Her Desert Dream

Or not. According to Princess Lucy, it was up to her.

While she’d urged Rose to allow him to show her the sights, she’d made it clear that if she preferred to be alone then Kal would not intrude.

Not intrude?

What had the woman been thinking?

Hadn’t she looked at him?

Anyone with half a brain could see that he wouldn’t have to do a damn thing. One smile, one touch of his hand and he was already indelibly imprinted on her brain. In her head for ever more.

Intrusion squared.

In fact, if she didn’t know better, she might be tempted to think that the Princess had planned a holiday romance as a little treat for her friend.

The idea was, of course, patently absurd.

Not that she didn’t deserve a romance. A dark-eyed prince with a killer smile who’d sweep her off her feet.

No one deserved a little fun more than Rose, but anyone who knew her would understand just how impossible a casual, throwaway romance would be for her. And that was the essence of a holiday romance. Casual. Something out of time that had nothing to do with real life. That you left behind when you went home.

Anyone who truly cared for her would understand that.

Wouldn’t they?

About to remove the pin that fastened the tiny hat to her chignon, she paused, sank onto the edge of the bed as a phrase in Lucy’s letter came back to her.

Don’t give Rupert a single thought…

She and Lucy were in total agreement on that one. Rose’s grandfather, the newspapers, even the masses out there who thought they knew her, might be clamouring for an engagement, but she’d seen the two of them together. There was absolutely no chemistry, no connection.

Rose had made a joke about it, but Lydia hadn’t been fooled for a second. She’d seen the desperation in her face and anyone who truly cared for her would want to save her from sleepwalking into such a marriage simply because it suited so many people.

Could Princess Lucy have hoped that if she put Rose and Kalil together the sparks would fly of their own accord without any need to stoke the fire? No doubt about it, a week being flirted with by Kal al-Zaki would have been just the thing to bring the colour back into Rose’s cheeks.

Or was it all less complicated than that?

Was Lucy simply relying on the ever-attendant paparazzi, seeing two young people alone in a perfect setting, to put one and one together and make it into a front page story that would make them a fortune?

Who cared whether it was true?

Excellent plan, Lucy, she thought, warming to the woman despite the problems she’d caused.

There was only one thing wrong with it. Lady Rose had taken matters into her own hands and was, even now- in borrowed clothes, a borrowed car-embarking on an adventure of her own, safe in the knowledge that no one realised she’d escaped. That she could do what she liked while the world watched her lookalike.

Of course there was nothing to stop her from making it happen, she thought as she finally removed the hat and jewellery she was wearing. Kicked off her shoes and slipped out of the suit.

All it would take would be a look. A touch. He wasn’t averse to touching.

She began to pull pins from her hair, absently divesting herself of the Lady Rose persona, just as she did at the end of every gig.

And she wouldn’t be the victim this time. She would be the one in control, watching as the biter was, for once, bit.

Then, as her hair tumbled down, bringing her out of a reverie in which Kal touched her hand, then her face, her neck, his lips following a trail blazed by his fingers she let slip a word that Rose had probably never heard, let alone used.

It had taken an age to put her hair up like that and, unlike Rose, she didn’t have a maid to help.

Just what she deserved for letting her fantasy run away with her. There was no way she was going to do anything that would embarrass Rose. Her part was written and she’d stick to it.

She began to gather the pins, but then realised that just because Rose never appeared in photographs other than with her hair up, it didn’t mean that when she shut the door on the world at the end of the day-or embarked on an eight-hour flight-she’d wouldn’t wear it loose.

She was, after all, supposed to be on holiday. And who, after all, knew what she did, said, wore, when she was behind closed doors?

Not Kalil al-Zaki, that was for sure.

And that was the answer to the ‘keeping up appearances’ problem, she realised.

Instead of trying to remember that she was Lady Rose for the next seven days, she would just be herself. She’d already made a pretty good start with the kind of lippy responses that regulars on her checkout at the supermarket would recognise.

And being herself would help with the ‘lust’ problem, too.

For as long as she could remember, she’d been fending off the advances of first boys, then men who, when they looked at her, had seen only the ‘virgin’ princess and wanted to either worship or ravish her.

It had taken her a little while to work that one out but, once she had, she’d had no trouble keeping them at arm’s length, apart from the near miss with the actor, but then he’d been paid to be convincing. And patient. It was a pity he’d only, in the end, had an audience of one because he’d put in an Oscar-winning performance.

Kal, despite the way he looked, was just another man flirting with Lady Rose. That was all she had to remember, she told herself as she shook out her hair, brushed it, before she freshened up and put on the clothes Rose had chosen for her.

So which would he be? Worshipper or ravisher?

Good question, she thought as she added a simple gold chain and stud earrings before checking her reflection in a full length mirror.

It wasn’t quite her-she tended to favour jeans and funky tops. It wasn’t quite Lady Rose either, but it was close enough for someone who’d never met either of them, she decided as she chose a book, faced the door and took a slow, calming breath before returning to the main cabin.

In her absence the seats had been turned around, the cabin reconfigured so that it now resembled a comfortable sitting room.

An empty sitting room.

CHAPTER THREE

HAVING screwed herself up to be ‘relaxed’, the empty cabin was something of a let-down, but a table had been laid with a lace cloth and, no sooner than she’d settled herself and opened her book, Atiya arrived to serve afternoon tea.

Finger sandwiches, warm scones, clotted cream, tiny cakes and tea served from a heavy silver pot.

‘Is all this just for me?’ she asked when she poured only one cup and Kal had still not reappeared.

She hadn’t wanted his company, but now he’d disappeared she felt affronted on Lady Rose’s behalf. He was supposed to be here, keeping her safe from harm.

‘Captain Jacobs invited Mr al-Zaki to visit the crew on the flight deck,’ Atiya said. ‘Apparently they did their basic training together.’

‘Training?’ It took her a moment. ‘He’s a pilot?’

Okay. She hadn’t for a minute believed that he was bothered by the take-off, but she hadn’t seen that coming. A suitable career for a nephew of an Emir wasn’t a subject that had ever crossed her mind, but working as a commercial airline pilot wouldn’t have been on her list even if she had. Maybe it had been military training.