The Sheikh and the Surrogate Mum Read Online Free PDF Page A

but I promise you it will be a fitting memorial to them and be something you’ll be proud of.’
    Then, feeling utterly stupid, she removed her hand and tucked it in her lap lest it be tempted to touch him again.
    This time the silence between them went beyond awkward and, aware she’d overstepped a boundary of some kind, Liz had no idea how to ease the tension. She leaned forward, intending to take a drink from the cabinet—but as she’d already pointed out, spilling fizzy orange soda all over the seat and undoubtedly splashing her new boss probably wasn’t the answer.
    Instead, she pulled one of the information leaflets he’d given her from her capacious handbag and settled back into the corner to read it. If he wanted the silence broken, let him break it.
    He didn’t, and, determined not to start blithering again, she refused to comment when the car sailed past the wide road that led to the international air terminal. Sailed past the road to the domestic one as well, then turned into another road that led to high wire fences and a gate guarded by a man in a security uniform.
    To Liz’s surprise, the man at the gate saluted as the gates swung open, and the limo took them out across wide tarmac to stop beside a very large plane, its sleek lines emphasised by the streaks and swirls of black and gold paint on its side. It took her a moment to recognise the decoration as Arabic script and she could be silent no longer.
    ‘What does it say?’ she asked, totally enthralled by the flowing lines, the curves and squiggles.
    ‘Najme,’ her host replied, and before she could ask more, he was out of the limo and speaking to some kind of official who waited at the bottom of the steps.
    The driver opened the door on Liz’s side and she slid out, not as elegantly as her companion had but, thankfully, without falling flat on her face.
    ‘This gentleman will stamp your passport and one of my pilots will check your luggage,’ Khalifa told her, all business now. ‘It is a precaution he has to take, I’m sure you understand.’
    Totally out of her depth, Liz just nodded, grateful really that she had no decisions to make. She handed over her passport, then hovered near the bottom of the steps until a young man came down and invited her inside.
    ‘Khalifa will bring your passport and the pilot will put your luggage on board,’ he told her. ‘I am Saif, Khalifa’s assistant. On flights I act as steward. He prefers not to have strangers around.’
    Liz smiled to herself, certain the young man had no idea just how much he’d told her about his master. But there was no time to dwell on these little details for she’d reached the top of the steps, and entered what seemed like another world.
    There was nothing flashy about the interior of the plane, just opulent comfort, with wide, well-padded armchairs in off-white leather, colourful cushions stacked on them, and more, larger, flat cushions on the floor near the walls of the aircraft. A faint perfume hung in the air, something she couldn’t place—too delicate to be musk, more roses with a hint of citrus.
    ‘Sit here,’ Saif said, then he waited until she sank obediently into one of the armchairs before showing her where the seat belt was and how a small table swung out from beside the chair and a monitor screen opened up on it.
    ‘You will find a list of the movies and other programmes in the book in the pocket on the other side of the chair, and you can use your laptop once we’re in the air. Press this button if there’s anything you require and I will do my best to help you.’
    Saif turned away, and Liz realised Khalifa had entered the plane. He came towards her, enquired politely about her comfort, handed back her passport then took the chair on the other side of the plane.
    ‘All this space to carry two people?’ she asked, unable to stop herself revealing her wonder in the experience.
    ‘It can be transformed into many configurations,’ Khalifa replied. ‘The