NATASHA OAKLEY – Cinderella and the Sheikh (страница 7)

‘Please. This way.’

Polly looked over her shoulder in time to see Pete duck down into the third car. Graham was anxiously watching their expensive equipment safely stowed away, and John, Baz and Steve had already vanished.

‘Miss Anderson,’ Ali said, indicating the second car. As she moved towards it the door was held open. Disorientated, she meekly did what was wanted, only hesitating when she realised there was a man already inside. A man she recognised.

‘You?’ she said foolishly.

Rashid Al Baha’s blue eyes met hers. ‘As you see.’

‘I—I wasn’t expecting to see… I mean…’ Oh, hell! Polly pulled at the scarf covering her blond hair in what she recognised was a nervous gesture. ‘Were you supposed to be meeting us? I’m sure we weren’t told—’

His eyes seemed to dance. ‘This is a spontaneous gesture of hospitality. There is no way I could have arranged my timetable today to coincide with yours.’

‘Oh.’ And then, rather belatedly, ‘Thank you.’

‘Afwan.’

You’re welcome, she mentally translated, foolishly pleased the hours she’d spent poring over her phrase book were paying dividends. ‘Are you sure we’re allowed to be travelling together?’

Rashid settled himself more comfortably in his seat, resting his head back on the rest. ‘You have an inaccurate view of my country.’

‘I merely wondered whether it was appropriate with you being a member of the royal family.’

‘Ah.’ He turned his head so that he could look at her. ‘I think you’ll find that, as a member of the royal family, I’m permitted to do as I choose.’

Polly wasn’t sure what to answer. Her explanation hadn’t been true either, because she had wondered whether it was usual for a woman to travel alone in a private car with an Amrahi man who wasn’t a family member. And it seemed Rashid was totally aware of that. His blue eyes were still glinting. Teasing.

Well, if he didn’t care, why should she? This wasn’t her country. She deliberately concentrated on fastening her seat belt. With the door shut and the tinted windows closed the atmosphere was pleasantly cool. Polly sighed and settled back into the softest leather seat she’d ever sat in. Soft as butter. She let her fingers rest on the suppleness of it and tried not to think how close Rashid Al Baha was to her. Or how much he unnerved her.

And he really did unnerve her. On every level there was. This close she could feel him breathe, strong and even. It seemed to pulse through her. As did her awareness of his taut body, thighs slightly apart and feet firmly planted against the sway of the car.

‘You’ve just returned from a summit, I gather,’ she said in an effort to break the silence.

‘Yes.’

‘D-did it go well?’ Steve’s words of caution came flooding into her mind. Politics was a no-go area. Part of the stipulations Rashid had made was that they didn’t film anything that could be construed as military or politically sensitive. ‘I don’t mean to pry, obviously.’

He said nothing, merely watched her beneath hooded eyes.

‘I still can’t believe I’m really here.’ Polly nervously pleated one end of her scarf. ‘One minute I’m discussing whether we need to take the chandelier in the Great Hall down for cleaning and the next I’m here.’

Not the greatest conversational gambit she’d ever tried, but it was the best she could do. Every sense she had was throbbing with awareness. Every hair on her body standing to attention. She couldn’t remember reacting to a man like this…ever. But then she’d never met a man quite like him.

Polly turned to look out of the tinted car window. Partly because she needed to have something other than Rashid Al Baha to focus on, and partly because she was captivated by what she was glimpsing.

The guidebooks she’d devoured hadn’t really prepared her. She’d come expecting desert and wide blue skies and was confronted by modern glass, steel constructions and six-lane motorways.

‘Amrah is a place of great contrasts,’ Rashid said, as though he’d been able to read her thoughts.

‘I had no idea Samaah would be like this. How old a city is it?’

He shifted in his seat, drawing her attention back to him as much by that as his voice. ‘Centuries old, but its current incarnation is only forty. It has become a financial centre and brought a great deal of wealth to the country.’

She’d known that. Only that wasn’t part of Elizabeth Lewis’s story and she’d not focused her attention on what that would mean. ‘Amrah doesn’t have oil, does it?’

‘Some, but the reserves are fast running out.’

Polly turned again to look out of the window. She watched as the buildings sped past, unwilling to miss anything.

If they’d arrived by sea, she knew from guidebooks she’d have been met with fortified ramparts dating back centuries. A testament to its troubled history. But this…was all so newly constructed.

‘Are you disappointed?’

‘Stunned.’

‘We have the camels and the Bedouin tents, too.’ His voice was laced with humour.

Polly turned her head to look at him and smiled. Her first since getting into the car. She settled back into her seat. ‘Do you spend much time in the desert?’

‘Like most of my countrymen I return at least once a year to reconnect myself with my heritage. A tradition, if you will. Something you English seem to understand.’

He said it as if she were a different species. ‘You’re half English.’

‘My mother is English, but I am entirely Arab.’

How did he manage to turn his voice to flint? Polly adjusted her scarf, tucking one end carefully over her shoulder.

‘I’m flattered you have so obviously researched me,’ he continued, his voice slicing through the silence.

Polly glanced up at his calmly arrogant face. Did he honestly think that? That she’d consciously sat down and ‘Googled’ him?

She had. But she’d infinitely prefer it if he didn’t think it. ‘Merely read the magazines in the hairdresser’s,’ she corrected. ‘You’re often featured. Being royalty.’

‘Then I should be the one asking the questions, perhaps.’

‘There’s nothing particularly interesting about me—’ She broke off as she caught sight of the Majan International Hotel. ‘Isn’t that where we’re staying?’

‘There’s been a change.’

Polly looked at him sharply. ‘What kind of change?’

‘I have decided to offer you the hospitality of my home while you are in Samaah. You and your colleagues,’ he added as blandly as though he hadn’t seen her quick glance through the back window to make sure they were still being followed.

She wasn’t particularly reassured. Why was he doing this? He might have given them permission to film here, but even Minty hadn’t imagined he’d wanted them here.

‘Is that a spontaneous decision?’

‘Not at all. How else could I have arranged for cars to be here to meet you?’

Quite. And Polly had the definite feeling very little in Rashid’s life was left to chance.

‘My sister is waiting to receive you. I was to have joined you later.’

His sister?

‘Is it far from the airport?’

‘No.’

Through the window to her left Polly could see they were still flanked by motorcycle outriders. It deflected her interest. ‘Are they necessary?’

‘It is wise.’

‘Because we might be attacked?’

‘Because I might be,’ he returned coolly.

Rashid watched the blond Englishwoman process that. He could sense her uncertainty, see the questions she wanted to ask but felt she couldn’t. For now that suited him perfectly well.

He stretched. ‘It is a minimal threat but a significant one, particularly while there is uncertainty about Amrah’s political future.’

‘I’ve read about that.’ Her blue eyes met his. ‘I was sorry to hear your father’s ill again.’

Just that. No spurious sympathy in her face. He’d spent much of last week receiving condolences from men he knew would be pleased to hear his father had died and one of his more conservative uncles named as successor. Words meant nothing, but her quiet statement felt genuine.

It was that dichotomy again. The difference between what he knew and what he felt. She seemed genuine—but there was no one as plausible as someone who was making it her business to appear so.

‘His doctors have been able to buy him a few months, but I think he will shortly be in paradise.’