JEWELS OF THE DESERT

Deserts, diamonds and destiny!

The Kingdom of Quishari: two rulers, with hearts as hard as the rugged landscape they reign over, are in need of Desert Queens…

When they offer convenient proposals, will they discover doing your duty doesn’t have to mean ignoring your heart?

Sheikh Rashid and his twin brother Sheikh Khalid are looking for brides…

Dear Reader

Okay, I confess, I’m fascinated with twins. I sometimes try to imagine my life as it would be if I had a twin. When I was a child, I always wanted to be one of a set of twins. The most fun would be switching places and fooling people—so I thought.

Alas, I am not a twin, nor do twins run in my family. But the fascination remains. This story is about twins—sheikhs, no less. The fact that they are twins does not play a huge role in the linked stories, but there is that mystique. Do twins think alike? Not always. Or each twin would want to marry the same person.

Sometimes, despite looking identical, twins’ interests are vastly different, and the lives they lead are as individual as anyone’s. In this story, the older twin—by seven minutes—leads a life of high-stakes oil and

international business dealings. He loves the challenge of dealing in the world market. Just when he’s about to sign a strategic contract things get dicey, and he needs help from an unlikely source.

Can two very different lifestyles be blended? Of course—if you have love. Please join me on this fun journey as Rashid and Bethanne discover the greatest gift of all.

Two brothers, twins to boot, find love and happy futures in totally unexpected ways.

All the best

Barbara

Accidentally the Sheikh’s Wife / Marrying the Scarred Sheikh

by

Barbara McMahon

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Accidentally The Sheikh’s Wife

by

Barbara McMahon

Barbara McMahon was born and raised in the south USA, but settled in California after spending a year flying around the world for an international airline. After settling down to raise a family and work for a computer firm, she began writing when her children started school. Now, feeling fortunate in being able to realise a long-held dream of quitting her ‘day job’ and writing full time, she and her husband have moved to the Sierra Nevada mountains of California, where she finds her desire to write is stronger than ever. With the beauty of the mountains visible from her windows, and the pace of life slower than the hectic San Francisco Bay Area where they previously resided, she finds more time than ever to think up stories and characters and share them with others through writing. Barbara loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at PO Box 977, Pioneer, CA 95666-0977, USA. Readers can also contact Barbara at her website: www.barbaramcmahon.com

To Carol, Barbara, Kate, Diana, Lynn, and Candice.

Thanks a bunch.

Lunch is always great fun.

CHAPTER ONE

BETHANNE SANDERS lined up the aircraft with the designated runway and began the final descent. The new jet handled like a dream—all the way from Texas to the coast of the Persian Gulf. It was the first time she’d flown halfway around the world and she wished she could continue on until she circled the globe. When she left Quishari, it would be by commercial flight back through Europe.

Maybe she’d get another dream assignment like this one in the not-too-distant future. For now, she continued to scan the landscape as far as she could see as the plane began descending. Excitement built. The Persian Gulf was magnificently blue, from deep, dark navy to shades of azure and turquoise. The strip of sandy beach now visible was almost blinding beneath the sun. She had read so much about Quishari and heard so much from her father, she almost felt like she recognized the landmarks as she came in for the landing. Her heart raced at the thought of actually being here. It was like a dream come true.

Had this assignment not materialized, she still would have come—but it might have taken longer as the cost was exorbitant and savings accumulated slowly.

But fate had stepped in—almost like the answer to a prayer. She was delivering a brand-new Starcraft jet to Sheikh Rashid al Harum—and bringing in a priceless cargo. His soon-to-be fiancée.

Except for the shakedown trips around Texas, the only hours on this jet were the ones taken to fly it here. If the sheikh liked it and accepted delivery, he’d be the proud owner of the latest and greatest of the Starcraft line.

She hoped the sheikh’s fiancée enjoyed the detailing of the luxury appointments and had enjoyed the flight. Bethanne had taken extra care to make the journey as smooth as possible. She found it vastly romantic that they were planning to marry—and neither had yet met the other.

A bit odd in the twenty-first century. Still, to have been chosen to be the bride of one of the fabulously wealthy sheikhs of Quishari had to be thrilling. Pictures had been exchanged, the parents had made the arrangements. How did a thirty-four-year-old man feel about having his bride hand-picked? Not too different from some of the online dating services—match likes and dislikes, find someone compatible, and there they were.

Would they kiss when meeting? Seal the deal, so to speak? Or would the woman be too shy to be bold enough for physical affection at the instant of meeting?

She had daydreamed on the long portions of the flight when autopilot had taken care of flying that she was being met by someone who would sweep her off her feet, make her feel cherished and special.

Or, alternatively, she’d also imagined her father striding along the tarmac, gathering her into his arms for one of his big bear hugs.

Blinking, Bethanne brought her attention back to the task of landing this multimillion-dollar jet.

The snowy-white exterior had already been detailed with stripes using the colors of Quishari—blue and gold and green. The interior resembled a high-end hotel lobby. The lush Persian carpet in golds and reds supported cushy sofas and armchairs, all with the requisite seat belts. The small dining area was elegant with rich walnut furnishings. The galley was fully stocked, and included a stove, oven and microwave in addition to the lavish below-counter refrigerator, wider than long, capable of carrying any supplies necessary for the sheikh’s pleasure. Even the sole restroom was spacious.

Bethanne had shown Haile al Benqura all the features of the cabin before going to the cockpit for her preflight routine. The chaperone accompanying the young woman had not spoken English, but Haile had. She’d taken in everything with a solemn demeanor. Wasn’t she the slightest bit excited? Apparently when the sheikh had mentioned something to the president of Starcraft, her boss had immediately offered to fly Haile from her home in Morocco to Quishari as a favor to the prospective buyer of their top-of-the-line private jet.

Bethanne glanced at her copilot, Jess Bradshaw. It was his first long-distance delivery as well and they had taken turns flying the aircraft to minimize delivery time.

“Want to bring it in?” she asked.

“No. We want this to go perfectly. I’m not as good at it as you.”

She shrugged and then brought the plane down with a kiss against the asphalt.

“Nice job,” Jess said.

“Thanks. This is a sweetheart of a plane. The sheikh is one lucky man.”

She followed directions from the tower and taxied to an area away from the main terminal. The immaculate hangar was already swarming with ground crew; everyone had eyes on the jet as she pulled it into the designated slot. She and Jess ran through the checklist as they shut down. She wanted to dash out and breathe the Quishari air. But duty first. She had scheduled several days here to see if she could find her dad. And to see the towns and desert that made Quishari famous.

“I’m glad we get to sleep on the way home,” Jess mumbled, waiting for her to get up first. He followed her from the cockpit to the outside door of the jet. With minimum effort, Bethanne opened it, watching as stairs unfolded. She glanced back and saw the chaperone. Where was Haile? In the restroom? Probably primping to look her best when seeing the sheikh for the first time. Bethanne hoped she hadn’t been there when they landed. Jess had announced their approach and told the passengers to fasten seat belts.

The chaperone looked worried, her eyes darting around the cabin, refusing to meet Bethanne’s gaze. Had she been afraid of flying? Bethanne couldn’t image anyone not loving it. She’d wanted to be a pilot since she turned five and first been taken up in the cockpit of a small plane. Of course, wanting to follow in her father’s footsteps had also played a big part.

Two men waited at the foot of the stairs. When the steps unfolded and locked in place, the taller began to ascend. Bethanne watched him approach. He was maybe six-three or four. Which Bethanne found refreshing. Her own five-ten height usually had her eye to eye with men. His dark hair shone in the sunlight, his skin was tanned to teak. The closer he came, the more she could see—from dark eyes that watched her steadily, to a strong jaw that suggested arrogance and power, to the wide shoulders encased in a pristine white shirt and dark charcoal suit.

Her heart began to beat heavily. She was fascinated by the man. Awareness flooded through her, as did a sudden need to brush her hair—she hoped it was still neat in its French plait. Studying him as he drew closer every step, she noticed the hint of wave in his hair. She wondered what he’d look like if he ran his fingers through his hair. Or if she did.

She swallowed and tried to look away. Fantasies like that would get her nowhere. This had to be Sheikh Rashid al Harum. Almost-fiancé to the woman in the back of the plane. Oh, lucky Haile al Benqura. She had undoubtedly fallen in love with the man from the pictures exchanged. Now she would be greeted and swept off her feet with one of the most gorgeous men Bethanne had ever seen.

“I am Rashid al Harum. Welcome to Quishari,” he said in English as he stepped into the aircraft.

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat. That husky tone wasn’t like her. This man was rattling her senses. “I’m Bethanne Sanders. My copilot, Jess Bradshaw.” She saw the surprise in his eyes. Despite all the headway women had made in aviation, it was still considered primarily a male profession. She was growing used to seeing that expression—especially in locales away from the U.S.

Rashid al Harum inclined his head slightly and then looked beyond them into the cabin.

The older woman rose and began to speak in a rapid strained tone.

Bethanne still didn’t see Haile. Was she ill? As the chaperone continued, she glanced at the sheikh, wishing she understood the language. His face grew harder by the second. In a moment he turned and glared at Bethanne. “What do you know of Haile’s disappearance?” he asked in English.

Bethanne looked back into the cabin. “Disappearance? Isn’t she in the restroom?” she asked, suddenly worried something was wrong. What had the chaperone said? Where was Haile al Benqura?

“Apparently she never left Morocco,” the sheikh said in a tight voice.

“What? That’s impossible. I showed her around the plane myself. She was on board when we were ready to leave.” She turned to Jess. “You saw her, right? When you boarded?”

Jess shook his head slightly. “I don’t remember seeing her when I closed the door. A maintenance man ran down the stairs just as I was rounding the back to board. No one else got off the plane.”

“There shouldn’t have been a maintenance man aboard—there’s nothing wrong with the plane,” Bethanne said. What was going on? Where was Haile? “What did she say?” Bethanne gestured to the chaperone, still standing in front of the sofa.

The sheikh glared at her for a moment, then in a soft, controlled voice that did not soothe at all, said, “I suggest that you and I speak alone.”

She stared at him, suddenly worried things had gone terribly wrong. He seemed to tower above her, anger evident.

“I’ll check on things on the ground,” Jess said with obvious relief. He eased by the two of them and hurried down the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, the sheikh turned to the older woman and spoke briefly.

She dropped her gaze and nodded. Gathering her few things, she walked to the back and sat on the edge of the sofa, gazing out one of the small windows.

“According to her, Haile took off before the plane departed Morocco, running to meet a lover.”

“What? How is that possible? I thought she was coming here to meet you—your fiancée, or almost,” Bethanne blurted out before thinking. How could the woman choose someone else over this man? was Bethanne’s first thought.

“So she is, was, to be. Her family and mine have been in negotiations for months over an oil deal that would prove advantageous to both countries. Included in that was the merger of our two families through marriage. Now my entire family—not to mention others in this country—expects the arrival of a woman who is to be my wife—and she is not on board.”

Bethanne swallowed hard at the anger in his eyes. Surreptitiously wiping her palms against the fabric of her uniform, she raised her chin and said, “I’m not responsible for her leaving the plane. I thought she was on board. She was when I last saw her.”

“You’re the captain of the aircraft. What goes on is your responsibility. I hold you accountable. How could you let her leave?” His dark eyes pinned her in place. His entire demeanor shimmered with anger—controlled, which made it seem even stronger.

“How was I suppose to know she didn’t want to come here? I thought everything was arranged.” She would not tell him how romantic she found the scenario. Maybe she hadn’t thought it through if the woman had fled rather than come to Quishari. “Though if I had known the circumstances, maybe I would have questioned whether anyone wanted to be negotiated into a marriage. I thought it was an old-fashioned mail-order-bride situation. But if the bride wasn’t willing, I’m glad I did not have a part in bringing her here.” She looked at the older woman. “She’s the one you should hold responsible. Bringing them from Morocco to Quishari was a favor to you by our company.”

“But the favor was not fulfilled. She is not here.”

“I can see that. What do you want me to do about it now?” Bethanne said.

“The marriage would be an arrangement that benefits both countries,” he said with a dismissing gesture. “That is not any concern of yours. The decision has been made. What is of your concern, is the fact Haile went missing on your watch.”

Bethanne met his gaze bravely. It was not her fault the woman had deplaned. Why hadn’t the chaperone stopped her? Or told someone before they took off from Morocco? What else could she say?

This was certainly not the happy arrival at Quishari she’d anticipated.

“The immediate need, now, is for damage control,” he said after a moment. The sheikh looked back at the woman sitting so still in the back of the jet. For a moment Bethanne imagined she could see the wheels spinning in his head. How could she have known Haile wasn’t as interested in the marriage as she had thought? She would never have suspected a young woman like Haile would disguise herself and slip away between the time Bethanne went into the cockpit and Jess joined her. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Obviously it had not been a spur-of-the-moment decision. It had taken planning and daring. Bethanne’s romantic mind imagined Haile deplaning surreptitiously and finding her lover and both fleeing, whilst her father and his minions followed on horseback. She blinked. Her overactive imagination could get her in trouble.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you,” she said, hoping to ease the tension that was as thick as butter. Her primary goal was to deliver the plane, which she’d done. Now all the sheikh had to do was accept the delivery, sign the paperwork and Bethanne could begin her vacation in Quishari while Jess would be flying back to Texas on the next available flight.

“Ah, but you can help. In fact, I insist.” He turned back to her. The serious expression in his eyes held her in thrall. What did he mean?

“How can I help? Fly back to Morocco and find her? I wouldn’t begin to know where to look.”

“Despite my family’s efforts to keep the entire matter solely within the family, rumors have been flying around the country. I’ve ignored them, but I know they speculate a special visitor will arrive soon. My coming to meet this plane would have fueled speculation even more. So, you’re it.”

“I’m what it?” she asked, wondering what would happen if there was no special visitor. Some gossip, more speculation about when his fiancée would arrive.

“The woman I came to meet. It’s as if it was meant to be. What are the odds of having a female pilot bringing the plane—and one who is young and pretty enough to pass muster?”

“Muster for what?” Bethanne wondered if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Nothing was making sense.

“To pass as my special guest, of course.”

She stared at him. “Are you crazy? I mean…” Ever conscious of the fact he was an important client of her company she didn’t want to insult, she stopped. But he couldn’t be serious. Thinking she could pass as a fiancée for a sheikh? He had to have half the money of the country. She’d learned that much about the al Harum family from her father. They controlled vast oil deposits and dealt in the world market for oil. They played a major role in the government of Quishari and had for generations.

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 complied 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 lower 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?

She had no idea of how long he expected this charade to last. So any investigations for her father needed to be done swiftly in case her visit was cut radically short. The sheikh had canceled her reservations at the hotel. She wondered if she should make new ones, just in case.

After she’d changed and freshened up, Bethanne headed back down the way she’d come. The villa wasn’t as large as she first thought. Probably only eight bedroom suites. She almost laughed at the thought. Her tiny apartment in Galveston would squeeze into her assigned bedroom here.

She didn’t see a soul as she went back to the front door and let herself out. The limo was gone. The lawn stretched out to a tall flowering hedge of oleander, sheltering the house from any view from the street.

Following the lower veranda to the path she’d seen, Bethanne walked through the garden and out to the beach. There were several chairs and tables on the white sand near the edge of the garden. She could sit and relax after her walk.

In the distance she saw a large container ship slowly moving through the Gulf. Happily Bethanne walked to the water’s edge, kicked off her shoes and started walking north. Her mind was already formulating where she could begin with her inquiries. When she returned to the villa, she’d summons the maid to begin with her. Had her father ever visited the house? Maybe the staff would remember him. She wanted answers and didn’t plan to leave Quishari until she had them. Neither the difficulty of the task nor language barrier would stop her!

“What’s got you upset?” Khalid asked from his position lounging on one of the chairs in Rashid’s office at Bashiri Oil. The corner office had a splendid view of Alkaahdar and the Gulf. On the highest floor of the building, it rose above most other buildings in the capital city and gave an unimpeded view.

Rashid paced to the tall window and glared at the cityscape, annoyed afresh that his brother had picked up on his irritation. It was not new. Twins had an uncanny intuition concerning each other. Rashid could recognize his brother’s moods in a second. Of course Khalid could recognize his.

He knew he had to contact Haile’s father. The longer he delayed, the more awkward it would become. Did the man know yet his daughter had run off? Had he known about the other man all along and still expected Haile to consider marriage to him?

He turned from the window and met his brother’s eyes. Khalid had the knack of instant relaxation. And then instant action when called for. He was slouched on one of the visitor chairs. Rashid noted his brother was wearing a suit again, instead of the more traditional robes. A concession to being in the city. First chance he had, Rashid knew his brother would head for the interior or the derricks along the coast to the south. Khalid was not one for society or social niceties.

For a second he debated trying the charade on his twin. But it would not take long for Khalid to figure things out. Besides, they had never lied to each other.

“It appears the glowing bride-to-be is glowing for someone else.”

“Huh?” Khalid sat up at that. “What do you mean?”

“She never arrived.”

“I heard she did and that she’s blonde and tall and you whisked her away to keep her from the prying eyes of everyone.”

“The rumor mill is even faster than I knew. That’s the idea. Haile never arrived. I want to finalize the deal with al Benqura before letting the world know I’ve been stood up. You know what the minister would say if he found out. This deal’s too important to me to let some flighty woman screw it up.” Briefly Rashid outlined the situation.

“What does al Benqura say to his daughter’s no-show?” Khalid asked.

“I’m not sure he knows.”

“And the blonde you escorted from the plane?”

“I hope a substitute until the deal is done.”

“Where did you conjure her up?”

“Turns out she’s the pilot delivering my new plane—that was supposed to bring Haile. She thought Haile was on board and was as surprised as I was to discover she was not.”

“Ah, yes, the new jet you’re buying. The pilot is a woman? That’s odd.”

“Or providence in this situation.”

“And she agreed to this charade? What am I saying, of course she did. How much for her silence?”

Rashid shrugged. “So far no monetary demands. But a twist I never expected. She’s Hank Pendarvis’s daughter.”

“What?” Khalid sat up at that. “You’re kidding. I didn’t even know he had a family.”

“And she’s looking for her father.”

Khalid sat up in his chair. “He took that jet some years ago.”

“And disappeared. Apparently starting life anew, he cut all ties with his past. She wants to know what happened. As do we all.”

Khalid shrugged. “Don’t get in too deep,” he warned. “I wouldn’t trust her, if I were you.” He shifted slightly and tilted his head in a manner that reminded Rashid of his own mannerisms when confronted by questionable behavior. “Are you sure she won’t give away the scheme at the first chance? European tabloids would love such a story. And she has nothing to lose and lots of money to gain.”

“So far she seems more interested in searching for her father than acquiring anything. But I will keep in mind her relationship to Hank.”

Rashid glanced back out the window, but he knew he wasn’t fooling his twin. That Bethanne would refuse to cooperate was a true risk. One he was willing to take to insure the finalization of the deal he had been working on for months. He needed the support of the ministry to finalize the deal of such magnitude. Otherwise he wouldn’t care two figs about the minister’s position.

He was not going to tell his brother how he had grown to regret agreeing to an engagement that had been so strongly encouraged between his mother and al Benqura. Haile had the perfect background to be his wife. And after his aborted attempt to marry the woman of his choice when he was twenty-two, Haile seemed more than suitable.

He also was not going to mention the flash of desire that had surprised him when he met Bethanne. She was so different from the women he knew. If asked for a type, he would have said he preferred petite and dark, with brown eyes and a lush figure. Bethanne didn’t meet a single cri-terion. She was tall, blonde, blue eyes and almost as slender as a boy.

But that didn’t stop his interest. Which hadn’t waned even when learning she was Hank’s daughter. There could be nothing between them. Not once the relationship was made known. In the meantime, he hoped they could carry on until the oil deal was signed.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Khalid said. “I’m off to the south for a few days. I want to check out the pipeline from the number four oil rig. There’s a leak somewhere and so far no one’s found it. If it catches fire, there’ll be hell to pay.” Khalid rose. “Maybe I should take the new jet and vet it for you.”

“It’s my new toy. Get one of your own.”

Khalid’s sarcastic snort of laughter conveyed his amusement. “Don’t need one. I use the company’s,” he said, referring to the fleet of small aircraft the oil company owned.

“You don’t have to have hands-on surveillance of the rigs,” Rashid said. “And if there is a fire, let someone else deal with it.”

“Hey, that’s my job.”

He and Khalid had this conversation a dozen times a month. He glanced at his brother, his gaze focused briefly on the disfiguring swath of scar tissue running from his right cheek down his neck to disappear beneath his shirt collar. The oil fire that had caused the damage had eventually been extinguished—by Khalid himself. The devastation hadn’t stopped him from turning his back on office work and continuing in the oil fields. His elite company of oil firefighters was in high demand whenever an oil fire broke out.

Both of them had inherited wealth when their father had died. Both had a strong sense of obligation to the family oil business. Rashid preferred to hire competent help for routine tasks. He loved dealing in the world markets. But his twin had always found the drilling sites fascinating. Not to mention finding the conflagrations that could ruin a site a challenge to extinguish. Khalid drove their mother crazy with concern.

The phone rang.

“Did she arrive?” His mother’s voice sounded in his ear.

Khalid gave a mock bow and left his brother to the phone call.

“My guest arrived and is staying at Grandmother’s villa,” Rashid said. Another front to deal with. His mother had been instrumental in the arrangement of the alliance with Haile. She herself had had an arranged marriage and she wanted her sons to follow the old ways.

“I can’t wait to meet her. I know you were hesitant about this arrangement, but it’ll work out for the best for all. Plan to bring her to dinner tonight.”

“Ah, I believe you misunderstood me, Mother,” he said. The charade started now. “Haile had other plans. My guest is Bethanne Sanders. Someone I know from Starcraft.” When concocting a magnificent lie, it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible.

“What do you mean?” He heard the bewilderment in her tone.

“I will be happy to bring Bethanne to meet you tomorrow. For tonight, we wish to be together. She’s had a long flight and is tired.”

“But Haile? What of her?”

“I’ll explain when we meet,” he said.

“Rashid, don’t be impetuous.”

He almost laughed. It had been years since he’d been impetuous. His brief aborted love for Marguerite when he’d been younger had ended that streak. Now he kept careful control of his emotions and actions. “Rest assured, Mother, I do not plan to repeat the past.”

When the call ended, he reached for the folder on the new jet. He needed to know more about the woman he had ensconced at the villa and quickly. His assistant had approved the requests for visas for both pilots. He took the photograph of Bethanne and stepped closer to the window, his curiosity raised. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall for a woman. A standard passport photo, yet the playfulness lurking in the depths of her blue eyes contrasted with the severe hairstyle, pulled back probably into a ponytail. He’d seen the anger flash in her eyes on the plane. And the shrewd bargaining to help find her father. Was Khalid right, she would be looking for some way to gain money or prestige from the charade?

She didn’t look very old. Yet he knew she had to be experienced. Starcraft was an established firm that didn’t take chances with the multimillion-dollar aircrafts it built.

How novel to have a woman pilot. Had that fact made the rumor mill yet? He put the photo back, wondering what the financial minister was making of the situation. Rashid had to make sure he did not learn the true circumstances until the deal was consummated. Or even then, if he could help it.

For a moment he remembered their meeting on the plane. She had caught his attention instantly. She was far different from anyone he knew. Wasn’t it his luck she was off-limits because of her father. He would love to explore the attraction he felt when he first saw her standing proudly at the top of the stairs. But as the daughter of a thief, he could not let himself enjoy their relationship. He needed to be on guard for any nefarious activity on her part. The apple never fell far from the tree. Was she also not to be trusted?

Hank had worked for his father for many years when he stole the latest jet in their fleet. What had caused his actions? They’d probably never know unless they found him. But he’d watch his daughter. Their family would not be caught unawares a second time.

He was in a tight spot—balancing the minister on one hand, his mother’s interest on another, and needing to keep his guest visible enough to satisfy curiosity, and secluded enough to insure she could not threaten the situation.

In addition, he was now committed to delving into the old business of the theft of their plane. Three years ago, when his father died, Rashid had stepped into his place at the oil company. Khalid had worked on locating Hank and the plane—with no tangible results. They’d accepted the loss and moved on. Would they have any more success now?

CHAPTER TWO

BETHANNE wondered how much of the beach she was walking on belonged to the sheikh. She had not seen any sign of other people as she walked, and she estimated she’d gone almost a mile. The water was warm on her feet. The sand swished around her toes as the spent waves swirled around them. She wished she’d worn a hat or something; the sun was burning hot on her head. She was reluctant to return, however. The walk was soothing and just touching the ground where her father might have once stood gave her a connected feeling that had been missing a long time. She could imagine she’d run into him and they’d both express surprise and immediately begin talking and catching up. Then she’d realize he’d been extremely busy and had not died alone and unlamented somewhere unknown, but had simply let time slip by. He had never done so before, but Bethanne clung to hope.

Finally she turned to retrace her steps. Glad she’d left her shoes above the tide line as an indicator of where to return, she studied the lush vegetation that bordered the beach. The villa was almost invisible from the shore. When she caught a glimpse of it, she also saw someone sitting in one of the chairs near the path.

Her heart rate increased as she walked closer. Even before she could recognize him, she knew it was Sheikh Rashid al Harum. Rashid. She said the name softly. He rose as she approached, watching her. Conscious of her windblown hair, sandy feet, khaki pants rolled up to her knees, she knew she must appear a sight. Why couldn’t she have brought a dress that would look feminine and sexy? No, she had to be practical. What would he think?

“Did you enjoy your walk?” he asked.

She nodded, leaning over to roll down her pants and dust the sand off first one foot and then the other. Slipping on her shoes, she wished she had worn sandals. Glancing at her watch, she saw she’d been gone longer than she realized. It was approaching the dinner hour.

“It’s quite lovely,” she said, standing again. “I’d like to go swimming while I’m here.”

“My brother and I enjoyed the beach when we were children. The villa used to belong to my grandmother. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone swimming here.”

End of conversation. She cast around for something else to say. But the topic she wanted to discuss was, of course, the charade he’d insisted upon. So—

“I don’t think this is going to work,” she said.

“Because?”

“I’ve had time to think about it. No one’s going to believe you have fallen for some jet jockey from America. First of all, where would we have met? Then, let’s face it, I’m no femme fatale.”

His gaze skimmed over her. Bethanne felt her blood heat. She wished she could read minds. What did he think when he looked at her? When he again met her eyes, he smiled.

Bethanne’s heart flipped over. The way his eyes crinkled with that smile had her fascinated. It changed his entire demeanor. He was the best-looking man she’d ever met. He had to know the effect he had on women. On her.

Flustered, she tried to appear unaffected, but suspected the color rising in her cheeks gave her away.

“You look like you could be most intriguing, with the right clothing.”

“And that’s another thing. I would not have come to visit bringing only uniforms and casual clothes! I expected to be searching for my father, not going anywhere where I needed to look like I could attract a sheikh.”

He laughed. “Even in your casual clothes, people would know why you would attract a sheikh. But clothing is easily remedied. In fact, I took the liberty of having some dresses sent to your room. Please accept as a token of my appreciation for your help.”

“Help? You practically kidnapped me.” What had he meant by people would know why you would attract a sheikh? Did he like the way she looked?

“Hardly that. You agreed to help in exchange for my resuming the search for your father. I don’t think we’ll turn up anything at this late date, but I will make some inquiries.”

Bethanne considered the terms. She was not going to stop believing in her father just on the sheikh’s say-so. She knew her father would never betray anyone. Still, any help would be appreciated. “Okay, it’s your party. If you think we can fool people, good luck.”

“You underestimate yourself. No one will ever doubt that I could be interested.”

“Nicely said. Maybe there is a ghost of a chance,” she said. Her heart rate increased with his compliment. And the look in his eyes. Definite interest.

“Dinner will be served at seven. Perhaps you would join me on the veranda then?” he asked.

“Thank you, I should be delighted.” She nodded regally and swept by, wishing she wore a lovely dress and didn’t have sand chafing her feet.

Bethanne gazed at the closet full of clothes five minutes later. Rashid’s last words echoed in her mind. No one could doubt he could be interested if she wore some of these dresses. How had he arranged to have so many different ones delivered in the few hours since he deposited her at the villa?

Duh, money can accomplish anything, she thought as she fingered the light silks and linens. She pulled out a blue dress that matched her eyes.

Pampering herself with a luxurious bath and then paying careful attention to her hair and makeup, Bethanne felt a bit like she’d imagine Cinderella felt dressing for the ball.

Fatima had knocked on the door as she was slipping on the dress. She smiled and nodded, saying something in Arabic that Bethanne didn’t understand. But the universal signs of approval were obvious. What had the sheikh told this woman about their charade?

The blue of the dress did indeed enhance the color of her eyes. During her walk the sun had tinted her skin with a light tan and the constant hint of excitement at the thought of dining with a sheikh had her on tenterhooks and brought additional color to her cheeks.

Descending the stairs shortly before seven, she wished Rashid were at the bottom to see her descend. The designer dress hugged her figure and made her feel as sexy as a French movie star. She hoped it would replace the image he had of her windblown and disheveled from her walk.

Reaching the ground floor, she headed toward the sound of male voices. She entered a formal sitting room a moment later, just as the butler left. She took a deep breath, dismayed to find her stomach full of butterflies and her palms growing damp. Why this sudden attack of nerves? He was the same. Nothing had changed. But she felt as if the stakes had been rachetted up a notch. She had to find her father to prove his innocence. It became important that the sheikh not think she came from a dishonored family.

As if sensing her arrival, the sheikh turned.

“Thank you for the dress. It’s more than expected and quite lovely,” Bethanne said quickly, her words almost too fast to understand. Her heart rate tripled and she gripped her poise and tried to act as if she were comfortable greeting Arabian sheikhs every day.

“It is of no consequence. I hope your stay in Quishari will be enjoyable. If you need anything while here at the villa, do ask.”

“I look forward to seeing Quishari while I’m here. Since I assume I’ll have some free time while you’re at work, perhaps you could recommend a guide who speaks English? If I can hire a car, I can explore on my own. I’ve heard so much about the country for years. I can’t believe I’m here.” Or at least under these circumstances. Her father had loved Quishari. She knew she would as well.

“I shall put one of my drivers and cars at your disposal. Do allow me to show you the major sights of my country. I am anxious to try out the plane. If you would fly it for me, we can put it through its paces tomorrow.”

“I’d love to. I am at your service,” she said, feeling almost giddy with the thought she might actually fly where her father had flown. And find time to talk to maintenance men who might know what happened to him. She was a bit surprised the al Harum family had not done more to pursue the issue. Had they merely dismissed it as casual theft and written off a plane? she wondered.

Perhaps in the greater scheme of things, it didn’t cost much from their perspective. But she would have thought Rashid the type to go after someone who had done him wrong and make sure justice triumphed.

“Then I will see that you have every opportunity to explore. I’m quite proud of our heritage and history. Some of the architecture in the old section of town is renowned.”

“I look forward to seeing it all.” In truth, she never expected Rashid to spend a moment with her if not in a public forum in an attempt to discourage gossip.

“Did the dresses fit?”

She loved hearing that deep, melodious voice with its trace of British accent. Why were Americans such suckers for accents? Her Southern drawl sounded out of place in the posh cosmopolitan sitting room with elaborate brocade sofas and antiques dating back centuries.

“The ones I tried on fit perfectly. I loved this one the best.”

“It was the color of your eyes,” he said.

She caught her breath. Had he noticed enough to request this special color? She searched his eyes for a hint of the truth, but though he looked at her for a long moment, his expression gave nothing away. He’d be terrific at high-stakes poker.

“I thought from your visa photo that you seemed young to be an experienced pilot. Now it appears you’re far too feminine to fly planes.”

“I’ve had plenty of training.” She didn’t know whether to be flattered at the subtle compliment or defensive for her abilities. Did he think women weren’t as capable as men to pilot aircrafts?

“You graduated from the U.S. Air Force Academy, took flight training and flew a number of fixed wing crafts and helicopters while serving,” Rashid said. “I read your background sent from Starcraft.”

“You needn’t worry I can’t handle your new jet.”

He laughed, amusement dancing in his eyes. “I never doubted it. You brought it safely from the United States. Come, dinner will be ready by now.” He offered his arm to Bethanne. She took it, feeling awkward. She was more at ease in the casual restaurants she normally patronized than dining with an Arabian sheikh. But her experiences taught her how to meet every challenge—even this one.

Dinner proved to be less disconcerting than she’d expected. Once seated, the conversation centered around the new jet, its performance and the enhancements Rashid had ordered. After they ate, Rashid insisted they share hot tea on the veranda overlooking the garden. By the time it grew dark, Bethanne was glad to retreat to her bedroom. It had been a long day. One that had not ended as expected.

He bid her good-night at the foot of the stairs and even as she climbed them, he left the villa. The sound of his car faded as she shut her bedroom door.

Bethanne twirled around the large room in sheer joy. She felt as if she were a part of a fairy tale. Handsome sheikh, beautiful setting, lovely clothes and nothing to do but fly a plane at his whim. Could life be any better?

Falling asleep to the soft soughing of the sea relaxed Bethanne like nothing else. Before dropping off, she vowed she’d begin her search for her father tomorrow. But for tonight, she wanted to think about the dashing sheikh who chose her for his special guest—if only temporarily.

Minnah awakened Bethanne the next morning when she entered the bedroom carrying a tray of fragrant hot chocolate and a basket of fresh pastries and croissants. Breakfast in bed was not a luxury Bethanne enjoyed often and she plumped up her pillows and took the heavy silver tray on her lap with delight. There was an English newspaper folded neatly on one side.

“Thank you,” she said as the woman went to the French doors to open them wide to the fresh morning breeze.

“I will bring you bathing suits after your breakfast. His Excellency suggested you’d like a swim before starting your day.” The maid’s English was practically flawless. “Later a driver will pick you up to take you to the airport. His Excellency is anxious to fly in the new plane.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Bethanne said, already savoring the rich dark chocolate taste of the hot beverage. The feeling of being a princess living in the height of luxury continued. But she dare not waste a moment.

“Before you leave,” she said to Minnah, “did you know Hank Pendarvis? He was also a pilot for the sheikh. Or at least the oil company.”

The maid tilted her head slightly as she tried to remember. Finally she shook her head slightly. “I do not know him.”

That would have been too easy, Bethanne thought. She thanked her and resumed eating breakfast.

Selecting a one-piece blue swimsuit from her new wardrobe a short time later, she donned the accompanying cover-up and headed for the beach. A short swim would be perfect. It was warm enough to enjoy the water without the blazing heat that would rise later in the day. Fatima accompanied her. She had been informed of Bethanne’s plans by the maid. For the time being, Minnah would act as the go-between. Bethanne wondered how she’d learned English. When they reached the beach, Fatima sat on one of the chairs near the edge, apparently content to watch from a distance.

Feeling pampered and spoiled, Bethanne relished each sensation as her day started so differently from normal. Shedding the cover-up near the chairs, she ran to the water, plunging in. It was warm and buoyant. Giving in to the pleasure the sea brought, she swam and floated and thoroughly enjoyed herself. She had a goal to reach and a job to do. But for a few moments, she felt carefree and happy.

At the airport an hour later, Bethanne’s attitude changed from bemused delight to efficient commander. She talked to the ground crew through a translator the sheikh had provided, reviewing items on the checklist. She listened to how they had refueled the aircraft. She did a visual inspection of the jet. She wasn’t sure when the sheikh would want to take the maiden flight, but she was ready when he was. Now she had nothing to do but await his arrival.

She beckoned the translator over. “Can you ask among the crew if any of them knew Hank Pendarvis? He was a pilot and probably flew from this airport,” she said.

He nodded and walked back to the group of men.

Two spoke to his question and both looked over at Bethanne. Breaking away from the rest, the two men and the translator walked to her.

“These men knew him. He was a pilot for His Excellency’s father, Sheikh Rabid al Harum.”

“Is he dead?” she asked bluntly, studying the two men who had known her father.

One man looked away when the question was posed in Arabic. The other looked sad and shook his head at Bethanne, speaking rapidly.

“It is unfortunate, but it appears he has vanished. Was he a friend of yours?”

Bethanne didn’t want to reveal her connection to all and sundry. “An acquaintance. I heard he had a job in Quishari and hoped to look him up while I am here.”

There was lengthy conversation between the three men, with a couple of glances thrown her way as the one man grew quite passionate.

Finally the translator turned to her. “The man was a pilot. One day he took a plane without permission. He never returned. It is surmised he either flew to another country or the plane crashed. No one has heard from him in almost three years. And the plane has not flown over Quishari skies since then.”

She wanted to protest that her father was not a thief, but these men confirmed what Rashid had said. But it couldn’t be. Her father was nothing like that. He was loyal to the al Harum family. Loved his job. He would not risk it to steal a plane, no matter what the provocation.

“Did they search for a crashed plane?” she asked, holding on to her composure with effort. Had no one been concerned when he disappeared? Had they so quickly condemned him as a thief that no one searched in case there had been an accident? Her heart ached. Her father had to be dead. He would have contacted her long before now if he could have. She refused to believe he stole the plane.

Another bout of conversation and then one of the men shrugged and turned to walk back to the group. The other continued talking and then watched Bethanne when the translator told her a search was impossible when no one knew where he’d gone. The desert was vast, uninhabited for the most part. Without knowing the direction he’d taken, it was fruitless to search.

“And no one knew why he took the flight?” she asked. How far could she push without giving away her avid interest?

“He was pilot to the old sheikh who died shortly after the man disappeared. His son had no knowledge of the reason he took the plane. There is no more,” he ended sadly.

“Thank you.” She forced a smile at the man who had conveyed the information. Refusing to let her dismay show, she walked back to the plane.

She wished she had some time alone to assimilate the cold facts. What would have compelled her father to take a plane if not authorized? He hadn’t owned a plane, just flew for whoever hired him. Where could he have been going? Why was there no debris if he’d crashed? Someone flying over an accident site must have seen it. Maybe he’d flown off the normal route. Maybe he had not filed a flight plan and no one knew where to look. Yet, how could he have flown without filing a plan? She’d had to fill out enough paper to fill a box when requesting routes into Quishari. Even this morning when saying she wanted to take the jet up, she’d had to fill out a half-dozen forms.

She entered the plane and wandered through the sumptuous cabin. The interior had been designed to the specifications requested by Rashid al Harum. She sat on the sofa, encased in comfort. The microsuede fabric was sensuous to the touch, feeling like velvet. The thick Persian rug on the floor felt sumptuous beneath her feet. She’d like to take off her shoes and scrunch her toes in the luxury. It was like a fine drawing room. The only time she flew, when not piloting an aircraft, she was crammed into the cheapest seats possible returning to base. What would it be like to fly high above the earth in such elegant furnishings? Nothing like the flights she knew.

For a moment she imagined herself sitting next to the sheikh as they cruised high above the Arabian desert. He’d offer her a beverage. They’d sit close together, heads bent toward each other, enjoying each other’s company.

Rashid Al Harum entered, ducking his head slightly to clear the lintel. He looked surprised to see her.

Bethanne jumped to her feet instantly, her face growing warm with embarrassment. Bad enough to be daydreaming, but to be caught sitting as if she had nothing to do was problematic.

“I’m sorry. I just took a moment to test the sofa,” she said in a rush. She had no business imagining herself as a guest aboard this lovely plane. She was here to work!

“And is it as comfortable as it looks?” he asked, taking her presence in the cabin of the plane instead of the cockpit with equanimity.

“Fabulous. The seat belts are discreet. I feel like I’m in a small living room somewhere. I hope it meets your expectations.” She stepped toward the front of the plane, hoping to squeeze by, but his presence filled the narrow space.

“If you’re ready to depart, I’ll begin the preflight checklist,” she said, overwhelmed a bit by his proximity. It wasn’t only his sheer masculinity, which made her feel quite feminine, it was the way he carried himself—with all the confidence in the world. And his good looks would give anyone a run for his money. Tall, dark and handsome was such a cliché—and now Bethanne knew exactly why. He looked like the dream of every young woman anywhere with his fabulous features, dark hair and chiseled lips that she’d like to touch hers just once.

Get a grip, girl, she admonished herself. They would never have met in other circumstances. And the only thing he wanted to touch was the fancy furnishing of his new jet. Or the signed copy of the contract for the deal he was working on.

To further her efforts to return to reality instead of indulging in fantasy, she reminded herself the man thought her father a thief. But instead of putting a damper on things, it strengthened her resolve to find her father to clear his name. For his sake, and for hers. She wanted Rashid to think well of her no matter what.

He stepped aside and Bethanne squeezed by, careful to make sure she didn’t touch however much tempted. Breathless with the encounter, she hurried to the pilot’s seat and sank down, grateful for the few moments’ solitude. She ran through the preflight checklist in the cockpit, hoping she could concentrate on flying and not have her mind winging its way back to the cabin and the sexiest man she’d ever encountered.

“Ready when you are,” Rashid said, slipping into the second seat a few minutes later.

“You want to fly up here?” she squeaked.

“Why wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t a man want to spend time with his special friend?”

She glanced out the window at the scurry of activity in preparation for departure. The ground crew could easily see into the cockpit. Of course he wanted to bolster the conception they were involved.

“Okay. Ever flown up front before?”

“From time to time.”

In only minutes they were shooting into the sky, the power of the rear engines thrusting them effortlessly into the air. Bethanne had no trouble focusing on the controls. The best part of everything was soaring above the earth. She had calculated the route south along the coast and had it approved by ground control. Flying for one of the top businessmen in the country gave her special privileges not normally afforded.

Slowly Bethanne leveled out and then gradually climbed to their cruising altitude. She prided herself on her smooth flights. The smaller planes were more susceptible to variations in air currents. Today was all about showing off how smoothly the jet rode.

Once they reached cruising level, Rashid nodded. “Good ride.”

For a few moments, she’d forgotten he was there. Now, suddenly the space seemed to shrink. The scent of aftershave lotion the sheikh used tickled her nose and made her heart beat faster. She kept her eyes ahead, but could still envision every inch of his face as if he had put a photograph in front of her.

“Do you fly?” she asked.

“No. I leave that to the experts. But I sit up here with my pilot sometimes. I like the panoramic views which I don’t get from only one side of the airplane. And I like the feeling of freedom. Must be one reason you enjoy it.”

“The primary reason, I guess. It’s fabulous.” She wished her pulse would slow.

“Unusual profession for a woman, at least in Quishari.”

“Not that many women pilots in the U.S., but we’re growing in numbers.”

“Did you always want to fly?”

She nodded. “From when I was a little girl. It was always magical to me. Soaring high above the earth. My dad—” She stopped abruptly. “Sorry, I’m rambling on.”

“If I didn’t want to learn more, I wouldn’t have asked the question. Your father got you interested?”

She nodded stiffly, still feeling raw with what she’d learned this morning. She wanted to defend him to the sheikh. But she had only a daughter’s loyalty to offer. She needed more facts.

“I, too, am following in my father’s footsteps. He and my uncles built the oil company to the stature it is today before they died. The loss of them has been a tragedy for my family. My father built an empire through hard work and integrity. My brother and I and one remaining uncle are hoping to build it to even new levels.”

“Lofty plans. From what I know, Bashiri Oil is already a leader.”

“I hope to be remembered as my father is—someone with vision and the ability to achieve results.”

Rashid was charming, Bethanne thought to herself. It was probably second nature to him, which would go a long way in achieving his ends.

“So how is our charade going? No accusations of impossibility?” she asked.

“No one would dare question my word,” he said.

“Good.”

“My mother expects us for dinner tonight. I accepted on behalf of both of us.”

“She’ll spot the incongruity.”

“I fully expect her to question you about everything. It’s up to you to make sure you allay any suspicions. One thing to keep in mind, if she discovers who your father was, she will never believe the relationship.”

She resented his suggesting she would be less than worthy of being considered as a wife for the sheikh because of her father.

“I have done nothing wrong. And I don’t believe my father has, either.”

“Nevertheless, don’t volunteer that information.”

The sooner she found out the truth, the better, Bethanne fumed.

“Down there, circle around,” he said.

Spotting a chain of oil rigs off the shore, she angled down slightly. “Are those the rigs you wanted to see?” One in the distance seemed to shimmer in the heat, gold flames reaching high. “Is that one on fire?” she asked in disbelief as they flew closer.

“Damn. I was hoping it wasn’t. If Khalid is in the midst of it, I’ll skin him alive.”

She blinked at the vehemence of his tone. Who was Khalid? Did Rashid suspect the man had started the fire?

She contacted air traffic control to alert them to her altered plan, then began a wide sweep to the right around the chain of derricks. The last one in the line billowed flames, easily seen from their height. How frightening it would be if they were closer.

“How do you put out oil fires?” she asked, keeping a distance from where the heated air would be rising. Even at this distance they rocked slightly from the thermals.

“Best left to the experts. Which Khalid is. Not that it’s any guarantee of his safety.”

“And Khalid is?” she asked quietly, taking in his tenseness as he stared at the scene below.

“My brother.”

“Oh.”

Bethanne made the wide circle twice, then Rashid told her to return to the airport. “I need a phone.”

“Don’t forget this aircraft is equipped with the latest in satellite technology,” she said, feeling a bit like an ad on television.

“I had, thank you.” He rose and headed for the back of the plane.

“Whoosh,” Bethanne said, feeling the atmosphere around her grow lighter with him gone. She hoped Khalid wasn’t in the thick of things or he was sure to get the full brunt of his brother’s anger.

How odd that his brother fought fires. They had more than enough money to hire the best. Why put his life on the line?

She wished she knew more about Rashid and his family. Her father had held the family in high esteem. He had enjoyed working for them, although he hadn’t told her much about them. She couldn’t deny she was attracted to the man, but it would be wiser to ignore that attraction. Where did she think it could lead? The pretense would end once Rashid finalized his important deal.

A short while later, she lined up the jet on the glide path the tower indicated. The landing was as smooth as silk. She taxied to the hangar and cut the engines.

“Now what?” she wondered aloud as she began the end of her light checklist.

“You return to the villa, I to work,” Rashid said from the door. “Nice flight, thank you.”

Bethanne felt a rush of pleasure at his words. Not every multigazillionaire even noticed the people who worked for him, much less offered any praise for a job well done.

“Nice aircraft,” she responded. “Were you able to use the phone feature?”

“It worked perfectly. The ride was comfortable. The appointments are just as I wanted. I’m sure I’ll have years of use from it.”

Bethanne pictured him lounging in the cabin for flights around the Middle East or as far as Europe. This model was the best plane Starcraft produced and she was pleased the buyer seemed satisfied.

“Was your brother at the fire?”

“Yes, and says he has it under control.”

“Scary job.”

“Dangerous, too. I have instructed one of my drivers, Teaz Suloti, to drive you wherever you wish while visiting. Teaz speaks English. Of course, you have complete use of the villa. The library has a number of books in English.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty tonight. We’ll dine with my mother at her place at seven.”

“Right. Shouldn’t I know more about you if we’re pretending to be involved?”

“Like?”

“Oh, come on. People who know each other and are attracted to each other want to know more about the other person. The early stages are questions and reminiscences and all. Did I misunderstand or do you want people to think we are on the brink of an engagement?”

“You are correct. I had forgotten.”

“Forgotten what?”

“How people who are involved act.”

She frowned. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Nothing you need be concerned with. I’ll come earlier than planned and brief you on important parts.”

“So I should have a dossier on myself prepared as well?” she asked.

“Not necessary. We have information on your visa request. I can wing the rest.”

Bethanne settled back into the luxury seats of the limousine a few moments later, wishing she could have continued to spend time with the sheikh—if only to listen to his deep voice with its pleasing accent. She also had a bunch of questions. She knew so little about the man. She couldn’t face his mother and not give away the show. She hoped he knew what he was doing.

When they reached the villa, she’d ask about her father to everyone she came into contact with on the sheikh’s staff. Someone must have befriended him. He had a sparkling wit and genuine interest in people and places. Had they all condemned him without a fair hearing?

When they reached the villa, the driver opened the door and stood by, waiting for her to get out.

Once on the pavement, Bethanne stopped and looked at Teaz. “Did you know Hank Pendarvis?” she asked.

For a few seconds he made no move or response. Then he nodded abruptly—once.

“Do you know what happened to him?”

“He was the pilot for the old sheikh. He flew away one day and never returned.” His English was heavy with Arabic accent, but Bethanne had no trouble understanding him.

“Do you know where he was going?”

The same stare, then a quick shake of his head.

“Thank you,” she said. She started for the front door when a thought occurred. Turning, she saw Teaz still staring at her. “Do you know where he lived?”

“In the Romula section of old town.”

She waited, hoping for more, but he said nothing. She had the address. Might as well go and see if she could find someone there who knew him.

“Maybe you could drive me there tomorrow if the sheikh doesn’t need me.” She’d love to see the old city. Match photos with the historic buildings. See a square with coffee cafés and stalls of goods for sale. Skirting Alkaahdar from the airport to the villa showed only the modern high-rises of shining steel and glass. She knew the older section would have been built in the more traditional Moorish architecture that she’d so loved in southern Spain.

“I am at your service,” he said with a slight bow.

Entering the quiet villa, Bethanne paused at the bottom of the steps, then on a sudden whim turned and headed toward the sitting room she’d been in last night. A quick glance showed it empty. Moving down the wide hall, she peered into the dining room they’d used. The last room in the hall was the library the sheikh had mentioned. Books lined three walls. The French doors stood open, keeping the room fresh and cool. Stepping inside, she saw a large desk to one side. From the computer on top and the scattered papers, she knew it had been recently used. Who by? From their conversation, she’d surmised Rashid lived elsewhere. This was a second home.

She stepped in and crossed to the desk. She wouldn’t open drawers and nothing was visible that would tell her anything about her father. It had been three years. Time enough to put away anything of interest.

“Where did you go, Dad? And why?” she muttered softly.

She sat in the desk chair, picturing Rashid sitting behind the desk, working on major deals for oil exports. What did he do for leisure? How come he was not married at his age? Most men she knew had married in their twenties. Rashid had to be close to mid-thirties.

Though she herself was still unwed.

She swiveled back and forth in the chair. Spotting the computer, she sat up and turned it on. Maybe she could search out what she could find about Rashid al Harum. She would not go to dinner unprepared.

Rashid leaned back as the car pulled away from the office. He was on his way to pick Bethanne up for the command dinner. He had thought about her questions, wondering what she felt important to know if preparing for a confrontation with a future mother-in-law.

He thought about Marguerite for the first time in years. How foolish he’d been not to recognize her type when they’d met. He’d fallen for her in a big way. Marguerite had been beautiful and sophisticated and very good at having fun. She’d often spoken about how much fun they’d have together.

Spending his money.

How gullible he’d been. No longer. He had agreed to the possibility of marriage to Haile as a way to connect the two families who had a strong mutual interest in oil. Now that was off the table, he could resume his solitary way of life. It would take another monumental deal to have him consider the institution again soon.

Lucky break, Haile’s running away.

He wondered if his mother would ever see it that way. He’d have to be careful in what he conveyed to her this evening. She could accept things or constantly stir things up in her desire for answers.

How good an actress was Bethanne Sanders? Could he depend upon her? How ironic the woman he was looking to for help was the daughter of a man his family despised. If she was anything like her father, he was playing a dangerous game.

He entered the villa a short time later and paused in the large foyer. The stairs leading up were to his left. The space to the right led to various rooms and eventually back to the kitchen. The evening breeze circulated, keeping the house cool and inviting. Why didn’t he stay here more often? he wondered. His grandmother had left it to him when she died last summer. She’d bequeathed another dwelling and surrounding land on the other side of the city to his twin. Khalid had yet to take up residence. Both too busy.

Fatima started down the stairs, surprised to see him. “I didn’t know you were here, Excellency,” she said. She clung to the railing and looked back up. “I can tell her you have arrived.”

“Please ask her to join me in the salon.”

Rashid waited by one of the French doors. The entire estate was cooler than his flat in the city. He liked living closer to the action, but he had forgotten how much he’d enjoyed visiting when his grandmother was alive. Only a few minutes’ drive from the heart of the capital, yet the estate was serene and lovely, and quite different from the glass and steel of the high-rise where he had his flat.

When he heard the rustle of silk, he turned and watched as Bethanne entered the room. She looked lovely in a rose-colored dress that was most demure. Her hair was done in a neat style, up and off her neck. She wore no jewelry, but her modest attire would please his mother.

“Good evening,” she said with a bright smile. For a moment Rashid wished she meant the smile, that she was actually happy to see him. It was a foolish, fleeting thought.

“You look lovely,” he said.

“Thank you—it’s the dress.” She turned slowly and grinned. “I could get used to dresses like this. Most of the time I wear my uniform or shorts when hanging around at home.”

He’d like to see her in shorts or a bathing suit. Or nothing at all.

Looking away quickly lest he give a hint of his errant thoughts, he walked to one of the chairs and gestured for her to sit in another.

She did so elegantly. What were the odds of having a suitable woman arrive just when Haile disappeared? One who seemed as at home here in his villa as she did behind the controls of the jet?

“So let the inquisition begin,” he said whimsically.

She shrugged. “I looked you up on the Internet. There’s quite a lot written about you and your brother. You have a lot of good press. Is that designed? Or are you genuine?”

“I’d like to say genuine. We are not given to excesses. We enjoy our work and do our best for it.”

“Your brother is harder to find out about, but you are often in the press. But no special woman—hence the arrangement with Miss Haile, I suppose.”

He kept his face without expression. At least the old press about his and Marguerite’s disastrous breakup was old news, probably not in the top articles brought up when his name was entered in a search engine. He had his father to thank for that.

“So I know more about you than this morning. Enough to fool your mother? That I’m not sure. There’s not much personal, like what your favorite food is or if you had a dog when you were a child.”

He relaxed. She was not probing for intimate details, just basic facts.

“My favorite food is candied dates. My brother and I had a wonderful dog when we were children. I miss him to this day. But my life is too busy and hectic to have a pet.”

She settled and began a litany of questions, firing them off as if on an invisible checklist—favorite book, movie, activity, color. Did he consider himself close to his family? Did he have special friends she should know about? A hobby that consumed him? How had he done in school? What did he like about his job and what did he wish to change? Who did he admire most in the world?

It was a novel experience to be so questioned. Not once did she ask about material things.

Finally she stopped. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, looking as if she were about to jump to her feet.

Rashid looked at her. “My turn.”

“I thought you had all you needed from the report Starcraft sent,” she said, looking amused.

“Ah, but I didn’t realize all the nuances of information necessary for an almost-engaged couple’s knowledge bank. I do not know your favorites or your passions.”

“Favorite color—blue. Food, anything with dark chocolate. Passions—flying. I have no boyfriend, which is lucky for you or we couldn’t be doing this stupid charade. I am not close to my mother—nor the man she married after she divorced my father when I was little. I love traveling and seeing the world. I have experience shooting down other aircraft.”

She looked adorable as she recited her list ending proudly with her startling fact. He was fascinated by the play of emotions across her face. Now sitting on the edge of her chair, her animation was a delight. Would his mother like her? What was not to like? As long as she didn’t find out Bethanne’s father’s name.

“I hope there will be no need of the latter while you are in Quishari.”

She laughed aloud. “I should hope never again, but it was training I received and just knowing I could do it improves my confidence. If I get into situations that make me uncomfortable, I remember I could shoot down a plane if needed and probably no one else in the room could.”

“A strange way to improve confidence.”

“It’ll help when meeting your mother.”

He laughed at that. This American woman was intriguing. He had even more reason to thank Haile for fleeing. If nothing else, Rashid planned to enjoy the next few days with Bethanne by his side. Without expectations on either part, they were free to enjoy the other’s company without looking for hidden nuances or motives.

He rose. “Come, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon. And tardiness is something my mother does not like.”

“Tell me about her—I want her to be satisfied with the story we tell. Will she be hurt when the truth comes out?”

“Why should the truth ever come out?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. “Truth always comes out. You just make sure you put the right spin on it so she’s not hurt by your deception.”

“I would do nothing to hurt my mother.”

“Good answer.”

They were soon ensconced in the limo and on their way to the city.

“Where does your mother live?” Bethanne asked.

“In a penthouse apartment near the heart of the city, overlooking parts of the old section. She loves being in the center of things. It helps being close to friends since my father died.”

“The soup is delicious,” Bethanne said later, sipping the savory concoction. “So far I’m really enjoying the food here. I have a real sweet tooth and the candied walnuts really appeal. I shall have to buy a large package to take home when I leave.”

Madame al Harum looked at her.

“And when do you leave?” she asked.

Bethanne smiled and glanced at Rashid. “Not for a long time, I hope.”

She also hoped she was playing the role assigned her to his satisfaction. She’d been as gracious as she knew how when meeting his mother. She could tell at once that Madame al Harum did not like her. For one thing, she seemed to disapprove of tall, willowy blondes. She probably wanted a proper Arab woman for her son.

Then she expressed dismay that Bethanne was a pilot. It was too dangerous and too unseemly for a woman. Bethanne decided not to mention shooting down planes. She knew his mother would not appreciate that tidbit.

Dinner was easier. The food took some attention. She counted the minutes until they could finish and leave.

“And where is home for you?” the older woman asked.

“Galveston, Texas, right on the water. Galveston’s an island that has been home all my life.”

“What does your father do?”

“He’s an antique dealer. But I have to say, history in Texas doesn’t go back as far as here in Quishari. The old part of the capital city is thousands of years old. Texas has only been around for a few hundred years.”

Rashid looked as if he were enjoying the meal. But Bethanne didn’t think she was winning Brownie points with his mother.

“Tell me how you became interested in flying,” Rashid said when the main course was served.

Grateful for the change of topic, Bethanne plunged right in.

“My father loved to fly and took me up in small planes almost as soon as I could sit up by myself.” She smiled in memory. “It seemed logical when I got older that I, too, would love to fly. I actually learned when I was a teenager, to my mother’s dismay. When I was accepted to the Academy, she really flipped. But I think Dad talked her in to letting me choose my own way. Anyway, I learned to fly a variety of aircrafts and here I am.”

“So your father taught you to fly?” Rashid asked.

“No. That I had to do on my own. He was away more than home, actually. Probably why I’m following in his footsteps and seeing the world.” She met his eye, holding it for a moment, silently refuting his ideas about her father.

“And that was your reason for choosing to attend a military academy?”

His mother’s eyes grew large at that.

“Some of the recruitment material said join up and see the world. I knew I’d have the best education and pilot’s training available. And I had a variety of aircraft to train on. I loved learning. And the service requirement enabled me to see Minot, North Dakota, in the dead of winter. Then a tour of Alaska. Can you imagine? I’m one who loves the sun and sea, and my two duty stations were the coldest in the U.S. I left the service when my commitment was up and landed a spot with Starcraft.”

Rashid enjoyed watching Bethanne talk. He glanced at his mother. She had on that polite face she wore when tolerating others, but not connected to them. He felt a twinge of compassion for her. She would have been so happy to have Haile sitting where Bethanne was sitting. She had met the woman on a trip to Morocco and had definitely approved of her.

He had seen pictures. She was a pretty woman. But not striking as Bethanne was. And he doubted she’d have shown much personality around his mother.

What would be his mother’s reaction when he told her about Haile’s fleeing? Nothing would bring her more happiness than to see one of her sons married—especially to a woman she liked. The fact he was the eldest—by seven minutes—made it seem as if the destiny of his family rested on his shoulders. One day he would have to marry—to father the next generation. He pushed aside the thought. As soon as the deal with al Benqura was finalized, he’d tell his mother Bethanne hadn’t turned out to be the one for him after all. Maybe he’d even ask her help in finding him a suitable bride. Being a grandmother would delight her, he was sure.

“Tell me about North Dakota,” he invited. “The only time I see snow is when we ski in Switzerland.”

He was charmed by her storytelling skills. She made her experiences seem amusing while also revealing her reactions to different situations. She was skilled at entertaining and in giving him what he wanted—a devoted companion intent on meeting his needs. He hoped his mother saw her in that light. For a little while he could imagine what life would be like married to Bethanne. Never boring, of that he was sure.

She was having way too much fun, Bethanne thought at one point. This man was being polite in asking questions so she could talk, but she didn’t need to give them her life’s history—though Rashid did seem to be enjoying her rendition of her brief stint as an Air Force pilot. His mother looked rather horrified.

Glancing around, she could hardly believe she was sitting in an elegant penthouse overlooking the capital city. The furnishings were amazing. She wished her stepfather could see them. And surrounding the penthouse was a spacious terrace that had banks of pots with fragrant flowers. The doors were opened to allow the breeze to enter. It was delightful.

“You have a beautiful home,” she said to her hostess. She had to find common ground or this dinner would end awkwardly.

Madame al Harum inclined her head regally. “I decorated it for my husband. He loved to retreat from the world and find a place of beauty.” She glanced at her son. “It’s important that two people have much in common to make a happy marriage.”

Bethanne also looked at Rashid. His mother wasn’t buying their supposed commitment at all. Would he tell her now?

“Similar likes and dislikes, certainly,” Rashid said. “But there is something to be said about learning about each other as the years go by, and have enough differences to be interesting.”

His mother gave Bethanne a sour look and then nodded to her son. “That is important as well.”

The rest of the meal processed without much comment. Bethanne was glad this was only a charade. She would not like being married into a family where the mother didn’t like her. Or was it only because of her disappointment Haile hadn’t come?

They did not stay long after dinner finished.

The ride back to the villa was completed in almost total silence. Bethanne knew Rashid had to be regretting his impetuous suggestion about their charade. Perhaps he’d end it tonight. The thought depressed her.

To her surprise, Rashid did not simply leave her at the door.

“It’s early yet. If you are not tired, perhaps a few minutes on the veranda,” he suggested.

“That would be nice. So do we change the charade now that we both know your mother doesn’t like me?”

“My mother does not dictate my life. She is annoyed I didn’t bring Haile tonight. She was instrumental in making that arrangement.”

“It’s more than that. She doesn’t like me. Not just because I’m not Haile, but because of who I am,” Bethanne said. She didn’t need everyone in the world to like her, but she was a bit hurt Rashid’s mother found her wanting.

“It’s of no account,” he said.

Of course not. This wasn’t real. It was make-believe—until he had his huge deal signed and sealed. Then she’d be on the next plane to Texas and his life would resume its normal course. Gossip would be quelled. He’d get his way and his mother would be very relieved.

“Her home was lovely,” she said, looking for conversation. “Did you grow up there?”

“There and here and other places.”

He looked out at the garden, visible now by the discreet lighting illuminating paths and special plants. He could hear the soft sound of the sea, noticeably different from faint traffic noise. “My flat today is not as pretty as this estate. It’s downtown, not far from Mother’s. I like living there yet I had almost forgotten how enjoyable this place is.”

“Well, I appreciate being allowed to stay here. It’s so much better than a hotel.”

“I’m sure my grandmother would have been delighted to have visitors enjoy her home. She spent several months a year here. But had other property, as well.”

Well, duh, Bethanne thought. His family probably had two dozen residences among them. She wondered idly if there were enough bedrooms among all the residences for him to sleep in a different one each night of the month. What must that feel like?

She had a sudden longing for her small apartment, with its familiar furnishings and photos. It might be fun to consider being Cinderella, but at the end of it all, wasn’t she happier in her own home?

As Bethanne prepared for bed some time later, she thought about the evening. It would not have been better for Rashid’s mother to welcome her into the family. She was not truly involved. And if the woman had liked her, she would have been disappointed when the charade was exposed.

Talking with Rashid on the veranda had given her a glimpse of what life married to him could be like. Only—there was no good-night kiss. She sighed softly. Was she going to be disappointed with no kiss before returning home? Yes. Yet she wasn’t bold enough to kiss him.

Before turning off the lights, she opened the French doors to let the sea breeze sweep in. The light curtains billowed. The scents and fragrances from the garden were a delight. She slipped between cool sheets and lay down.

An hour later Bethanne was still wide awake. She’d tried lying on one side then the other, then flat on her back. Nothing worked. If she had a book or magazine to read, it might lead to sleep. She considered the situation, then sighed and got up. She had not brought a robe, thinking she’d be alone in a hotel room and not need one. Quietly she dressed in her slacks and shirt. Bare feet would be okay, she was sure. It was unlikely she’d run into anyone. It was after eleven. Surely all the staff had retired for the night.

She opened the door and stuck her head out, struck suddenly with the romantic-comedy picture that flashed into her mind. People sneaking from one room to another, peering into the hall to make sure the coast was clear. She planned nothing of the sort and stepped boldly out. She walked down the stairs, surprised when she reached the foyer to see a light coming from the library.

Silently she walked to the doorway. When she was within hearing distance she heard a phone. It was answered before the second ring.

The words were in Arabic, but she recognized Rashid’s voice. She thought he had left long ago. When he’d bid her good-night, he said he had to pick up something from the library.

He was still here, and the phone call wasn’t going well—not if the terse tone was anything to go by. She hesitated at the doorway, not wishing to interrupt, but still wanting something to read. She’d come this far; she’d wait for the conclusion of the call and then step in to find a book.

The conversation didn’t take as long as she’d expected before a harsh word was sounded, then a string of them. She wondered what was going on. He sounded angry. Sudden silence ended the call.

When the silence had lasted several minutes, she took a breath and stepped closer, knocking slightly on the door frame. She saw him standing by open French doors. His back was ramrod straight. His body seemed to radiate strong emotion in contrast to the stillness with which he held himself.

He spun around, glaring at her for a second. Then he quickly adjusted his expression to reveal nothing.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I thought you left a while ago.”

“I did. Then I remembered a file I had left and returned for it. I was about to leave when I got a phone call on my mobile phone.” He still held it in his hand.

“I heard. Not that I understood a word, but it didn’t sound like a very friendly call.”

“It was from al Benqura. He found out about Haile. She contacted him. He was angry with me for not letting him know.”

“How awkward that would have been.”

Rashid sighed and walked back to the desk, leaning against it and nodding. “Awkward for him. He’s threatening to end the deal. I told him in no uncertain terms that would not be acceptable unless he never wanted dealings with anyone in Quishari again.”

Bethanne could empathize with the father whose daughter had run away and put him in a difficult situation. She watched as Rashid gradually relaxed. He was quick to anger, but also quick to regain his equilibrium. She saw when his curiosity was piqued by her arrival.

“What are you doing here?” His gaze dropped to her bare feet. His lips curved in a slight smile.

“I came for a book to read. I can’t seem to sleep. You said you had some English books—I thought I’d get one of those.”

He nodded and gestured to the shelving on the left. “English books on that wall. My grandmother used to entertain several friends from Great Britain. She has an assortment. The mysteries are on the lower shelves.”

She crossed, conscious of his regard, and began to scan the titles. Finding a couple that sounded promising, she drew them from the shelf. Had Rashid read them? Could they discuss them after she finished?

Deciding to take both, she hugged them to her chest as she turned to face him.

“Now what?” she asked.

“You read them and fall asleep?” he asked.

“I mean with our charade. Did the phone call help or change things?”

“We continue. Whichever way the winds blow, we will adapt.”

CHAPTER THREE

“I DON’T mean to intrude. But if you need someone to talk to, I could listen.” She wished she’d had someone to listen to her when her father’s disappearance became known. Her mother had long ago divorced herself from Hank Pendarvis—both legally and emotionally. She and Bethanne’s stepfather had a loving and happy marriage from which Bethanne had often felt excluded. Plus, they never had a kind word to say about her father. Bethanne wished she could have him give her one of his bear hugs again. Did Haile’s father feel that way?

“Did he hear from Haile?” she asked.

“He did. And is furious with her and with me.”

“You’re the injured party—why is he angry with you?”

“He believes I should have told him immediately. He could have taken steps. He overrates his power. By the time I found out, Haile had had hours to flee Morocco. She and her lover were married in Marseilles that very day. My telling him would not have prevented that.”

“Will he tell others? Your minister?”

“Not if he wants this deal to go through.”

He pushed away from the desk. “I have my folder. I won’t keep you up any longer.”

He looked at her slacks and T-shirt.

“Was sleeping attire not included in the clothes I ordered?”

“Yes, but no robe. I didn’t know whom I might see if I came down for books.”

“I shall remedy that in the morning.”

“Please, I’m fine. Next time I’ll take a book up with me. You’ve been more than generous. I don’t need anything else.”

“I thought all women loved beautiful things.”

“I expect we do. But we don’t have to own everything we see. Good night, Rashid.”

Reaching her room a minute later, she softly closed the door and flung herself on the bed, the books falling on the mattress beside her. She had not expected to see him again tonight. He’d looked tired and somewhat discouraged. Not the best way to end a day. She hoped the deal would be signed soon. There was nothing else she could do but go along and hope in some small part she’d contribute to a satisfactory conclusion to their negotiations.

Trying to settle into a fictitious mystery when she had a real-life scenario in her own life was difficult. Murder was not involved in her case, but finding clues was. She tried to glean ideas from the book, but her mind turned time and time again to Rashid.

She knew he believed Hank to be a thief, but wouldn’t he still want answers? Letting the book fall onto her chest, she gazed at the dark night beyond the billowing curtains. The man at the airport had said the son had no idea why her father took the plane. Didn’t he want to know? She couldn’t picture Rashid ignoring the situation. He’d push until he got answers.

Just before she fell asleep, she pictured herself with Rashid finding her father and finding the reason for the apparent theft. It could be explained away. Then Rashid would look at her with admiration and sweep her into his arms for a kiss…

She stopped herself—she had to stop fantasizing about his kisses!

Once again Minnah woke Bethanne the next morning, bringing a breakfast tray. The hot chocolate was as rich and satisfying as the previous day. The croissants were warm and buttery, melting in her mouth.

She debated going for a swim, but decided she had best set to searching for her father. She wanted to prove to Rashid his belief was misplaced.

“Pardon, I almost forgot,” Minnah said after she opened the French doors and curtains to allow the sunshine to flood the room. “It is a letter from His Excellency. I will return for the tray in a while.” She handed Bethanne an ivory-colored envelope with her name written in a bold script.

She opened it and read the brief note, her heart revving up. It had taken ages to fall asleep and then her dreams about Rashid had been exciting and most certainly not ones she wanted to share with anyone. The best favor she could do herself would be to remember always that this was merely make-believe.

A car will be at your disposal today. The driver will be waiting when you are ready to take you where you wish. He speaks English, and can translate if you wish to stop to shop or have coffee.

Disappointment warred with relief at the missive. What had she expected? A love note? An offer to spend the day with her?

The bold handwriting continued: Saturday I have a polo match, I would like you to attend. Perhaps you’d care to see the horses before the game. If there is not a suitable dress for you to wear, let the maid know and she’ll relay the information and something appropriate will be ordered.

Bethanne was almost giddy with excitement. Trying not to act like a schoolgirl with a major crush, she took a deep breath. Of course someone being in a position of special guest would want to attend the polo match. Mentally she reviewed the new clothes. She wasn’t entirely certain what was suitable for a polo match, but didn’t think any of the lovely dresses were the right kind.

Still, the thought of his buying more clothes caused a pang. He didn’t need to spend so much on this charade.

“Get real,” she said aloud. “He can afford it and the clothes can go to some worthy cause when I leave.”

Pushing the thought of leaving away, she quickly finished breakfast, showered and dressed in a light tan linen skirt and soft yellow cotton blouse. She planned to take advantage of the driver the sheikh offered to see some of the sights of old town this morning. She couldn’t wait to see the ancient buildings, walk where generations past had walked. And maybe find out more about her father.

Then, if time permitted, she’d take advantage of the beauty of the Persian Gulf and laze on the beach until Rashid came after work.

Bethanne was pleased to see the driver at her disposal was the same one she’d asked about her father. She greeted him and told him of her desire to see the old city, and where Hank had lived.

When they arrived, he pulled into the curb and stopped.

“I cannot take the car any farther. The road becomes too narrow. Down there two blocks.” He handed her a sheet of paper with Arabic writing. “I wrote his name and when he lived there and where. Show it to people for information about Hank. Many speak some English. If not, come get me to translate. I will wait with the car.”

“Thank you.”

“You will not get a good reception,” he warned.

“Why not?” That thought had never crossed her mind.

“The old sheikh was well liked. It was not a good thing to steal his plane. Some speculate the pilot’s betrayal caused the heart attack that killed him. The man had flown the sheikh for years. His treachery cut deep.”

Bethanne recognized she was fighting an uphill battle to clear her father’s name. He would not have treated his employer that way—she knew it. His letters and phone calls had been full of admiration and respect for his employer. But how to prove that, and find out what really happened?

When she climbed out of the car, she was instantly in a foreign world. The tall sandstone walls were built closer to each other than most American buildings. Rising fifteen to twenty feet in height, they seemed to encase the street. Archways, windows and doors opened directly onto the narrow sidewalks, most already shuttered against the day’s rising heat.

Bethanne was almost giddy with delight. She’d longed to visit Quishari ever since her father had first spoken about it. He had loved it and she knew she would as well. Savoring every moment, she slowly walked along, imagining she heard the echo of a thousand years. The heat shimmered against the terra cotta–colored walls. Here and there bright colors popped from curtains blowing from windows, or painted shutters closed against the heat.

She got her bearings and headed in the direction indicated in the drawing. Where the street intersected another, she peered down the cross streets, seeing more of the same. Archways had decorative Arabic writings. Recessed doorways intrigued, beckoned. For the most part, however, the reddish-brown of sandstone was the same. How did anyone find their own place when they all looked alike? she wondered.

Reaching a square, she was pleased with the wide-open area, filled with colorful awnings sheltering stalls with everything imaginable for sale. There were booths of brass, of glass, of luscious and colorful material and polished wood carvings. Some stalls sold vegetables, others fruit or flowers. Women and children filled the aisles. The sounds of excited chattering rose and fell as she looked around. On the far side, tables at two outside cafés crowded the sidewalk. Men in traditional Arab dishdashahs with white gitrahs covering their hair sat drinking the strong coffee. Others wore European attire. Several women dressed all in black stood near the corner talking, their string bags ladened with fresh produce from the stands in the square. The air was almost festive as shoppers haggled for the best bargain and children ran and played.

Bethanne watched in awe. She was actually here. Looking around, she noticed she was garnering quite a bit of attention. Obviously a curiosity to the daily routine. She approached one of the women and showed her the paper. The woman began talking in Arabic and pointing to a building only a few steps away. Bethanne thanked her, hoped she was pointing out the apartment where her father had lived. She quickly crossed there. No one responded to her knock.

Turning, she explored the square, stopping to ask in several of the stalls if anyone had known Hank Pendarvis, showing the paper the driver had prepared. No success until she came to one of the small sidewalk cafés on the far side of the square. A waiter spoke broken English and indicated Hank had been a frequent customer, years ago. He had met with a friend often in the afternoons. The other man still came sometimes. She tried to find out more, but he had told her all he knew. She had to make do with that. If she got the chance, she’d return another time, to see if her father’s friend was there.

She asked if she could leave a note. When presented with a small piece of paper, she wrote only she was trying to find out information about Hank Pendarvis and would return in three days.

She dare not at this point mention her tenuous relationship to the sheikh. She did not want anyone trying to reach her at the villa. Until she knew more, she had to keep her secret.

Bethanne returned to the car then instructed the driver to take her to the best store in the city. She wanted to search for the perfect outfit to wear to a polo match. She did not need Rashid buying every stitch she wore.

When Bethanne returned to the villa late in the afternoon, the driver must have had some way to notify Fatima. The older woman met her in the lobby, her face disapproving, her tone annoyed as she said something Bethanne didn’t understand. Probably chastising her for leaving her chaperone behind.

To her surprise, Rashid al Harum came from the library.

“Ah, the eternal pastime of women—shopping,” he said, studying the two bags with the shop’s name on the side.

“Your stores had some fabulous sales,” she said. “Wait until you see the dress I bought for the polo match. I hope it’s suitable—the saleswoman said it was.” Conscious of the servants, she smiled brightly and hurried over to him, opening the bag a bit so he could peek in.

He did so and smiled. Glancing at the staff, he stood aside.

“Perhaps you’d join me in the salon.”

“Happy to,” she said.

He spoke to Fatima and the woman came to take Bethanne’s bags, then retreated.

“Is anything wrong?” Bethanne asked once the two of them were alone in the salon.

“Not at all. I have some spare time and came to see if you wanted to have lunch together. I have not forgotten you wanted to see some of my country. Where did you go this morning?”

“To a place in the old town. I walked around a square there, saw a small market. Then went shopping for the dress.”

“I’d be delighted to show you more of the old town, and some of the countryside north of the city, if you’d like.”

“Yes. I would. I probably won’t get the chance to visit Quishari again after I leave.” Especially if she didn’t find her father, or convince Rashid he was innocent.

“And I remember you like exploring new places,” he commented, studying her for a moment.

“I’ll run upstairs and freshen up. I can be ready to leave in ten minutes.”

“There’s no rush.”

She smiled again and dashed up to her room. She should have been better prepared for Rashid, but had not expected him to disregard work to spend time with her. She was delighted, and hoped they’d find mutual interests for conversation. She could, of course, simply stare at him all day—but that would look odd.

Rashid walked to the opened French doors. He gazed out at the gardens, but his thoughts centered on his American visitor. Bethanne fascinated him. Her profession was unusual for a woman. Yet whenever she was around him, she appeared very feminine. He liked looking at her with her fair skin, blue eyes and soft blond hair. Her casual manner could lead some to believe she was flighty—but he’d checked her record and it was spotless. He also found her enthusiasm refreshing after his own rather cynical outlook on life. Was that an American trait? Or her individual personality?

Rashid knew several American businessmen. Had dined with them and their wives over the years. Most of them cultivated the same aloof cosmopolitan air that was so lacking in Bethanne. Maybe it was that difference that had him intrigued.

His mother had called again that morning, bemoaning the fact Bethanne was visiting and that Haile had not come. When he’d told her he was just as well out of the deal, she’d appeared shocked. Questioning him further, she’d become angry when he’d said he wasn’t sure the arrangement had been suitable in the long run. He didn’t come out and tell her of firm plans with Bethanne, but let her believe there was a possibility.

He almost laughed when his mother had tentatively suggested Bethanne wasn’t suitable and he should let her help him find the right bride. He knew he and Bethanne didn’t make a suitable pair. Yet, if he thought about it, she would probably have beautiful children. She was young, healthy, obviously intelligent.

He stopped. It sounded as if he were seriously considering a relationship with her. He was not. His family would never overlook what her father had done. And after the aborted affair with Marguerite, he didn’t fully trust women. He would do better to focus on finalizing the details of the agreement with al Benqura.

His mother had reminded him she expected a different guest, and so would others.

“Until they see Bethanne. Then they’d know why she’s visiting,” he’d said, hoping to fob her off. It would certainly give a shot in the arm to the gossip circulating. And, he hoped, throw off any hint of scandal the minister might try to expose. Animosity ran deep between them. Rashid would not give him anything to fuel their feud.

He’d already invited Bethanne to the polo match. Perhaps a dinner date or two, escorting her to a reception, would give gossips something else to talk about. It would not be a hardship. And al Benqura was in a hurry to finish the deal, as Rashid had suspected. Once the papers were signed, Bethanne would be leaving. Life would return to normal and no one except he and she would know the full circumstances of the charade. The thought was disquieting. Maybe he wouldn’t be in so much of a hurry to finalize everything.

Bethanne took care when freshening up. She brushed her hair until it shone. Tying it back so it wouldn’t get in her face, she refreshed her makeup. She felt like she was on holiday—lazing around, visiting old town, now seeing more of the country. Spending time with a gorgeous man. What was not to like about Quishari?

She was practical enough to know she wasn’t some femme fatale; she’d never wow the sheikh like some Arabian beauty would. Haile had had that sultry look with the fine features, wide choco-late-brown eyes and beautiful dark hair so many Arab women had. Next to them, she felt like a washed-out watercolor.

Leaving her room, she started down the stairs.

“Prompt as ever,” he said from the bottom.

She glanced down at him, gripping the banister tightly in startled surprise. She could take in how fabulous he looked in a dark suit, white shirt and blue-and-silver tie. His black hair gleamed beneath the chandelier. His deep brown eyes were fixed on her. Taking a breath, she smiled and tried to glide down the stairs. Was this how Cinderella felt going to the ball? She didn’t want midnight to come.

“You look lovely,” he said.

Bethanne smiled at him. “Thank you, kind sir.”

Once seated in the limo, Rashid gave directions to the driver. Bethanne settled back to enjoy being with him.

“So if I’m to watch a polo match on Saturday, maybe I should learn a bit of the finer points of the game,” she said as they pulled away from the villa. “What should I watch for?”

Rashid gave her an overview of the game. Bethanne couldn’t wait to see Rashid on one of the horses he spoke about. She knew he’d looked fabulous. She had to remind herself more than once on the ride—sheikhs didn’t get involved with women from Galveston, Texas.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Bethanne was impressed. It was on the shore of the Gulf, with tall windows which gave an excellent view to the beautiful water. Their table was next to one of the windows, tinted to keep the glare out, making Bethanne feel as if she were sitting on the sand.

“This is fabulous,” she murmured, captivated by the view.

“The food is good, as well,” he said, sitting in the chair opposite.

The maître d’ placed the menus before them with a flourish.

After one glance, Bethanne closed hers and looked back out the window. “Please order for me. I’m afraid I can’t read Arabic.”

“Do you like fish?”

“Love it.”

“Then I’ll order the same filet for us both and you’ll see what delicious fish we get from the Gulf.”

After their order had been taken, Bethanne looked at him. “Do you ever go snorkeling or scuba diving?”

“From time to time,” he said. “Do you?”

She nodded. “It’s almost mandatory if one grows up in Galveston. I’ve had some great vacations in the Florida Keys, snorkeling and exploring the colorful sea floor.”

“We will have to try that before you go,” he said politely.

She studied him for a moment. “I can go by myself, you know. You don’t have to take time away from your busy work schedule. It’s not as if—”

His raised eyebrow had her stopping abruptly.

“What?”

“We do not know who can hear our conversation,” he cautioned.

She glanced around. No one appeared to be paying the slightest bit of attention to them, but she knew it would only take a few words to cause the charade to collapse and that would undoubtedly cause Rashid a lot of trouble.

“So how goes the deal?” she asked, leaning a bit closer and lowering her voice.

“We should sign soon, if certain parties don’t cause a glitch.”

“The father?” she asked, feeling as if she were speaking in code.

“No, he’ll come round. It’s some of our own internal people who are against the proposed agreement who could still throw a wrench into the works.”

“And your mother?”

Rashid leaned closer, covering one of her hands with his, lowering his voice. “My mother has no interest in politics or business. She only wants her sons married. Our personal lives have no interest to anyone, unless it causes a breach between me and al Benqura. That’s what we are guarding against.”

Bethanne knew to others in the restaurant, it must look as if he were whispering sweet nothings. Her hand tingled with his touch. For a moment she wished she dared turn it over and clasp his. The Quishari culture was more conservative than Americans and overt displays of affection were uncommon in public. Still, he had made the overture.

“Do not be concerned with my mother. She will not cause a problem.”

“I wished she liked me,” she murmured.

“Why? You’ll hardly see her before you leave. She will be at the polo match and perhaps one or two events we attend, but her manners are excellent, as I expect yours to be.”

Bethanne bristled. “I do know how to make nice in public,” she said.

Amusement danced in his eyes. “I’m sure you do.”

Their first course arrived and Bethanne was pleased to end the conversation and concentrate on eating and enjoying the view.

“This is delicious,” she said after her first bite. The fish was tender and flavorful. The vegetables were perfect.

He nodded. “I hoped you would like it.”

Conversation was sporadic while they ate. Bethanne didn’t want to disturb the mellow mood she was in as she enjoyed the food. She glanced at Rashid once in a while, but for the most part kept looking at the sea.

When the sugared walnuts appeared for dessert, she smiled in delight. “I didn’t know restaurants served these,” she said, taking one and popping it into her mouth.

“I ordered them specially for you,” he said.

“You did?” Amazing. She’d never had anyone pay such attention to details and then act on their knowledge. “Thank you very much. I love these.”

She savored another then asked, “So what happened to your brother? Did he get the fire out?”

“He did. He heads a company that specializes in putting out oil fires as well as acting as consultants for wells around the world.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Putting out the fires can be, but the rest is consulting work.”

“Isn’t he part of the family business?”

“He is, but more a silent partner in the day-to-day operations. He prefers not to be stuck in an office, as he puts it.”

She studied him, taking another walnut and savoring it as she put it in her mouth. “I don’t see you as stuck in an office. I expect you love pitting your mind against others.”

He smiled slightly. “One way to put it, I suppose. I find it satisfying to make deals to benefit the company. Pitting my wits against others in the field and continuing to expand the company beyond what my father did.”

“How did your father die?” It was a bold question, given what she’d learned this morning, but she would never have a better opportunity.

“Heart attack. He was only sixty-three…far too young to die.”

“I hope heart problems don’t run in your family.” Nothing said about what caused it. Maybe the timing was coincidental to the disappearance of her father and the plane. She hoped so. It was bad enough they thought her father a thief. Surely they didn’t blame him for the old sheikh’s death.

“No. He had rheumatic fever as a child and developed problems from that. The rest of us, including two of his older brothers, are fine.”

More than fine, she thought, looking away lest she gave him insight into her thought process. Really, Bethanne, she admonished, you’ve seen other gorgeous men before. Just not so up close and interested in her—even if it was only pretend.

“Ready to leave? We can take the walnuts with us. I want Teaz to drive us up the coast. There are some beautiful spots along the way. And some ruins from ancient times.”

Settled in the luxurious limousine a few moments later, Bethanne knew she could get used to such treatment in no time. And she could gain a bazillion pounds if she kept eating the sweets. Just one or two more and she’d stop. Until later.

Rashid gave a running commentary as they drove along one of the major highways of Quishari. With the Persian Gulf on the right and huge family estates on the left, there was a sameness that gradually changed as they went farther from the city.

Soon they were surrounded by the desert, stretching from the sea to as far to the west as she could see.

“The ruins are best viewed walking through them,” he said when Teaz stopped the car. The place was lonely, sandy and windswept, only outlines of the buildings that had once comprised a thriving village.

“Lonely,” Bethanne said, staring west. Nothing but miles of empty land. And the memory of people now gone.

“Once it was a lively trading port. You can see a few of the pilings for the piers in the water. It’s estimated these are more than two thousand years old.”

“Makes America seem like a toddler. Most of our history goes back four hundred years—once the Europeans settled in. I’d like to see this from the air. Tell me more.”

By the time the sun was sinking lower in the sky, they’d gone north almost to the border and turned to head for the villa. Bethanne enjoyed every moment. It was obvious that Rashid loved his country and enjoyed sharing his devotion with his guest. She learned more about the history of the area in their ride than she’d ever learned in school or from her father. Rashid had appeared surprised at the knowledge she did have.

“Tomorrow we can take the plane up again. Fly over the ruins and maybe west. There are a few oases that are large enough to support small communities.”

“Did your family gather at the villa for holidays?” she asked.

“For some of them. Other times we met at my father’s home. But the family loved the villa. In the summer, my parents often spent several weeks visiting my grandmother and enjoying the sea. My brother and I loved those times.”

Rashid escorted her to the door when they arrived.

The butler met them, speaking rapidly to Rashid.

“We seem to have company,” Rashid said to her in English. “My brother.”

“Oh. Do you want me to go on upstairs?”

“No, come meet Khalid.”

When they entered the salon, a man sitting on one of the chairs reading the newspaper rose. For a split second, Bethanne stared. He looked just like Rashid. Twins!

Then he turned to face them and the image was disturbed by the slash of burned skin going from just beneath his right eye, down to the collar of his shirt in a disfiguring swath. Bethanne caught her breath, trying not to imagine the pain and suffering that had resulted from such a burn.

“Bethanne, this is Khalid.”

“How do you do. Rashid didn’t tell me you two were twins.”

Khalid nodded but stayed where he was, his eyes alert and suspicious.

“He told me about your plan to fool the world. Stupid idea,” Khalid said.

She blinked at the hostility, then glanced at Rashid, who shrugged. “So you say. If it holds off the wolves until the deal is signed, I’m good with it. What brings you here?”

“I wanted to meet her,” Khalid said.

Bethanne walked over and sat down. “Now you have. Questions?” She had spent her fair share dealing with obstreperous officers in the past. And some cranky clients. She could handle this.

“Do not cross the line,” Rashid warned his brother.

“What do you expect from this?” Khalid said, ignoring his twin.

“A signed acceptance of the jet aircraft I delivered and a few days exploring a country I have long wanted to see,” Bethanne responded quickly.

Rashid watched his brother ask more questions than he should have. He was looking for a gold digger and that was not Rashid’s assessment of Bethanne. She was more concerned with clearing her father’s name than getting clothes or money from him. Not that Rashid had any intentions of providing his visitor anything more than was needed to attend the events where he’d show her off. Khalid was worried for naught.

“Did you get that oil fire out?” she asked at a pause in the interrogation.

Khalid nodded. “How do you know about that?”

“My dear friend Rashid tells me everything,” she said sweetly.

Rashid laughed aloud. “Subtlety is not your strong suit. Leave her alone. I’m happy with the arrangement we have. No need to look for trouble where there is none.”

Khalid studied her. Bethanne met his gaze with a considering one of her own.

“We are dining in this evening—would you care to join us?” Rashid asked.

He decided in that instance to stay for dinner. Maybe a few hours in Bethanne’s company would end his brother’s suspicions and gain his own cooperation in the situation.

CHAPTER FOUR

PROMPTLY at eight the next morning, Bethanne descended the stairs, dressed in her uniform. She was looking forward to another ride over Quishari. She and Rashid had discussed the trip last night. It would give one of his pilots a chance at the controls. She knew he would love the plane.

And she would spend more hours in Rashid’s company. She was treasuring each, knowing the memory of their time would be all she’d have in the future. But for now, she relished every moment.

Fatima sat on one of the elegant chairs in the foyer. She rose when Bethanne reached the tiled floor. Saying something in Arabic, she smiled politely. Bethanne hadn’t a clue what she said, but smiled in return.

The limo was in front and whisked them both away. Obviously today was a day that needed a chaperone. Was she going on the plane with them as well?

Bethanne had braided her hair in a single plait down the back to keep it out of the way. Her uniform was a far cry from the silk dresses she’d been wearing. Still, this was business. It would have been highly inappropriate for her to wear one of the dresses when flying the plane.

The jet gleamed in the sunlight when they arrived. Ground crewmen stood nearby, but no one stood next to the plane. Once she and Fatima got out of the limo, the translator broke away from the group and headed their way.

“His Excellency and Alexes are already in the plane,” he said with a slight bow.

Bethanne’s heart skipped a beat and then began to race.

“I’ll start the ground checklist,” she said, ignoring her clamoring need to see Rashid again. She had her tasks to perform to carry everyone safely. “Ask Fatima if she wishes to accompany me or board now?”

A quick interchange, then he said, “She will remain by the stairs until you are ready to enter.”

Bethanne took her time checking the aircraft then nodded to Fatima and climbed the steps to the plane. After the bright sunshine, it took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust. She saw an older man talking with Rashid in the back of the cabin. Starting back toward them, Bethanne watched as they studied the communication panel.

Rashid saw her and introduced the pilot. “We are looking at the various aspects of the aircraft. This one has more features than the one I’ve been using.”

“But the one that was lost had some of these same capabilities,” the pilot murmured, still looking at the dials and knobs.

The plane that was lost—was that the one her father had flown? The pilot was someone who might have known Hank. She hoped they had some time together on today’s flight so she could ask him.

“If you are ready to depart, Alexes would like to sit in the cockpit to observe and then fly it once you give the go-ahead.”

“I’m sure you’ll be ready in no time,” she said to the pilot. “For all the technology this baby carries, she’s quick to respond and simple to fly.”

The man didn’t look convinced. Bethanne wondered if he was unsure of her own skills, or those of the plane.

“Fatima will accompany us,” Rashid said. He handed Bethanne a topographical map. “I thought we could first fly over the ruins from yesterday, and then head west, toward one of the oases I spoke of.”

“Sounds great. Did you already file the flight plan?”

“Alexes did.”

“Then let’s go.”

The pilot bowed slightly to the sheikh and followed Bethanne into the cockpit. He slid into the copilot’s seat and began scanning the dials and switches.

Bethanne smoothly taxied and took off, taking the route the pilot had filed with the ground control. She talked to the pilot the entire time about what she was doing and how the plane responded. His English was excellent and he quickly grasped the intricacies of the new jet.

When they reached their cruising altitude, she banked easily and headed north as the flight plan outlined. The sea was sparkling in the sunshine. The shoreline, irregular below them, gleamed. The vegetation edging the beach contrasted with the white sand and blue waters.

Even as she conversed with the other pilot, Bethanne scanned the land below, wondering if her father had flown this exact route. Her recall of the topographical map showed when they turned inland she would be flying almost directly west. Was that a routine flight for the old sheikh?

Rashid al Harum opened the cockpit door and looked in. “What do you think, Alexes?” he asked, resting one hand on the back of Bethanne’s seat.

The pilot responded in Arabic and when Rashid spoke in the same language, the man looked abashed.

“My pardon. I told His Excellency that the plane handles like a dream. If I may take over for a while?”

Bethanne nodded and lifted her hands.

“Ahh, it does respond like a dream,” Alexes said a moment later, approval in his voice.

“Below are the ruins,” Rashid said, looking over her shoulder.

Bethanne looked out of the window, seeing the outlines of the structures they’d viewed yesterday. She kept her eyes on the ground when Alexes banked slightly so she could see the old piers marching out in the water. The crystal clarity of the Persian Gulf enabled her to clearly see each one. Her imagination was sparked by the picture below. Who had lived there? How had their lives been spent? What would they think of people soaring over them in planes they probably never even dreamed about?

Slowly the plane turned and the ruins were behind them. Below was only endless sand with hardy plants which could survive the harsh conditions. The scene became monotonous in the brown hues.

Bethanne looked over her shoulder at the sheikh. “How long to the oasis?” she asked.

“We’ll be there in time to have lunch before returning. Once you’re reassured Alexes knows what he’s doing, perhaps you’d join me in the main compartment. Try out that sofa again.”

She nodded, her heart skipping a beat. She didn’t need to try out the sofa; she knew it was the height of luxury. She would love to spend a bit more time with Rashid, however. And demonstrate to the other pilot she trusted him with the plane.

The pilot seemed competent. He was murmuring softly, as if in love with the jet. She knew the feeling. It was her favorite model to fly. Still, she didn’t leap at the chance to go back to the cabin. She had to focus on her primary responsibility, which was completing delivery of the aircraft—not spending time with the sheikh. She reviewed the various features of the cockpit, quoted fuel ratios, aeronautic facts and figures and answered all Alexes’s questions.

When she was satisfied he could handle things, she turned over the controls and rose to head to the back. Fatima was dozing in one of the chairs near the rear.

Rashid looked up from a paper he was reading and watched as she crossed the small space and sat beside him on the long sofa.

“Alexes handling things well?” he asked.

“Of course. He said it was similar to another Starcraft plane he used to fly as backup. What happened to that one?”

“It was the one your father took—they both vanished,” he said, putting aside his paper.

“It’s hard to hide an airplane.”

Just then the plane shuddered and began to dive. Bethanne took a split second to act. She was on her feet and heading for the cockpit when it veered suddenly to the right. She would have slammed into the side if Rashid had not caught her and pulled her along.

Opening the cockpit door a second later, she saw Alexes slumped over the controls. The earth rushed toward them at an alarming rate.

Rashid acted instantly, reaching to draw Alexes back. Bethanne slid into her seat and began to pull the plane from the dive. Rashid struggled to get Alexes out of the seat, but the man was unconscious and a dead weight. He called for Fatima and she hurried forward to help him, trying to guide the unconscious pilot’s legs away from the controls as the sheikh pulled him from the copilot’s seat. Once clear, she helped the sheikh carry him to the sofa while Bethanne regained control of the plane.

In only seconds the jet had resumed a normal flight pattern and once she verified the altitude, she resumed their approved flight track. Glancing around, she was relieved there were no other planes in sight.

“How is he?” she called back. The door separating the cockpit from the cabin had been propped open.

“Still unconscious…most likely a heart attack,” Rashid called, loosening Alexes’s collar.

“Oxygen is by the first-aid kit in the galley,” she yelled back. She contacted ground control. Citing an emergency, she was directed to the nearest airport, in Quraim Wadi Samil, a few miles to the south of their original route.

Glancing over her shoulder, Bethanne could glimpse most of the cabin. Fatima held the portable oxygen tank while Rashid was still bent over the pilot. She shivered, hoping he was all right. What had happened?

In seconds Alexes’s eyes flickered. He spoke in Arabic. Bethanne didn’t understand him, but applauded Rashid’s calm reply. In moments the sheikh had the older man take some aspirin and elevated his legs and feet. His color was pale, his speech slurred slightly.

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