Accidentally The Sheikh's Wife Part 11

"Should we change?" she asked, concerned for the lovely gown.

"More fun this way."

An unexpected side of Rashid. Every time she thought she had a grasp on his personality, he surprised her.

When they reached the beach, they sat on the chairs to take off their shoes. Rashid rolled his pant legs up and held out his hand for her when she rose. They ran to the water. Bethanne pulled her skirt to above her knees in an attempt to keep the beautiful silk from getting wet, holding it with one hand.

The water was warm. The moon was low on the horizon, painting a strip of white on the calm sea. Stars sprinkled the dark skies. In the distance a soft glow showed where the capital city lay. As if in one accord, they turned and began walking north.

"I can't believe you live in the city when you have this house," Bethanne said. "I'd walk along the beach every chance I got if I lived here."

"You seem to like simple pleasures," he said. Unlike other women he knew who loved new clothes, jewelry and being seen in all the right places.

"What's better? Maybe flying."

"Tell me why you like that so much."

"I'm not sure I can put it into words. There's a special feeling soaring high into the sky. The power of the plane at my command. The view of the earth, seeing the curvature, seeing the land as it is and not as man has rearranged it. I never tire of it."

"I see flying as an expedient way to get from one place to another in the shortest time."

"Then you need to fly in the c.o.c.kpit more and give work a rest."

He laughed. "I would not be where I am today if I didn't pay attention to business."

"There's such a thing as balance."

"So you suggest I take more time off?"

"Take time to relax. Even in your time off you're busy. Do you ever just lie on the beach and listen to the waves?"

"No."

She danced in the water. "I do when I'm home. Galveston has some beautiful beaches and I like to just veg out and do nothing but stare at the water and let the rhythm of the surf relax me."

"Not often, I bet." She was too full of energy to be content to sit and do nothing for long.

"I guess not. That's why when I do, it's special."

He stopped and turned to face her. "You're special, Bethanne Sanders." He put his free hand around the back of her neck and drew her slowly closer, leaning over to kiss her.

The night was magical, the setting perfection, the woman with him fascinating and intriguing. The temporary nature gave an urgency to their time together. Too short to waste.

She kissed him back, slinging one arm around his neck, her other hand still holding her skirt.

For a long time Rashid forgot about responsibilities, about duties and about the pretense of their relationship. There was only Bethanne and the feel of her in his arms.

Both were breathing hard when he ended the kiss. They were alone on the beach, quite a distance from the villa. He was tempted to sweep her in his arms and find a secluded spot and make love all night long.

"We should return," he said. Duty over desire, hard to harness.

"Yes." She let go of his hand, gathered her skirt in both hands and began walking briskly back to the villa.

"Wait." He hurried to catch her. "Are you okay?" He tried to examine her expression in the faint light but she kept her head averted.

"I'm fine." She did not stop walking.

"Then the kiss upset you."

She stopped at that and turned to glare at him. "It did not upset me. What upsets me is that I don't know the rules of this game. We're pretending. But that kiss seemed real. You are solicitous in public playing the perfect gentleman who is showing someone around. It's all fake. Why the kisses?"

Rashid paused. "Because I can't resist," he answered, daring to reveal his feelings. It had been a long time since he'd let emotion make inroads. Would he regret the confession?

She blinked at that. "What?" It almost squeaked out.

"Why should that surprise you? I find you beautiful, fun, interesting, different. I want to be with you, touch you." He reached out his hand and trailed his fingertips down her bare arm, struck again by the warm softness of her skin. "I want to kiss you."

He could see her indecision. Finally she nodded once. "Okay, but unless we are really going somewhere with this relationship, no more than kisses."

Her words jerked him from the reverie he had of the two of them spending time together. He was not going anywhere with any relationship. He had tried love and failed. He had tried arranged marriage-and that didn't look like it was in the cards, either. Was it too much to ask just to enjoy being together for a while-as long as they both wanted?

"Then I'll just have to settle for kisses," he said, drawing her back into his embrace.

Bethanne awoke the next morning feeling grumpy and tired when Minnah entered with the usual breakfast fare. She refused to let her crankiness show and almost screamed with impatience while the maid fussed around before leaving. Bethanne had not had a good night's sleep and it was all Rashid's fault. She'd been a long time falling asleep thinking of the kisses at the beach. And the words he had not spoken-that their relationship had a future. That hurt the most.

She sipped her chocolate and wondered what she was doing. Always one to face facts, she simply could not let herself imagine she was falling for the sheikh. She needed to visit the places she wanted to, search for her father and remind herself constantly that Rashid's interests did not coincide with hers.

If she told herself a dozen times an hour, maybe she'd listen. But her heart beat faster just thinking of Rashid and the kisses they'd stolen in the night. His scent was permanently affixed in her mind, his dark eyes so compelling when he looked directly at her she could feel herself returning his regard, wishing there were only the two of them. She had run her hands through his hair, pulled him close and shown her feelings while all he had wanted were a few kisses.

She frowned. Time to rise above the attraction that seemed to grow by leaps and bounds and forget any flighty feelings of love. She had her own quest that being here afforded. Today she'd return to the square to see if the man her father had met had returned. Yesterday the waiter who had spoken to her that first day wasn't there. The one working had not understood English. Maybe the other would be back today.

She'd focus on her search for her father and get over Rashid before she saw him again!

Arriving at the square around ten, she went straight to the sidewalk cafe, searching for the waiter she'd spoken with before. Thankfully he was there. He came out of the interior to greet her.

"I have a note for you," he said with great pride. With a flourish, he withdrew it from his ap.r.o.n pocket and handed it to her. "I knew you would return," he said.

"Thank you. I'll sit over here and have coffee, please." She sat down at a side table and opened the folded paper.

"Hank was a friend of mine. A fellow American. I will stop by the cafe each day this week in hopes of seeing you." It was signed, Walt Hampstead.

Another American. That made it simple; at least she and he would speak the same language. She would have needed Teaz to translate if Hank's friend had been a native of Quishari.

"What time did the man come?" she asked the waiter when he delivered her coffee.

"Before lunch each day. He will be here soon." Setting the small cup and carafe on the table, he walked away.

Bethanne sipped the hot beverage while she waited until Walt showed up. She had a feeling things were speeding up and she needed to get any information she could before it was too late.

Sometime later a middle-aged man stopped at her table. She'd been writing a letter to a friend at home and looked up when he cast a shadow over the paper.

"Are you Hank's friend?" he asked. "No, that's not right. You're his daughter, Bethanne."

"Walt?" she asked, feeling emotion welling up inside her.

He nodded. Pulling out another chair, he sat down at the table. "He spoke of you often. I saw a picture once. You were younger. I'm Walt Hampstead. Pleased to finally meet you."

"You knew my father? He mentioned a professor at the university, but not by name. Is that you?"

He nodded. The waiter appeared and Walt gave an order for coffee.

"What happened to him? He's dead, isn't he?" Bethanne asked, hoping Walt would deny it all and tell her where Hank was.

But Walt nodded sadly. "I'm afraid so. I haven't heard from him in almost three years. He was a good friend. Not many Americans live in Alkaahdar. We'd meet and hash over how things were going at home. Expats sharing tales of home to fend off homesickness. And he'd tell me the amazing stories about his daughter."

"Have you lived here long?" Bethanne asked, trying to remember all she'd read and heard about his professor friend. She knew her father had liked the man, but always called him the prof.

"Yes, actually, longer than Hank. I teach English as a foreign language at one of the universities. I married a Quishari woman and we have made our home here."

"Tell me what you know about my father. It's been years since I've heard from him. Time just got away. I've been busy and I thought he was as well. But I can only find out the al Harum family thinks he stole a plane. He wouldn't have!"

The waiter returned with Walt's coffee. Once he'd left, Walt began to speak. "He told me two days before he left that he had a top-secret a.s.signment, then laughed. Just like the movies, he said. I asked him what he was talking about, but he said he was sworn to secrecy, but maybe he'd give me some hints when he returned. He seemed in high spirits and I thought I'd hear from him soon after that. Only I never saw him again."

"I've heard he stole a plane and then vanished," Bethanne said, disheartened. This man had known and liked her father, but knew no more than she did on what had happened to him.

"There were stories going around. Then the head of Bashiri Oil died unexpectedly and the news was full of that and the stories of his twin sons. I never knew the official result of that secret mission," Walt said. He looked pensive for a moment. "Hank was a true friend. It was good to have someone from home to talk over things with. I miss him."

He sipped his coffee. "He flew the plane for the old sheikh, and often told me about where they went, what the different cities were like. Hank loved seeing the world and knew the job he had was great for that. He flew the sheikh to Europe, Egypt, even once to India. Most of the flights were around the Persian Gulf, though."

"Did the secret mission have something to do with the sheikh?"

"That I don't know. I could speculate it was because he worked almost exclusively for the man. But being a secret, I never heard any more. Your father did not steal a plane. He was too honorable for that."

Bethanne felt a wave of grat.i.tude toward Walt for his comment. "I want to find out exactly what happened and let others know he wouldn't do such a thing." Especially let Rashid know. Every time he looked at her he had to remember his belief her father had caused the death of his. It was so unfair!

"Don't know how you'll find out. Do you speak the language?" he asked.

"No, except for pleased to meet you."

"This country is still very much a man's world. I bet they were surprised to discover you're a pilot," he said.

"At first. What happened to my dad's things?" she asked.

"I don't know. I went by his apartment once I realized he was probably dead. It had already been rented and the young woman who answered the door said it had been immaculately cleaned before she moved in. I guess the sheikh's people packed up. I don't know if they threw his things away or stored them."

"My mother tried to find out what happened to him-as his onetime wife. But no one told her anything. I guess if they had any of his things, they would have sent them to her." Bethanne gazed across the square, seeing the buildings her father would have seen every day. She missed him with a tangible pain.

"He spoke of you a lot. You were a bright spot in his life. He talked about when you'd come to visit and what you two would see."

"We discussed it more than once. I longed to see Quishari, but not like this. It's a beautiful country and I've enjoyed everything I've seen. But I had hoped to see it with my dad."

Walt scribbled on a page of his notebook and tore it out. "Here's my phone number and address. Call me if you need anything. Or wish to visit. My wife would be delighted to meet you. She liked Hank, too. He came to dinner occasionally. Her English is not as fluent as it could be, so she enjoyed listening to our conversations and hearing English spoken by natives."

"Thank you." She took the paper and put it in her purse. "I don't know how you could contact me if you remember anything. I am staying at the sea villa of Sheikh Rashid al Harum. But I have no idea what the address is, or the phone number."

"Do you like him? Hank really respected his father."

"I do like him." Understatement, she thought. But she certainly didn't know this man well enough to even hint at more.

Walt rose. "I'll contact the sheikh if I think of anything else you might wish to know. Nice to have met Hank's daughter. He'd be proud of you. Do consider coming to meet my wife."

Bethanne rose as well and shook hands. "Thanks for coming each day until I was here."

Walt walked away, then stopped and turned. "I do have a photograph of him with me at home. Call me when you can come again and I'll bring it for you to see."

Bethanne nodded. Disappointment filled her and she smiled, blinking away tears. She had so hoped her father's friend would know more. What could a secret mission have been? One filled with danger that ended up costing him his life? How could the old sheikh have demanded that? Did Rashid know?

CHAPTER SIX

BETHANNE rode back to the villa wondering how she could find out more about that secret mission. The only one who had probably known was the old sheikh and he was dead. Would his wife have known anything? If she had, Bethanne would be the last person she'd tell. rode back to the villa wondering how she could find out more about that secret mission. The only one who had probably known was the old sheikh and he was dead. Would his wife have known anything? If she had, Bethanne would be the last person she'd tell.

Yet everyone seemed to think the plane was stolen. Even so, Hank would have had to file a flight plan. Someone must have known something more about the plane. But she wasn't sure if it were even possible to get a copy in Quishari, much less at this late date.

She could ask Rashid.

Mulling over the possibility of being rebuffed, she weighed it with the possibility of annoying Rashid. But she hadn't a clue where else to go.

When she reached the villa, Fatima was in the foyer, her suitcase beside her. Minnah was there as well and smiled when she saw Bethanne.

"Fatima leaves for the airport. She is returning home," the maid said in English.

Bethanne nodded. "Please tell her I'm sorry for the inconvenience of remaining here when she must have wished to return home immediately."

Minnah relayed the comment, then listened to a rapid burst of speech from Fatima.

"It is she who is grateful for you and whatever arrangement you made with the sheikh that she does not fear returning home. Her charge put her in a very awkward situation and if not for the compa.s.sion of the sheikh, she'd not wish to return home. She spoke with her family and there is no retribution awaiting."