Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife

by Barbara McMahon

  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 tr
anslator 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.”