Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife / Marrying the Scarred Sheikh. Barbara McMahonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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