Work?’
He said the word lightly, as if it was something he’d never thought of, but a shadow, so brief that she might have missed it had she not been so intent on reading his thoughts, crossed his face and she felt horribly guilty at her lack of gratitude. No matter how inconvenient, this man, purely as a favour, had given up his own time to ensure she had the perfect holiday.
