LITMIR.BIZ

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stopped her? Or told someone before they took off from Morocco? What else could she say?

      This was certainly not the happy arrival at Quishari she’d anticipated.

      “The immediate need, now, is for damage control,” he said after a moment. The sheikh looked back at the woman sitting so still in the back of the jet. For a moment Bethanne imagined she could see the wheels spinning in his head. How could she have known Haile wasn’t as interested in the marriage as she had thought? She would never have suspected a young woman like Haile would disguise herself and slip away between the time Bethanne went into the cockpit and Jess joined her. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. Obviously it had not been a spur-of-the-moment decision. It had taken planning and daring. Bethanne’s romantic mind imagined Haile deplaning surreptitiously and finding her lover and both fleeing, whilst her father and his minions followed on horseback. She blinked. Her overactive imagination could get her in trouble.

      “I’m sorry I can’t help you,” she said, hoping to ease the tension that was as thick as butter. Her primary goal was to deliver the plane, which she’d done. Now all the sheikh had to do was accept the delivery, sign the paperwork and Bethanne could begin her vacation in Quishari while Jess would be flying back to Texas on the next available flight.

      “Ah, but you can help. In fact, I insist.” He turned back to her. The serious expression in his eyes held her in thrall. What did he mean?

      “How can I help? Fly back to Morocco and find her? I wouldn’t begin to know where to look.”

      “Despite my family’s efforts to keep the entire matter solely within the family, rumors have been flying around the country. I’ve ignored them, but I know they speculate a special visitor will arrive soon. My coming to meet this plane would have fueled speculation even more. So, you’re it.”

      “I’m what it?” she asked, wondering what would happen if there was no special visitor. Some gossip, more speculation about when his fiancée would arrive.

      “The woman I came to meet. It’s as if it was meant to be. What are the odds of having a female pilot bringing the plane—and one who is young and pretty enough to pass muster?”

      “Muster for what?” Bethanne wondered if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Nothing was making sense.

      “To pass as my special guest, of course.”

      She stared at him. “Are you crazy? I mean…” Ever conscious of the fact he was an important client of her company she didn’t want to insult, she stopped. But he couldn’t be serious. Thinking she could pass as a fiancée for a sheikh? He had to have half the money of the country. She’d learned that much about the al Harum family from her father. They controlled vast oil deposits and dealt in the world market for oil. They played a major role in the government of Quishari and had for generations.

      Bethanne’s head was spinning. He wanted to pretend she was his fiancée?

      He spoke to the chaperone who came reluctantly to stand beside him. For several moments, he spoke in rapid Arabic. The woman glanced at Bethanne and frowned. The sheikh continued to speak and resignation settled on the woman’s face. Finally she answered, bowing slightly.

      Bethanne hadn’t understood a word. But her mind had quickly considered and discarded one idea after another. The one fact that shone above all was she would be dealing with Rashid al Harum for days. Awareness spiked. She wished she had checked her makeup and hair before opening the door. Did he even see her in the uniform? Feeling decidedly feminine to his masculinity, she let herself consider the outlandish suggestion.

      Special guest to a sheikh. They’d spend a lot of romantic moments together. Would he kiss her? Her knees almost melted at the thought.

      “It is settled. Haile’s chaperone will serve as yours for the time being. Her name is Fatima. She doesn’t speak English but we’ll get around that somehow.”

      “Wait a minute. I’m not—”

      He raised his hand. “You are in my country now, Ms. Sanders. And my rules apply. Certain influential people are watching to see the young woman that I am interested in. It is fortunate that my family kept a tight lid on the negotiations. No one knows who I have selected. It would not be a good thing at this point to disappoint them. You are my choice since you lost my other one.”

      “That’s totally ridiculous. How can you say that? Maybe you need a few minutes to come up with an alternative plan.”

      “This suits me. Time is short. Please put on a happy face and accompany me down the stairs,” he ordered.

      “Wait a minute. I haven’t agreed to anything.”

      “Would you prefer to fly this plane back to the United States immediately? Canceling the sale?” he asked. “And perhaps putting in jeopardy the relationship Quishari holds with Morocco?”

      His implacable expression confirmed he was completely serious. She tried to comprehend if he really thought she could divert an international incident. She opened her mouth to refute it when a thought occurred to her.

      She had another agenda in Quishari. She had hoped during her vacation to find her father. It wasn’t exactly the kind of stay she’d envisioned, but maybe agreeing to his pretense for a short time would work to her advantage as well. Certainly the special guest of the sheikh would be afforded more access to information than a mere visitor. She had contacts to find, places to visit. Wouldn’t it be easier with the help of Sheikh Rashid al Harum?

      She closed her mouth while she tried to see how this odd request—no, demand—could work to her benefit. “What exactly are we talking about?” she asked, suddenly seeing the situation advantageous to her own quest.

      “A short visit. We’ll tell people you’ve come to meet me and my family. If they think you and I are making a match, that’s their problem. After a few weeks, you leave. By then, I’ll have the contract finalized and who cares what the rumormongers say. In the meantime, you would be my honored guest.”

      “I don’t see how that would work at all. We don’t even know each other.” She had never been in love. Had dreamed about finding that special man, one who had likes and interests similar to her own. Never in a million years could she envision herself having anything in common with a sheikh. But there was that pull of attraction that surprised her. She couldn’t fall for a stranger. Not right away. It had to be jet lag or something.

      Still, he fascinated her. And she was pragmatic enough to realize she could get a lot of help in searching for her father.

      The way he put things, it wasn’t quite as if they were supposed to be lovers. They were to be still in the getting-to-know-you stage. The thought of getting to know him better tantalized. And people who were almost engaged did kiss.

      Why did that compel her? she wondered as she looked at his lips, imagining them pressed against her own.

      “Have you considered all the ramifications? What will you say when asked how we met? Why we are attracted to each other? My background is not that important that a sheikh would view it as any kind of advantage.”

      “Perhaps we could say we fell in love,” he suggested sardonically.

      She frowned. His tone suggested he didn’t believe in love. The dismissing glance he gave proved the thought never crossed his mind. And it wasn’t as if she’d fallen in love with him. A strong interest in an intriguing man—that’s all she felt. Once she got to know him better, she’d undoubtedly find him a bit annoying.

      “It’s important even in an arranged marriage for the partners to at least be cordial to each other,” she replied with false sweetness, wondering if she could spend much time in his company without coming completely unglued.

      “Do you not think I can be cordial?” he asked in a silky tone, leaning closer. He brushed his fingers against her cheek as he pushed back a strand of hair. His dark eyes were so close she could see tiny golden flecks in them. The affinity she felt was drugging. She wanted

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