Cinderella and the Sheikh

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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.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘I think your sympathy should be reserved for the people he is to leave behind.’

Pollyanna clutched at her scarf as it threatened to slide off her head. ‘That’s what I meant. It’s incredibly hard to lose a parent.’ Then, ‘Are you sure this is the right time to have visitors like us? We would be perfectly comfortable at the hotel. And we only mean to stay in Samaah for a couple of nights.’

‘I’m aware.’

‘Wouldn’t you rather be with your family?’

‘If I’m needed I will be called.’

He watched her hesitate and then bite back whatever observation she had been tempted to make. That was just as well. He’d given more away in that single sentence than he’d intended.

Her perfume, light but exotic, swirled around him like a wisp of smoke. It seemed to drug his mind, pull truths from his lips he’d prefer left unsaid. And the truth was she was probably right. This wasn’t the best time to have visitors in his home.

And certainly not this one.

Despite the dossier he’d read on Miss Pollyanna Anderson he remained uncertain of her motives in coming here. And, until he was, he’d every intention of controlling everything about her visit.

‘Your family is well?’

Her blue eyes widened slightly. ‘My mother’s well enough.’

‘And your brothers?’

‘I don’t have any brothers.’

It was very convincing. Yet she presumably chose to live in the home of her mother’s stepson, a man he knew for a liar and a cheat, because she wanted to.