Promised to a Sheik (8 page)

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.

He placed one arm beneath her legs and the other around her back, and in one smooth movement stood with her in his arms. “I think it's time to move out of the hot tub,” he said. “Don't you?”

She nodded, as he stood her on her feet next to the tub and grabbed one of the thick white towels that awaited nearby. He began drying her, rubbing the towel briskly over her shoulders.

As he moved the towel down the length of her, he rubbed less briskly and more slowly, sensually, until she didn't feel she was being dried, but rather caressed.

He lingered over her breasts, his eyes holding hers as he gently stroked the towel across her. Her knees weakened as he dried her tummy, then swept the towel first down one leg, then the other.

He threw the towel to the side and started to pick her up once again.

“Not so fast,” she murmured, and reached over to pick up a fresh towel.

She moved to stand behind him and rubbed the towel across the muscled expanse of his naked back. She saw his muscles flex, felt the energy that radiated from him, and thrilled that it was her touch making him so tightly drawn.

As she stroked the towel across his firm buttocks, he tensed even more and his breathing became more
rapid, matching her own. She had never touched a man so intimately, and she found the experience unbelievably thrilling. She had never known her touch had the ability to turn on a man, but it was obvious that was exactly what she was doing to Omar.

She moved to stand in front of him and swiped the towel across his broad chest, then leaned forward and pressed her lips against the place where she knew his heart was beating as frantically as her own.

With a groan of pleasure, he pulled the towel from her hands and tossed it to the floor. “I think perhaps we should change and have a bite to eat.”

His voice was almost guttural, and his eyes glittered with a passion that nearly stole her breath away.

He smiled and touched her lips with the tip of his finger. “If we continue like this, we will be finished almost before we begin. I don't want the first time we make love to be fast and frantic.” He removed his finger from her lips. “Why don't you get into something dry, and I'll do the same.”

She nodded, still in a half haze from the desire that welled inside her. She turned and went into the bedroom, where her overnight bag was open on the edge of the bed. She grabbed a pair of lacy panties and the dress box that was next to her suitcase, then went into the bathroom.

The box contained a gorgeous white peignoir set. It had been delivered fifteen minutes after she checked into the room—a gift from her mother.

Her fingers trembled as she changed out of her
bathing suit and into the lace-trimmed silk nightgown and matching robe.

As she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she was suddenly struck by how quickly everything had transpired. She had known Omar for less than a week, and now she was married to him.

She was flying off to a country she'd never visited, with a man she hardly knew, to live with him as his wife.

And all of it was based on a lie.

 

Omar changed from his soaking wet boxers to a silk robe, and moved the food tray and champagne into the bedroom. The room was dark, with heavy curtains blocking out the last of the day's light. He turned on the bedside lamp, which cast a soft, golden glow around the room.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so inflamed by a woman, and he knew much of Elizabeth's appeal was her charming combination of innocence and natural seductiveness.

As he pulled the bedspread from the bed and stretched out on the pristine sheets, he congratulated himself on his choice of a wife.

His father would be pleased. Elizabeth was beautiful and intelligent, and would be a support to Omar as he ruled his kingdom. She came from a good family background, and she would be a gracious hostess to visiting dignitaries in Gaspar.

He had made his decision to marry her without the heat of passion, guided solely on the basis of a single
memory of meeting her and the letters they had exchanged. It was an added bonus that he desired her.

They would have a good marriage, and she would never have to know that love didn't enter into it. Omar had learned from the wisest man he knew that love made a man weak, that a leader's heart belonged only to his country, not to any woman. That man had been Omar's father, the man Omar respected more than anyone on earth.

All thoughts of his father disappeared as the bathroom door opened and she stood there for a moment, absolutely stunning in a white silk nightgown and matching robe. Her hair was still pinned atop her head, with tendrils escaping the pins to frame her lovely face.

“Come join me,” he said, and patted the bed next to him. He could see her nervousness in the stiff way she walked across the room and in the slight tremble of her lower lip as she stretched out on the bed next to him.

He sat up and poured them both a fresh glass of champagne, then held his glass out to hers. “To us,” he said. “May we grow old together and raise our children to be strong and good.” He smiled. “And may our desire for each other only grow stronger with each year that passes.”

He clinked his glass to hers, and they both sipped the chilled bubbly. “You look as if you're about to face the executioner,” he observed.

She smiled, the gesture drawing his attention to the
beauty mark that danced just above her lips on the left side of her face.

“I can't help it that I'm nervous. I've never had a wedding night before.”

“Neither have I,” he replied.

Her long-lashed green eyes held his gaze. “And I've never made love with a man before.”

“Neither have I.”

She laughed, and a sweet warmth flooded through him at the melodious sound. “You know what I'm talking about,” she said more soberly. “I'm sure you've had many lovers.”

“I've had lovers,” he agreed. “I'm thirty-eight years old, Elizabeth. It's true, I have not lived my life as a monk.” He reached out a hand and drew his fingers down the soft curve of her cheek. “But that's all in my past. Now there's only one woman in my life—you.”

Her cheeks blushed with a charming pink hue. “And there's only one man in my life, and that's you,” she said.

Suddenly Omar wanted to wait no longer. His thought had been to eat some of the tidbits, drink some champagne and talk until she was completely at ease. But he was not hungry for bits of cheese and fruit. He was hungry for her.

He watched as she sipped her champagne, his desire increasing as her pink tongue slid across her lower lip. He downed the last of his champagne in one quick swallow, then took her glass from her and set it on the nightstand.

He turned back to her and gathered her into his arms. She came willingly, as if eager to accept his lessons in lovemaking.

As he kissed her, her mouth opened eagerly beneath his and he felt his control slipping. She smelled of sweet spring flowers, and her body radiated a warmth he wanted to explore.

His hands slid up and down the silky material on her back, and the kiss lingered until she was half breathless and so was he.

He moved his hands to the front, where her robe was fastened with tiny seed buttons. His fingers fumbled, clumsy with anticipation. Finally he got the robe unfastened, and she sat up to help him remove it.

Beneath the robe, the white silk nightgown left little to his imagination. The spaghetti straps exposed her creamy shoulders, and the deep, plunging neckline revealed the lush curves of her breasts.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, and felt himself swelling with intense desire for her. He flicked one of the spaghetti straps from her shoulder and pressed his lips against her smooth, satiny skin.

Her flesh was hot, as if fevered by an internal flame. As he loved her shoulder with his mouth and his tongue, she emitted a tiny moan of pleasure that stirred him to the depths of his soul.

He ran one hand down her side, along her rib cage and over her hip, then back again. As his mouth sought hers once again, he captured a breast with his hand, able to feel her turgid nipple through the silk material.

She gasped against his mouth as his thumb raked over the peak, teasing and toying in sensual play. He wanted to stroke her sweet skin until she was mindless, wanted to kiss her until her head was filled with nothing but thoughts of him and her body ached with the need for fulfillment.

Although he was ravenous for her, he didn't want to hurry. He wanted to savor every moment, each sensation, knowing that this night would be branded forever in his memory, but even more so in hers.

She would only have her initiation into lovemaking once, and he wanted to make certain that she never regretted that she'd chosen him to share the experience.

He slid his hand beneath the silk and cupped her breast in his hand as his mouth left hers and followed the path of his hand. The barrier of the nightgown frustrated him.

He raised his head and looked at her, noting with satisfaction that her eyes were hooded and glazed with passion. “I want you naked,” he whispered.

Using one hand, he pulled her gown up to mid-thigh. She raised her hips, allowing him to pull the material up farther, exposing a delicate pair of lacy panties.

He swept the nightgown up and over her head and tossed it to the floor, then he removed his robe, leaving him naked and fully aroused.

He pulled her back into his arms, pressing his nakedness fully against her length. “There is nothing more exciting than the touch of skin against skin,”
he murmured. “And it's amazing how many erogenous places there are on the human body.” His lips trailed up the column of her slender neck and lingered at the spot just behind her ear. “Like just behind the ear…”

He moved his lips from there down to the hollow of her throat. “And here.” She shivered and grabbed his shoulders.

Her fingers bit into his shoulders, as his mouth moved to capture the tip of her breast. He'd thought he'd be a teacher and slowly educate her in the many ways of pleasure, but as she arched against him, pressing herself intimately against his arousal, he felt his control slipping, as if he were caught in a tidal wave of desire too intense to fight.

C
ara had never felt so incredibly liquid, as if it weren't simply blood that flowed through her veins, but rather heated honey. Each kiss Omar gave her increased the tension that created an ache deep within the pit of her stomach.

His mouth loved her skin, leaving every inch kissed or caressed. His body was hot against hers, hot and hard, and as he explored her, she did the same to him, running her hands across the muscular width of his back, stroking her fingers across his chest, caressing the length of his thigh.

She reveled in his response, loving the sound of his deep, throaty moans and the tension that she could feel seize him at her merest touch.

She had never before felt so wonderfully feminine, as if she had been specially made to receive the love of a man. And Omar was the man who sang through her veins, resounded in her heartbeat, shot fire through her entire body.

When he slid her panties from her, she was ready for that intimacy, lost in a sensual haze that demanded something more than what he'd given her so far.

His fingers lightly stroked her where no man had
ever touched her before, and the ache in her stomach intensified to mammoth proportions. It was both a little frightening and more than a little exciting.

As he increased the pressure of his touch, she felt herself climbing to heights of pleasure she'd never known before. Frightening heights, wondrous heights.

She knew she would die if he stopped touching her, but feared she might die if he continued. Then she felt herself shattering as wave after wave of the most intense pleasure she'd ever known swept through her, leaving her limp and exhausted.

He gave her no opportunity to recover from the magnificent sensations that overwhelmed her, but immediately moved his body between her thighs and entered her.

He slid into her, but halted as she stiffened, anticipating pain. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice deep with tension, yet filled with warmth and concern.

She nodded and pulled him deeper into her. Although there was a moment of discomfort, it quickly gave way to pleasure.

He remained unmoving, buried in her and she could feel his heart beating a frantic rhythm against her own. His dark eyes bore into hers, communicating silently his own rampant desire.

She felt herself falling into his beautiful eyes, burned by the fires that sizzled there. Shudders racked her body, shudders of sweet sensation.

It was she who moved first, arching her hips into his, then pulling back in an action that was both primal and instinctive.

His eyes narrowed and a sigh escaped his lips. Then he was moving, driving into her as his mouth ravished hers. She felt as if her heart was going to burst out of her chest, so overwhelmed was she by the unfamiliar physical and emotional sensations.

Faster and faster they moved together, and a wild, gripping tension once again welled up inside her, a tension she knew only he could release.

She cried out in a combination of pleasure and need, and he increased the frenzied coupling, his breath coming in frantic gasps to match her own.

She cried out his name as she felt herself splintering apart. She clung to him as he stiffened, the cords in his neck strained. He moaned her name over and over again, his voice deep and husky, and a moment later relaxed and rolled to the side of her.

For several minutes the only sound in the room was that of the two of them trying to catch their breath. When Cara finally felt more in control, she reached with her hand to find the sheet to cover herself, but Omar stopped her.

“Don't hide yet,” he said. He propped himself up on his elbow and smiled. “Part of the pleasure of lovemaking is the visual treat of seeing your beauty.”

As his eyes traveled slowly down the length of her, lingering first at her breasts, then sweeping slowly down the rest of her, she felt his gaze as hot, as intimate as if he were trailing his hands over her.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured.

His gaze once again held hers, this time lit with
concern, and he gently brushed a strand of her hair away from her cheek. “Did I hurt you?”

“Not at all.” She felt her cheeks warm. “In fact, it was wonderful.”

One of his dark eyebrows danced up and his eyes sparkled with a teasing light. “Only wonderful? Not magnificent? Not unbelievable? Not stupendous?” He gave her a mock frown. “I guess I will have to work harder next time.”

She laughed, but her heart quickened at the thought of next time.

Omar gathered her into his arms, and she loved the way their naked skin felt pressed together. “I had thought to take it slow, to ease you into the joys of lovemaking, but you made it impossible for me to take it slow,” he said.

He stroked his hand up her outer thigh, sending currents of electricity through her. “You are more passionate, more responsive and exciting than I had dreamed.”

He leaned down and touched her lips with his in a soft, sweet kiss that warmed her heart. “Are you hungry? We never got around to supper.”

“No.” She snuggled closer to him, feeling safe and suddenly drowsy. “I'm perfectly content right here.”

She pressed her face against his chest, loving the scent of him, a clean male scent with just a hint of spicy cologne.

As sleep closed in, her last conscious thought was that surely Omar wouldn't be too angry when he
learned the truth—not after what they'd just shared. Surely when the time came, he would be able to forgive her for her deception.

 

Luke Callaghan hacked his way through a thick growth of vines and cursed the name El Jefe. El Jefe was the terrorist group that had brought Luke to this godforsaken jungle.

He paused to swipe sweat from his eyes with the back of his arm. All around him, men were working to forge through the thicket of wrist-size vines that impeded their forward progress.

It was a hellish task, in sweltering heat that sapped all energy. He and the other men were beyond exhaustion. Riddled with insect bites, chafed from the relentless humidity, but driven to succeed in their mission for freedom, the men pushed forward.

The
rat-tat-tat
of machine-gun fire sent Luke and his men to the soggy, swampy ground. Dammit. Intelligence had led them to believe that the rebels were several miles ahead of them.

Another burst of gunfire spat through the trees, and one of the men to Luke's left groaned and grabbed his thigh, where blood quickly covered his pants and hand.

“Sir, the fire seems to be coming from over there.” One of the men pointed to a small rise on their right. “I think we can take them if a couple of us go circle around and get behind them.”

“Take three men and go,” Luke said, then slid along the ground toward the wounded man. “Stevens, you all right?”

The soldier nodded, although his youthful face was pale and a thick sheen of sweat clung to his forehead. Luke pushed his hand away and looked at the wound. “Doesn't seem to have hit an artery, but we need to get you out of here and back to the medics.”

At that moment another burst of gunfire hit, snapping bark off trees and pumping into the ground around them. He looked back at Stevens. “We aren't going anywhere at the moment.”

Stevens nodded, knowing they were pinned down by the enemy fire.

Luke swept his gaze around the area, making certain none of the other men had been hurt or killed. He'd seen far too much death already on this mission.

Moments ticked by, then an explosion ripped through the air, coming from the direction where the gunfire had originated. Luke prayed that the explosion was the result of his men taking out the nest of terrorists. But he could take nothing for granted.

He had a bad feeling in his gut about this entire mission. Nothing was going smoothly, and he feared things were going to get worse before they got better.

He sighed in relief as word came that it was safe for them to continue on. As medics rushed forward to attend to the wounded, Luke pulled himself up off the ground, wondering when their luck was going to run out.

The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach hadn't gone away. It had only intensified.

 

Gunshots spat from the gun Donny Albright held in his hand, and Cara felt the bullets piercing her
body. She cried out in terror and pain, trying to run, trying to escape the assault.

“Shh, it's just a dream.” A deep, male voice cut through horrible images, soothing her as strong arms wrapped around her. “You're safe, darling. You're here, safe with me.”

Cara came awake long enough to realize she'd been suffering a nightmare. As Omar pulled her closer against his warm, snuggly form, whispering words of assurance, she relaxed and drifted back into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

When she awakened again, the room was still black but she was alone in the bed. She heard the sound of water running in the bathroom and realized it must be early morning—Omar was in the shower.

Omar her husband. Omar her lover. She stretched languidly and placed a hand on the pillow that still held the indentation of his head. And what a lover he had been.

A delicious feeling swept through her as she thought of the lovemaking they had shared. She'd always known that making love could be beautiful and special, but nothing had prepared her for the utter wonder of it all.

Omar had been so gentle, yet so masterful. He'd made her introduction into the world of physical pleasure truly magical.

As she remembered how sweetly he'd comforted her after her nightmare, her heart expanded with love for the man she had married.

She sat up and looked at the clock on the nightstand. Just after six. She slid out of the bed, grabbed her robe from the floor and pulled it on around her, then went to the windows and opened the curtains.

The morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, a glorious sunrise in brilliant reds and oranges. Her breath caught in her chest at the beauty. She felt as if the sunrise had been sent just to her, a promise of her future with Omar.

She was just about to turn away from the window, when firm male arms wrapped around her from behind. “Good morning,” his deep voice breathed into her ear.

She leaned back against him, loving the way his body felt so solid and surprisingly familiar. His freshly showered scent filled her senses. “Good morning,” she replied. “I was just admiring the beautiful sunrise.”

“I'm glad you like it. I ordered it special, just for you,” he said.

“Ah, you are a good and thoughtful husband,” she said, and turned to face him.

He smiled and ran his hands up and down her back. “I would much rather feast my eyes on you than a mere sunrise.”

“I have married not only a magnificent lover but a charmer, as well.”

He laughed and lightly touched the tip of her nose with his index finger. “Why don't you go take a shower, and I'll order some coffee. I told Rashad we'd meet him at the airstrip around seven.”

“Then, I'd better get showered and dressed,” she said. As Omar picked up the phone to order coffee, she grabbed her clothes from her suitcase and went into the bathroom.

She was almost reluctant to shower; her skin still retained the scent of him. But she reminded herself that what they'd shared the night before was only the beginning. There would be many, many nights of Omar making love to her.

Moments later she stood beneath the hot spray of water, excitement beginning to build inside her as she thought of traveling to Gaspar.

Her new country. Her new home. Omar's descriptions of the little country had been colorful and vivid, and she was already half in love with her new homeland.

She gasped in surprise as the glass door to the shower opened and a splendidly naked Omar stepped inside. “I don't believe I had an opportunity to complete your education of erogenous zones last night,” he said, and took the bar of soap from her fingers.

“What about the coffee?” she asked, her heartbeat racing as he stroked the soap across her shoulders.

“We can have coffee on the jet,” he said, his gaze hot and hungry and creating an ache inside her.

“But won't we be late to meet Rashad?” The question escaped her on a moan of pleasure, as he lathered her breasts, then slid one of his hands down her stomach.

“Rashad will not mind waiting. He would approve
of our reason for being late,” he murmured, his lips flames of fire along the side of her throat.

As he pulled her beneath the warm water, his hands and lips creating magic, she forgot all about coffee, Rashad and an awaiting jet plane.

 

Omar's private jet had all the amenities of a top-notch hotel, and pride filled him as he escorted his new bride aboard. He introduced her to his pilot and the crew, then led her into the first compartment, which served as an office.

A beautiful teakwood desk held all the latest technology that Omar would need to command his country from the air. There was also a small conference table with several captain chairs covered with a beige, butter-soft leather.

Omar led his wife into the compartment beyond, which was outfitted like a living room and done in the official Gaspar colors of white, deep purple and gold.

“Omar, it's beautiful,” she exclaimed as she sat on the white sofa and ran a hand over the purple throw pillows with gold trim.

“I prefer not to spend a lot of time flying, but when I must, I enjoy being comfortable,” he said as he sat next to her. “There is a complete bath through that door.” He pointed to a doorway. “And beyond that is a gourmet kitchen and a chef awaiting our dining pleasure.”

“Very impressive,” she said.

“I'll tell you what I find very impressive,” he said.
“You.” His blood warmed as he thought of the lovemaking they had shared less than an hour before. “We must make it a practice to shower together as often as possible.”

She smiled and blushed charmingly. “I've never had my back scrubbed so thoroughly,” she replied.