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

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.