Promised to a Sheik (3 page)

“They're fine.” She picked up her wineglass once again and took another sip.

“And your sister?”

“She's okay. She's visiting friends in Paris.”

He noticed her hand trembled slightly as she set her wineglass back on the table.

She was nervous. The realization surprised him. And yet, when he thought about it he shouldn't be surprised. Although they had corresponded frequently, had shared intimate thoughts and dreams in letters, a paper relationship was far different from a personal one.

In truth, he was a bit nervous himself. He had made up his mind that she was the woman for him; he was tired of the bachelor game and was ready to be a one-woman man. But he wasn't certain she would accept his marriage proposal. The thought that she might not was simply unacceptable.

Still, he knew the worst thing he could do was rush her. Women were such funny creatures, so driven by emotion. Despite his impatience to see this matter taken care of, he knew he needed to proceed slowly.

“I was surprised to see so many changes here in Mission Creek since my last visit,” he said.

She laughed, and his breath caught in his throat at the musical sound. “The locals are always moaning about the fact that nothing much changes in Mission Creek.”

“Perhaps the changes here have been so slow in coming that people haven't noticed them, unlike the changes taking place in Gaspar.”

She tilted her head, her eyes filled with curiosity. “What's been happening in Gaspar?”

“We have become an extremely wealthy country with the discovery of so many oil fields. And with wealth comes progress.”

“But isn't progress good?”

How the candlelight loved her features, he thought. The warm glow fired her emerald eyes with brilliance, complemented her smooth, creamy complexion and emphasized the enchanting beauty mark near her lush lips.

Her beauty had captivated him the night they had first met. He would have staked his claim on her then, but at twenty-one she'd been too young to take on the responsibilities that came with being his wife. And in truth, at that time he'd not been ready to settle down to his own responsibilities.

“Omar?”

He started, realizing he'd been staring at her and hadn't answered her question. “Certainly progress can be a good thing, as long as it is balanced with some of the old traditions and values of the country. There have been some tensions between the people in Gaspar—the ones who want to cling solely to the
old ways and the ones who are eager to embrace everything new. In the months and years ahead I hope to herald in a new era—a healthy combination of both.”

“In one of your letters, you mentioned that it was your hope that no child of Gaspar would ever go to sleep hungry.”

He was touched that she remembered what he had written to her in one of his early letters. “Yes, the social services programs are coming along very well. Most of the people of Gaspar are prospering, but I guess there are always poor people in every country.”

The arrival of their dinner interrupted anything more he was going to say. For the next few minutes they spoke of their favorite foods and the different cities where they had enjoyed good meals.

That led naturally into a discussion of the places they had visited around the world, although Omar confessed that he didn't particularly care to travel but preferred remaining in Gaspar.

“In fact, this trip will have to be relatively brief, as I am in negotiations with several countries concerning the sale of our oil,” he said, once their plates had been taken away and they were lingering over coffee. “But enough about all that. I want to hear about you.”

“I'm afraid if all we talk about is my life, you'll find the conversation dreadfully dull,” she said.

He found her self-deprecation enchanting. A woman as vital, as bold as he remembered her to be
could never be boring. “On the contrary,” he said. “I find everything about you utterly fascinating.”

The blush that covered her cheeks both surprised and delighted him.

“And I find you almost overwhelmingly charming,” she murmured.

He laughed, then leaned forward, his gaze holding hers intently. “Good. I want to overwhelm you, romance you and seduce you into agreeing to be my wife.”

A tiny frown crossed her brow. “Surely there are lots of women in Gaspar who would desire to marry you,” she replied.

He nodded and grinned. “Hundreds.” His grin faded and he replied more seriously, “But none of them has managed to capture my heart the way you have done.”

Her green eyes danced teasingly. “You've been described as a tough but wise ruler, and a ruthless, fickle ladies' man.”

“Ah, you've been reading the press. Don't you know you aren't supposed to believe everything you read?” He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his.

She had small, dainty hands with fingernails painted a delicate pink. Her fingers were cool, but warmed quickly with the contact.

“Elizabeth, I confess that I have been something of a ladies' man in the past. I was seeking the perfect woman—a woman intelligent enough to sit at my side and help me achieve my goals for my country, a
woman sensitive enough to tune in to the needs of my people. And a woman passionate enough to match my own passionate nature. I believe I have found that woman in you.”

“Omar, you can't know that for sure. We hardly know each other,” she protested. She attempted to pull her hand back, but he held fast.

“I know of your intelligence and sensitivity through the letters we have exchanged. And I know of your passionate nature simply by looking into your eyes.” With his free hand he fumbled in his breast pocket and withdrew the ring case that had been resting there.

Her eyes widened at the sight of it, but she said nothing.

“Elizabeth, you captured my fancy six years ago when I first met you, and you've never been far from my mind. In the past year of our correspondence, I've only grown more certain that you are the woman I want for my wife.”

He released her hand to open the ring box. She gasped as the ring was exposed. It was a replica of his own ring, only smaller. A large flawless emerald with brilliant diamonds sparkling around the perimeter.

“I had this made especially for you after much thought about what kind of gemstone was right for you. I chose the emerald because it reminds me of how your eyes sparkled and danced on the night of the cotillion so long ago.”

“It's stunning,” she said softly.

He took her hand in his once again. “No, it will only really be stunning when you're wearing it.” He slid the ring onto her finger, pleased that it seemed to be a perfect fit.

“Omar…I'm really not sure—”

He held up a hand to still her. He didn't want to hear what she was about to say. “Please, Elizabeth, wear the ring. Don't deny me the pleasure of seeing it on your hand. We can discuss our future in the days to come. But for now, wear the ring.”

He could see her hesitation. She frowned and looked down at the ring for a moment. Finally she gazed at him. “All right,” she said. “I'll wear it for now, but I'm not making any promises. I need some time. This has all been an enormous surprise.”

At that moment Rashad entered the dining room. “I am sorry to disturb you,” he said apologetically. He turned to address Omar. “There is a phone call for you. It concerns the negotiations with Cyprus.”

Omar frowned, knowing the oil negotiations were too important to dismiss. As Rashad left the room, Omar stood. “I fear I must take this call, and I don't know how long it might last. Please feel free to finish your coffee or order dessert. Then the car will take you back home.”

“No, I'm ready to leave, as well,” she said. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin, then stood, and together they walked to the door.

He started to open the door, then changed his mind and turned back to her. “There's just one thing before you go,” he said.

“What?”

He gave her no opportunity to anticipate him. In one swift moment he gathered her into his arms and claimed her lips with his.

She stiffened briefly, then relaxed against him, giving herself to his kiss in a response that electrified him.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough for him to taste the heat of her sweet lips and the passion that he'd sensed resided inside her. It was enough for him to know that he wanted this woman more than he'd wanted a woman in a very long time.

When he released her, she looked slightly dazed, and he ran a thumb down her smooth cheek. “I want you as my wife, Elizabeth, and I am a man accustomed to getting what I want. And now Rashad will see you home.”

Without waiting for her reply, he opened the door and strode out.

“T
ell me all about it,” Fiona demanded.

It was just after nine, and Cara had been sitting at her kitchen table having a cup of tea when the phone rang for the second time that morning.

“Tell you about what?” she asked teasingly.

“You know what I'm talking about,” Fiona exclaimed. Her impatience was obvious, all the way from Paris. “Arabian nights…magic carpets. What I really want to know is if you rubbed Aladdin's lamp?”

“Elizabeth Fiona!” Cara exclaimed, then smiled as she heard her sister's wicked giggle. “And the answer to your ridiculous question is no.”

“Ah, too bad. But, seriously, did you have a good time with him?”

Cara looked down at the ring on her finger, noting how the morning sunshine streaking through her windows played on the diamonds and made the emerald shine as if filled with brilliant green Christmas lights.

“I had a wonderful time,” she replied.

“Where did he take you for lunch?”

“A private dining room at the Brighton. He had
the entire room filled with flowers, Fiona. He remembered I'd written that I loved flowers.”

“Hmm, too bad you didn't write that you loved diamonds.”

Again Cara looked down at the ring, a ring she was wearing under false pretenses. Not only was she not the woman he thought she was, but she also had no intention of marrying him.

“So, did you tell him the truth? Did you confess your identity?”

“Not yet, although I intend to when I see him today.”

“So, you're seeing him again today?”

Cara got up from the table and placed the teakettle on the stove top to heat for another cup of tea. “Yes. He called me first thing this morning and told me he'd like me to take him sightseeing.”

“Sightseeing in Mission Creek? What's there to see besides cattle?”

“That's exactly what Omar wants to see,” Cara explained. “He'd like me to show him around the ranch.”

“Sounds wonderfully boring,” Fiona replied.

“It won't be boring. Not with Omar there.”

There was a long pause. “It sounds like you like him, Cara. Are you sure you really want to tell him the truth today?”

Cara sighed. “No, I don't want to tell him the truth today, and yes, I do like him.” She thought of that kiss…the kiss that had rocked her to her very core. “I like him a lot.”

“Then, don't be in such a big hurry to tell him the truth. It's not like you're breaking any law, Cara. You can even borrow some of my clothes, if you want to keep up the pretense until the sheik goes back home.”

“Thanks. I'll think about it,” Cara replied, although she had no intention of continuing the fabrication.

“Well, sis, I've got to run. I'm meeting some friends in just a little while. I'll keep in touch to see how this little drama plays out.”

The two sisters said their goodbyes, then Cara hung up. She had to tell Omar the truth. Spending time with him the day before had been wonderful. And that kiss…oh, that kiss. Although it had been far too brief, Cara had never been kissed so thoroughly.

Even now, thinking of his lips on hers, remembering the mastery of those strong yet gentle lips, heat swirled inside her, making her almost light-headed.

A shrill whistle pulled her from her thoughts, and she quickly moved the shrieking teakettle off the burner and poured the water into her waiting cup.

She had to tell him the truth. It wasn't fair to keep fooling him. She carried her cup to the table and sank down once again. But was it so awful to wait another day or two?

After all, several times the day before he'd mentioned something about her letters. He'd told her that he'd seen her intelligence and sensitivity in those written pages. And those letters he'd referred to had been written by her, not by Fiona.

What was the harm in waiting just another couple
of days, spending a little more time with him and making him realize she—Elizabeth Cara Carson—was the woman he wanted, the woman he needed as his wife?

Frowning, she took a sip of her tea. What was she thinking? It wasn't as if she actually wanted to marry Omar. She just wanted to be the woman
he wanted
to marry.

She finished her tea, then decided to take advantage of Fiona's generous offer to loan her clothes. Cara suddenly had a desire to be more colorful, more stylish, more exciting for Omar, and she certainly wasn't going to find anything suitable in her own closet.

She rinsed her cup and put it in the dishwasher, then left the cottage and headed for the big house.

It was a beautiful November day: The sun was bright and the temperature was a moderate seventy degrees. The climate, the foliage and the ranch animals were all as familiar to Cara as her own heartbeat.

She'd been born here on the Carson ranch and raised by her parents, Grace and Ford. For all her twenty-seven years she'd been completely happy here. She'd been surrounded not only by the love of her family, but also by the beautiful land that had made them prosperous.

But in the past year she'd felt a growing, vague sense of dissatisfaction, a dissatisfaction that had exploded into utter unhappiness three days before the last school year ended.

She hungered for something new…something dif
ferent. She was tired of Texas and the predictable life she had built for herself.

She entered the house, grateful that she didn't encounter anyone as she made her way up the stairway and toward Fiona's suite of rooms.

It was obvious that Fiona had packed in a hurry for her impromptu trip to Paris. Clothes were strewn on top of the unmade bed and across a chair, and Cara knew it wouldn't be long before one of the maids came in to make sense out of the disorder her sister had left behind.

She went directly to the huge walk-in closet and eyed the selection. There was no doubt about it, Fiona was a clotheshorse. Formals, tea-length dresses, riding habits and sportswear—she had clothing for every occasion imaginable.

It took Cara only a few minutes to choose several casual outfits and two more formal dresses; then, with the clothing in her arms, she headed out of the bedroom.

“Fiona?”

Her mother's familiar voice stopped Cara in her tracks. She turned, and her mother smiled.

“Oh, Cara, it's you. I thought for a moment your sister had cut short her trip.”

“No, I just decided to borrow a few of her things. She called me this morning and told me it would be all right for me to wear some of her clothes.”

Grace Carson looked far too young to be the mother not only of twenty-seven-year-old twins, but
also the mother of two strapping sons in their thirties, Matt and Flynt.

She now eyed her daughter curiously. “I've never known you to be particularly interested in borrowing your sister's clothing,” she observed.

“I just felt like something different…something a little more colorful, a little more stylish than what I normally wear.”

Grace held Cara's gaze and crossed her arms over her plump chest. “Does this have anything to do with the male species? Usually when a woman has her hair restyled or buys new clothes, it means a new man in her life.”

Cara hesitated. “It's Sheik Omar Al Abdar,” she blurted out, as a blush heated her cheeks. “I hadn't mentioned it before, but for the past year he and I have been writing each other. He arrived in town yesterday to see me.”

Grace smiled. “That's wonderful, dear. You spend far too much time cooped up in that cottage. Be sure to bring him around to see your father and me. We'll show him some of our famous Texan hospitality.”

“Mother…” Cara began. “The sheik…he's very formal. He calls me Elizabeth, and I would appreciate it if you and Daddy would call me Elizabeth when you're in his presence.”

A frown tugged at Grace's plump, pretty features, and once again she studied Cara. “I'm not going to ask questions, Cara. You're an adult and I trust your judgment, but…”

She
knew.
Somehow Cara's mother knew some
thing wasn't quite right. “Everything is fine,” Cara assured her. “I know what I'm doing.”

Of course, I really have no idea what I'm doing,
Cara thought a moment later as she left the main house and headed back to her cottage.

All she knew was that somehow she'd already made the decision to give herself more time… Just a little more time. Then she'd tell Omar the truth.

 

Omar handed Rashad his suit jacket just before he and Elizabeth were set to take off for their walk around Carson Ranch.

It was just after noon and the sun overhead was bright and beat warmly on his broad shoulders, but he noticed only how it played in her hair, teasing out impish tones of red and gold in the dark brown strands.

“Rashad will wait here with the car where there is a phone,” he said to her, then frowned apologetically. “I'm afraid that my negotiations are at a crisis stage and I cannot be away from a phone for too long.”

Elizabeth nodded and smiled at Omar's aide. “Rashad, if you or the others get thirsty or anything, please feel free to go into the cottage and help yourself.” The “others” were the driver of the car and two bodyguards.

Rashad gave a formal bow. “Your hospitality is most appreciated, but I will be fine here.”

“Shall we begin the tour?” Omar asked as he took her hand in his. He smiled at her. “Although I would
be just as content to stand here and look at you all day long. You look like a piece of sunshine.”

He was granted one of her beautiful smiles. “Thank you,” she replied.

It was true. Wearing yellow slacks and a matching blouse, she looked beautifully vibrant. The bright color emphasized the richness of her dark hair, and the cut of the clothes complemented her shapeliness.

“I don't wear yellow very often,” she explained as they began walking away from her cottage.

“You should. It becomes you. I'll see to it that you have a dozen outfits in that color when we are married.”

Her eyes seemed to flirt with him as she cast him a sideways glance. “You're very sure of yourself, considering the fact that I haven't agreed to marry you yet.”

“Ah, but you will.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “I will see to it that you find me utterly irresistible. There are women in Gaspar that find me so.”

She eyed him again, her eyes twinkling. “Perhaps they have lower standards than I do.”

He laughed, delighted that she could not only meet his wit, but challenge it, as well. “Then, for you, I will simply try harder.”

As they walked toward the outbuildings in the distance, Elizabeth shot a quick glance behind them. “Do they go everywhere that you do?” she asked.

He knew she was speaking of the bodyguards who followed behind them at a discreet distance. “I am only without them when I am in my private quarters
in Gaspar. That is one of the things you would have to become accustomed to as my wife—the presence of guards in your life.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I'm sure life in Gaspar would be far different from life here in Texas.” She pulled her hand from his in order to open a gate that led to a pasture.

As they walked through the lush green grass dotted with wildflowers, she shared with him some of the history of the ranch.

He listened with interest as she explained to him about Big Bill Carson and J. P. Wainwright, who had met on a cattle-buying trip in 1898 and become good friends. In 1923 the two families had founded the Lone Star Country Club.

When the large herd of cattle came into view, Omar was surprised at how knowledgeable she was about the breeding, buying and selling process.

While he found the conversation interesting, far more fascinating to him were the expressions on her lovely face as she spoke. She had a face made for storytelling, expressive and animated. It was easy for him to imagine her entertaining their children with stories of her days in the faraway land of Texas.

“I'll bet you were a wonderful teacher,” he said, as they paused to rest for a few minutes in the shade of a small grove of trees.

“Why do you say that?” She leaned with her back against a tree trunk.

Omar stood directly in front of her and braced himself with a hand on the trunk next to her head. “Your
face lights up when you speak of things you care about. You must have generated a lot of enthusiasm among your students.”

“I liked teaching.” Shadows momentarily doused the light in her eyes.

He fought the impulse to reach out and stroke the shiny length of her hair. Instead he eyed her curiously. “You never told me why you decided to take some time off from your teaching position.”

A frown creased her delicate forehead, and she gazed off into the distance. When she finally looked at him once again, the shadows in her eyes were deeper, darker.

“It was three days before the end of the school year,” she finally said. “The bell had just rung for the end of the last class of the day, and the students were all leaving the building. I was gathering up my things, also getting ready to head home, when Donny Albright burst into my room.”

She paused, and once again looked off into the distance. “And who is Donny Albright?” Omar asked.

She sighed, a deep, tremulous sigh that made Omar want to sweep her up into his arms and hold her against his chest. At the moment she looked achingly vulnerable.

“He was a senior, a troubled young man. But until that day none of us realized just how troubled he was.” She reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, when he came into the room, he was distraught, crying and yelling so that I couldn't understand what was wrong. I finally man
aged to get out of him that he'd failed his math class and wasn't going to graduate.”

She pushed herself away from the tree trunk and gestured to Omar that she wanted to walk once again. He grabbed one of her hands, surprised to find it bone cold and trembling slightly. “What happened?”