Cinderella and the Sheikh. NATASHA OAKLEY

      â€˜Some, but the reserves are fast running out.’

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

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

      â€˜Are you disappointed?’

      â€˜Stunned.’

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

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

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

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

      â€˜My mother is English, but I am entirely Arab.’

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

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

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

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

      â€˜Then I should be the one asking the questions, perhaps.’

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

      â€˜There’s been a change.’

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

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

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

      â€˜Is that a spontaneous decision?’

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

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

      â€˜My sister is waiting to receive you. I was to have joined you later.’

      His sister?

      â€˜Is it far from the airport?’

      â€˜No.’

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

      â€˜It is wise.’

      â€˜Because we might be attacked?’

      â€˜Because I might be,’ he returned coolly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

      â€˜I’m so sorry.’

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

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

      â€˜I’m aware.’

      â€˜Wouldn’t you rather be with your family?’

      â€˜If I’m needed I will be called.’

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

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

      And certainly not this one.

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

      â€˜Your family is well?’

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

      â€˜And your brothers?’

      â€˜I don’t have any brothers.’

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