AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m not used to packing in such a hurry,” she responded, shooting him daggers. God, she felt like a mess. Her braid was coming loose, strands of hair were plastered to her face which was perspiring a little as anxiety and heat combined to make her feel truly yucky.
“Perhaps your handbag?” He prompted, nodding towards the Louis Vuitton satchel Cass had given her last Christmas.
Of course! She reached inside and pulled it out triumphantly, handing it over to the airport customs officer. He took it without cracking a smile, something which, ridiculously, was enough to make her feel one step closer to letting a full-blown rant rip.
But she held onto her temper, barely. They were almost on board, and soon, she’d be back in America, in her own home, with her beloved cat Minky. And Rafiq would be Cassandra’s problem.
“After you, Emma,” he sighed impatiently, waiting for her to walk up the narrow staircase ahead of him. She must have walked millions of staircases in her life, but knowing he was right behind her made her wobbly. She would have missed her step right at the top were it not for his firm hand around her waist.
He swore under his breath and the look he shot her could have killed. “You are the most impossibly clumsy woman I have ever known.”
She clamped down on her lip. She wasn’t one to complain, but his high-handed manner was wearing thin. “I’m hot, and tired,” she said honestly. She stepped inside the plan and was so awe-struck by the sheer opulence of its interior that she didn’t notice the way his expression turned contemplative.
Emma had surprised him with her statement. He was usually more considerate of his guests’ needs. Something about this woman seemed to rob him of his manners. Worse, he found himself thinking of very little but what she would be like, naked, in his bed. It was a line of thought far more appropriate to Mansour; Rafiq knew better than to allow his physical desires to control his behavior. He dropped his arm from around her waist and spoke in Arabic to one of the flight attendants. A few words and he had organized everything that would make her more comfortable.
“Emma, I apologize for not accommodating your needs better. Fatima will take you to a room where you will find some refreshments, and where you can change into something more comfortable. We have a few minutes before take-off only; I’m sure you can appreciate that I am eager to be underway.”
She followed the designated staff member through the plane – if it could even be called that! It was more of a luxury apartment with wings. The kind of lounge furniture that would be at home in a six star resort was angled towards a gigantic cinema screen. A dining table made of polished wood and decorated with lavish arrangements of flowers (she noted on closer inspection as she passed that they were screwed to the table), and carpet so plush that she wanted to lie down and go to sleep on it. Oh, how the other half lived, she thought with a wry twist of her lips. If nothing else, her sister’s little escapade had given her this insight which she could spin into several books. It was all grist to the mill for a writer like Emma Anderson.
The room Fatima led her to was as overwhelmingly grandiose as the rest of the plane. An enormous bed made up the centre, but there was lounge furniture in here too.
“Sheikh Rafiq and his family travel often. The plane must be comfortable.” Fatima, in an uncharacteristic gesture, spoke without having been addressed, sensing the pale American woman’s hesitation.
“This is beyond comfortable, don’t you think?”
Fatima’s smile was indulgent. “Do not forget, this is a royal craft.”
“Mmm.” Having seen his yacht, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised, but she couldn’t help but wonder: at what point did these trappings cease to seem impressive? When did they become ordinary?
“Fatima, can I ask you something?” She colored, realizing she might be putting the other woman in a difficult position. “I don’t want to get you in trouble…”
“My job is to take care of the Sheikhs’ guests. If you have a question, I am here to answer it.”
“Did you know my sister? Did she ever fly on here? Or perhaps you met her elsewhere?” She reached into her pocket while she spoke and pulled her phone out, loading up the same picture she’d shown Rafiq only hours earlier.
“Ah, yes! Miss Cassandra is your sister?”
Emma let out a huge smile. “Yes! And… did she seem happy when she was with you?” Emma was, in all honesty, finding it hard to envisage how the bombastic man she’d come to know could make anyone happy, least of all her flighty, free-spirited, irresponsible twin.
“Miss Cassandra and the Sheikh were very happy together, yes.”
Emma knew enough of her treacherous feelings of longing to know that, while that might have been the answer she should have wanted, it wasn’t. Beneath them, the plane whirred to life and the sound of the engines spinning rushed through the cabin.
“You must hurry if you would like to change. The pilot will wait until you are seated to take off but you know that His Highness does not like to be kept waiting.” As she spoke, she pointed towards a concealed doorway across the room.
Emma nodded, anxious again, as she crossed the room and looked inside. There were a couple of different outfits but they were all traditional Amar’an clothes. Beautiful and bright, silk gowns, and harem pants (Oh, God! What she would call harem pants, because that’s what Vogue called harem pants. She hoped the Sheikh didn’t have an actual harem at his disposal!), all stunningly embellished with jewels which, given her surroundings, she thought might have been actual gemstones rather than the stick on kind.
Remembering Fatima’s warning, she stripped out of her suit in record timing and pulled on the turquoise outfit. She had always loved the color. Her mother, in between reiki sessions and juicing wheatgrass, had told her that the way she was drawn to turquoise could be explained by her open personality and emotionally simplistic aura.
Well, not today, mum, she said with a heaven-ward glance. Her emotions were anything but simple, and yet she still gravitated towards the color.
Anyone less spiritually inclined would have told Emma that the reason she had always loved turquoise was because it perfectly flattered her complexion. Her eyes, a stunning shade of blue, looked like tropical lagoons when compared to the fabric, and with her red hair and fair skin, the dress transformed her into a Titian goddess.
She grabbed a bottle of water from the small fridge and then pushed out of the bedroom, looking around for where she should sit.
The cabin was empty, except for the Sheikh.
She swallowed convulsively as the full force of his attraction hit her between the eyes. She dithered for a moment, wondering if she was supposed to join him.
