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,