Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife / Marrying the Scarred Sheikh: Accidentally the Sheikh's Wife. Barbara McMahon
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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