Liz Fielding: Her Desert Dream

Hopefully, the letter of introduction would fill in the details, she thought as his hand fell away at the top of the steps and she was greeted by the waiting stewardess.

‘Welcome aboard the royal flight, Lady Rose. I am Atiya Bishara and I will be taking care of you today.’ Then, looking at the flowers she was clutching like a lifeline, ‘Shall I put those in water?’

Lydia, back on more or less familiar territory, began to breathe again. This was the basic lookalike stuff she’d been doing since she was fifteen years old and she managed to go through the standard ‘How d’you do?’ routine as she surrendered the flowers and the dark pink leather briefcase that exactly matched her hat. The one Rose had used to conceal the cash she’d needed for her week away and which now contained Lydia’s own essentials, including her own passport in the event that anything went wrong.

‘Your luggage has been taken to your suite, Lady Rose. I’ll take you through as soon as we’re in the air,’ Atiya said as she led her to an armchair-sized seat.

A suite?

Not that familiar, she thought, taking out her cellphone and sending a one word message to Rose to let her know that she’d got through security without any hiccups. Apart from Kalil al-Zaki, that was, and Rose couldn’t do anything about that.

That done, she turned off the phone and looked around.

From the outside, apart from the royal livery, the aircraft might look much like any other. On the inside, however, it bore no similarity to the crammed-tight budget airlines that were a necessary evil to be endured whenever she wanted a week or two in the sun.

‘Would you like something to drink before we take off?’ Atiya asked.

Uh-oh.

Take and off , used in tandem, were her two least favourite words in the English language. Until now her head had been too busy concentrating on the role she was playing, enjoying the luxury of a chauffeur-driven limousine, free-wheeling around the unexpected appearance of Kalil al-Zaki, to confront that particular problem.

‘Juice? A glass of water?’

‘Water, thank you,’ she replied, forcing herself to concentrate, doing her best not to look at the man who’d taken the seat across the aisle.

And failing.

His suit lay across his broad shoulders as if moulded to him and his glossy black hair, brushed back off a high forehead curled over his collar, softening features that could have been chiselled from marble. Apart from his mouth.

Marble could never do justice to the sensuous droop of a lower lip that evoked such an immediate, such a disturbing response in parts of her anatomy that had been dormant for so long that she’d forgotten how it felt.

As if sensing her gaze, Kalil al-Zaki turned and she blushed at being caught staring.

Nothing in his face suggested he had noticed. Instead, as the plane began to taxi towards the runway, he took an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and offered it to her.

‘My introduction from Princess Lucy, Lady Rose.’

She accepted the square cream envelope, warm from his body, and although she formed the words, Thank you , no sound emerged. Praying that the dark pink net of her veil would camouflage the heat that had flooded into her cheeks, she ducked her head. It was embarrassment, she told herself as she flipped open the envelope and took out the note it contained.

Dear Rose,

I didn’t get a chance to call yesterday and explain that Han’s cousin, Kalil al-Zaki, will be accompanying you to Bab el Sama.

I know that you are desperate to be on your own, but you will need someone to drive you, accompany you to the beach, be generally at your beck and call while you’re in Bab el Sama and at least he won’t report every move you make to your grandfather.

The alternative would be one of the Emir’s guards, good men every one but, as you can imagine, not the most relaxing of companions.

Kalwill not intrude if you decide to simply lie by the

pool with a book, but you shouldn’t miss out on a visit to the souk-it’s an absolute treasure of gold, silks, spices-or a drive into the desert. The peace is indescribable.

Do give me a call if there is anything you need or you just need someone to talk to but, most of all rest, relax, recharge the batteries and don’t, whatever you do, give Rupert a single thought.

All my love,

Lucy

Which crushed her last desperate hope that he was simply escorting her on the flight. ‘There and back’, apparently, included the seven days in between.

And things had been going so well up until now, she thought as the stewardess returned with her water and she gratefully gulped down a mouthful.

Too well.

Rose’s grandfather had apparently accepted that taking her own security people with her would be seen as an insult to her hosts. The entire Ramal Hamrahn ruling family had holiday ‘cottages’ at Bab el Sama and the Emir did not, she’d pointed out, take the safety of his family or their guests lightly.

The paparazzi were going to have to work really hard to get their photographs this week, although she’d do her best to make it easy for them.

There had been speculation that Rupert would join Rose on this pre-Christmas break and if she wasn’t visible they might just get suspicious, think they’d been given the slip. Raise a hue and cry that would get everyone in a stew and blow her cover.

Her commission was to give them something to point their lenses at so that the Duke was reassured that she was safe and the world could see that she was where she was supposed to be.

Neither of them had bargained on her friend complicating matters.

Fortunately, Princess Lucy’s note had made it clear that Rose hadn’t met Kalil al-Zaki, which simplified things a little. The only question left was, faced with an unexpected-and unwanted-companion, what would Rose do now?

Actually, not something to unduly tax the mind. Rose would do what she always did. She’d smile, be charming, no matter what spanner had been thrown into her carefully arranged works.

Until now, protected by the aura of untouchability that seemed to encompass the Lady Rose image, Lydia had never had a problem doing the same.

But then spanners didn’t usually come blessed with smooth olive skin moulded over bone structure that had been a gift from the gene fairies.

It should have made it easier to respond to his smile-if only with an idiotic, puppy-like grin. The reality was that she had to concentrate very hard to keep the drool in check, her hand from visibly trembling, her brain from turning to jelly. Speaking at the same time was asking rather a lot, but it certainly helped take her mind off the fact that the aircraft was taxiing slowly to the runway in preparation for the nasty business of launching her into thin air. She normally took something to calm her nerves before holiday flights but hadn’t dared risk it today.

Fortunately, ten years of ‘being’ Lady Rose came to her rescue. The moves were so ingrained that they had become automatic and instinct kicked in and overrode the urge to leap into his lap and lick his face.

‘It would seem that you’ve drawn the short straw, Mr al-Zaki,’ she said, kicking the ‘puppy’ into touch and belatedly extending her hand across the aisle.

‘The short straw?’ he asked, taking it in his own firm grip with just the smallest hint of a frown.

‘I imagine you have a dozen better things to do than…’ she raised the letter an inch or two ‘…show me the sights.’

‘On the contrary, madam,’ he replied formally, ‘I can assure you that I had to fight off the competition.’