Her Desert Dream. Liz Fielding

him that putting a little distance between himself and Rose while he cooled off would be wise.

      He’d reached out instinctively when he’d seen her stiffen in fear as the plane had accelerated down the runway. It had been a mistake. Sitting beside her had been a mistake. His brief was to ensure her security and, despite Lucy’s appeal to amuse her, distract her, make her laugh, that was it.

      Holding her hand to distract her when she was rigid with fear didn’t count, he told himself, but sitting here, waiting to see if he’d imagined his gutdeep reaction to her was not a good idea.

      Especially when he already knew the answer.

      Then the name registered. ‘Jacobs? Would that be Mike Jacobs?’

      ‘You are in so much trouble, Lydia Young.’

      She hadn’t underestimated the enormity of what she’d undertaken to do for Rose and they’d gone through every possible scenario, using a chat room to brainstorm any and all likely problems.

      And every step of the way Rose had given her the opportunity to change her mind. Back out. Unfortunately, she was long past the stop the plane, I want to get off moment.

      It had been too late from the moment she’d stepped out of that hotel room wearing Lady Rose’s designer suit, her Jimmy Choos, the toes stuffed with tissue to stop them slipping.

      Not that she would if she could, she realised.

      She’d had ten years in which being ‘Lady Rose’ had provided all the little extras that helped make her mother’s life easier. She owed Rose this. Was totally committed to seeing it through, but falling in lust at first sight with a man who had flirtation down to an art was, for sure, not going to make it any easier to ignore what Kalil al-Zaki’s eyes, mouth, touch was doing to her.

      ‘Come on, Lydie,’ she said, giving herself a mental shake. ‘You don’t do this. You’re immune, remember?’

      Not since she’d got her fingers, and very nearly everything else, burnt by a stunningly goodlooking actor who’d been paid to woo her into bed. She swallowed. She’d thought he was her Prince Charming, too.

      It had been five years, but she still felt a cold shiver whenever she thought about it.

      Pictures of the virginal ‘Lady Rose’ in bed with a man would have made millions for the people who’d set her up. Everyone would have run the pictures, whether they’d believed them or not. Covering themselves by the simple addition of a question mark to the ‘Lady Rose in Sex Romp?’ headline. The mere suggestion would have been enough to have people stampeding to the newsagents.

      She, on the other hand, would have been ruined. No one would have believed she was an innocent dupe. If it had been anyone else, she wouldn’t have believed it either.

      She looked at the bed with longing, sorely tempted to just crawl beneath the covers and sleep away the next eight hours. No one would disturb her, expect anything from her.

      But, since sleeping away the entire seven days was out of the question, she needed to snap out of it.

      She’d been knocked off her feet by the heightened tension, that was all. Unsurprising under the circumstances. Anyone would be unsettled. Kal al-Zaki’s presence had been unexpected, that was all. And she turned to the toilet case and overnight bag that had been placed on a stand.

      The first was packed with everything a woman could ever need. The finest hairbrush that money could buy, the best skin care products, cosmetics, a selection of sumptuous scents; a perfect distraction for out of control hormones.

      She opened one, sighed as she breathed in a subtle blend of sweet summer scents, then, as she sprayed it on her wrist, she caught an underlying note of something darker that tugged at forbidden desires. That echoed the heat in Kal al-Zaki’s eyes.

      Dropping it as if burned, she turned to the overnight bag. On the top, in suede drawstring bags, were the cases for the jewellery she was wearing, along with a selection of simpler pieces that Lady Rose wore while ‘off duty’.

      There was also a change of clothes for the long flight. A fine silk shirt the colour of champagne, wide-cut trousers in dark brown linen, a cashmere cardigan and a pair of butter-soft leather loafers in the right size. Supremely elegant but all wonderfully comfortable.

      Rose had also packed a selection of the latest hardback best-sellers to while away the long flight. But then she hadn’t expected that her stand-in would be provided with company.

      Or not. According to Princess Lucy, it was up to her.

      While she’d urged Rose to allow him to show her the sights, she’d made it clear that if she preferred to be alone then Kal would not intrude.

      Not intrude?

      What had the woman been thinking?

      Hadn’t she looked at him?

      Anyone with half a brain could see that he wouldn’t have to do a damn thing. One smile, one touch of his hand and he was already indelibly imprinted on her brain. In her head for ever more.

      Intrusion squared.

      In fact, if she didn’t know better, she might be tempted to think that the Princess had planned a holiday romance as a little treat for her friend.

      The idea was, of course, patently absurd.

      Not that she didn’t deserve a romance. A darkeyed prince with a killer smile who’d sweep her off her feet.

      No one deserved a little fun more than Rose, but anyone who knew her would understand just how impossible a casual, throwaway romance would be for her. And that was the essence of a holiday romance. Casual. Something out of time that had nothing to do with real life. That you left behind when you went home.

      Anyone who truly cared for her would understand that.

      Wouldn’t they?

      About to remove the pin that fastened the tiny hat to her chignon, she paused, sank onto the edge of the bed as a phrase in Lucy’s letter came back to her.

       Don’t give Rupert a single thought…

      She and Lucy were in total agreement on that one. Rose’s grandfather, the newspapers, even the masses out there who thought they knew her, might be clamouring for an engagement, but she’d seen the two of them together. There was absolutely no chemistry, no connection.

      Rose had made a joke about it, but Lydia hadn’t been fooled for a second. She’d seen the desperation in her face and anyone who truly cared for her would want to save her from sleepwalking into such a marriage simply because it suited so many people.

      Could Princess Lucy have hoped that if she put Rose and Kalil together the sparks would fly of their own accord without any need to stoke the fire? No doubt about it, a week being flirted with by Kal al-Zaki would have been just the thing to bring the colour back into Rose’s cheeks.

      Or was it all less complicated than that?

      Was Lucy simply relying on the ever-attendant paparazzi, seeing two young people alone in a perfect setting, to put one and one together and make it into a front page story that would make them a fortune?

      Who cared whether it was true?

      Excellent plan, Lucy, she thought, warming to the woman despite the problems she’d caused.

      There was only one thing wrong with it. Lady Rose had taken matters into her own hands and was, even now—in borrowed clothes, a borrowed car—embarking on an adventure of her own, safe in the knowledge that no one realised she’d escaped. That she could do what she liked while the world watched her lookalike.

      Of course there was nothing to stop her from making it happen, she thought as she finally removed the hat and jewellery she was wearing. Kicked off her shoes and slipped out of the suit.

      All it would take would be a look. A touch. He wasn’t averse to touching.

      She