The Sheikh and the Virgin

‘Not crazy—perfect!’ Beatrice insisted, punching the air in a triumphant gesture. ‘It can’t fail. And the beauty is that it was his idea, so we’re just going along with it. Take me home with you, Khalid.’

‘What?’

‘I’ll be the fiancée your brother thinks I am, and when you dump me they’ll be so relieved that anyone else you bring home will seem perfect,’ she promised grimly.

And the other beauty of her plan was that she would be able to exact revenge first-hand on the wretched man.

‘She’s serious?’ Khalid said, looking to Emma for confirmation.

‘Totally,’ Beatrice promised them both. She arched a feathery brow and looked at Khalid. ‘Unless you have a better idea?’

‘It’s hard. Family is …’

Hearing the defensive note in her young friend’s voice, Beatrice smiled and admitted readily, ‘Something I know zilch about.’ At times like this that didn’t seem such a bad thing, even though when she was growing up a family and roots had been the only things she’d dreamt of.

‘If we do this crazy thing and it backfires … Tariq realises what we’re up to … it will only make things worse,’ Khalid said, shaking his head.

‘How?’ Emma said in a small voice.

Khalid looked at her.

‘How can it be worse than this?’ she asked in a stricken whisper. ‘Tell me, Khalid, what is worse than sneaking around as though we’re doing something wrong? Not even able to tell my best friend or my family?’

Khalid stood there for a moment and watched the tears sliding down Emma’s pale cheeks. Then he heaved a sigh and turned to Beatrice.

‘You would really do this?’

Beatrice smiled, anticipating her revenge. ‘Absolutely.’

CHAPTER THREE

BEATRICE put a lot of effort into her choice of outfit for her second meeting with Tariq Al Kamal. She was rewarded for her efforts by Khalid’s look of total horror at the lime-green and orange Lycra mini-dress she had squeezed her voluptuous curves into during their plane journey.

‘You’re not seriously going like that?’

‘I was aiming for tacky and tasteless.’ Maybe, she conceded, catching her own reflection, she had gone too far.

‘You achieved it,’ Khalid promised, lifting his eyes from the exposed upper slopes of her breasts and wiping the beads of sweat from his brow.

‘Thank you. I’m just hoping I don’t fall off the heels,’ Beatrice admitted.

‘This is never going to work,’ Khalid groaned suddenly.

‘Not if you go into it with such a defeatist attitude,’ Beatrice agreed. ‘Look, if we’re going to do this we’re going to have to do it properly.’

She had spent most of their journey bolstering Khalid’s flagging resolve, and this fresh crisis of confidence when her own nerves were jangling was not what she needed. She controlled her impulse to tell him to show a little backbone and forced a coaxing smile.

‘I know you think this brother of yours is omnipotent, or something.’

In Beatrice’s opinion he was nothing but a control-freak bully, and she was looking forward to taking him down a peg or two.

‘But the fact is he was the one who thought we were an item …’ She was encouraged to see Khalid smile.

‘Is it always this hot?’ she asked, flexing her shoulderblades to ease the clingy cloth of her dress away from her sticky skin as they crossed to the waiting helicopter.

The heat had hit her like a solid wall as they had left the air-conditioned comfort of the private jet with the royal logo emblazoned on its wings.

‘No, there’s usually a breeze from the mountains. Bea, are you sure you want to do this?’ Khalid asked suddenly.

Beatrice wasn’t, but she knew it was too late to turn back now. ‘I’m looking forward to giving your brother a headache. I was actually wondering if there are any other male relatives other than him I can try and seduce.’

Khalid’s expression grew seriously worried. ‘Look, Bea, I know you think this is some sort of joke, but you can’t play games with Tariq. You’ll get hurt.’

‘I really don’t know why you’re so afraid of this man.’

‘I’m not afraid of him,’ Khalid protested. ‘He’s actually a great person, and I can’t tell you how many times he’s bailed me out of trouble,’ he admitted, looking sheepish. ‘It’s just when he decides something …’ He shrugged. ‘Well, you should understand—you’ve got some pretty strong views too.’

‘Are you saying I’m like your brother?’ Beatrice was appalled at the suggestion she bore any similarity to him.

Khalid grinned. ‘No, you’re much prettier. Now, have you been in a helicopter before?’ he asked as they reached their waiting transport.

‘Never, but I’m always up for a challenge.’

As the helicopter hovered Khalid pointed out the cave homes carved into the same red rockface from which the royal palace rose. It was magnificent, and looked like something a special effects artist had created, Bea thought.

‘They were actually lived in as recently as the sixties,’ he said.

Bea gave up trying not to be impressed.

‘Now,’ Khalid explained, ‘they are preserved—like a sort of museum.’

‘For the tourists?’

‘Tariq,’ he told her earnestly. ‘He thinks it is important to remember where we come from.’

For a split second she felt a stab of envy. It must be nice to know exactly where you came from, to have a place and people you identified with—to have roots. Then she pushed aside the wistful thought. She might not have roots, but at least she had her freedom, and no brother telling her how to live her life.

This wasn’t the first time Khalid had quoted his brother. It seemed to Beatrice that the biggest favour she could do Khalid was to get him out from under his brother’s thumb—though maybe it might not be as easy as she had first thought. It was never easy to break the habit of a lifetime, and thinking his brother’s opinion on any subject was the definitive one was clearly not a recent development.

There was an air-conditioned limo waiting to whisk them the short distance inside the walls of the palace compound, and Beatrice welcomed the luxury and brief respite from the heat.

‘Sir …’

The deferential manner everyone here adopted towards Khalid was going to take a bit of getting used to, Beatrice decided as she waited for this man to finish talking. She didn’t understand a word that was being said, though the manner of both the man and Khalid suggested urgency.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, when the older man bowed low and vanished down the long marble-floored corridor, which resembled the several other marble-floored corridors they had already walked along.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Khalid admitted with a rueful grimace. ‘There’s a problem with the new irrigation project up in the southern desert and they need me. Tariq is waiting.’