Omar took a sip of his wine, then leaned back in his chair, a look of intense satisfaction on his face as his gaze lingered on her. “You are as beautiful as I remember,” he said, his voice a deep verbal caress. “Actually, the past six years have only made you more beautiful.”
Cara felt color sweep up into her cheeks. “And you are as handsome as I remember,” she replied.
Today he was once again dressed in western wear. His black suit fit him to perfection, and the white shirt was monogrammed at the sleeves with his initials. But it wasn’t his clothes that threatened to steal her breath away.
Beneath the suit jacket, his shoulders looked broad and strong. The slacks displayed the long length of his legs, and the white shirt emphasized the attractive olive coloring of his skin.
Beneath his dark, thick eyebrows, his ebony eyes caressed her as he smiled at her compliment, flashing his beautiful white teeth. “We will make a very attractive married couple.”
He seemed to recognize she was about to protest and held up his hand to still her. “But we will talk of other things first.”
Cara relaxed slightly. She didn’t want to think about the marriage proposal he’d offered the day before. She just wanted to enjoy being here with him now. “Your trip to the States was pleasant, I hope,” she said, wanting to find a safe topic.
“Very pleasant,” he replied, and took another sip of his wine. She noticed the ring on his hand, an opulent emerald surrounded by diamonds. It was a large ring, but didn’t in any way dwarf his hands.
She wondered what those big hands would feel like slowly caressing the length of her body. She quickly took another sip of her wine to dispel the heat the thought evoked in her.
“So, tell me, Elizabeth, you are enjoying your time away from the classroom?”
“Yes and no,” she replied. She set down her glass and straightened her napkin in her lap. “I’ve been enjoying my free time, but I have to admit that too much free time is boring.”
“I was very surprised to discover that you were a teacher. When I met you years ago at the cotillion, I never would have guessed that would become your profession. At that time you seemed far too adventurous to choose such a conservative job.”
“That was six years ago, Omar. Six years is a long time. People change. I’ve changed.” Maybe she could convince him that Fiona had grown more serious, less colorful over the years.
“Yes, and I’ve seen the changes in you through your letters. Initially they were quite frivolous and entertaining, and I enjoyed them tremendously. But, as our correspondence continued, I saw you maturing—and I still enjoyed your letters.”
The change he had seen in the letters was the point where Fiona had tired of writing him and Cara had taken over.
He smiled again and leaned forward, and in the depths of his eyes she saw the flames of simmering emotion. “I know that beneath your maturity and sensitivity is also the woman who is exciting and adventurous. You have become a perfect blend of an audacious enchantress and an insightful, thoughtful woman.”
An audacious enchantress?
Maybe in her next lifetime, but certainly not in this one. “Omar,” she began, realizing she had to tell him the truth.
But, before any more words could leave her lips, the waiter once again appeared at their table with menus. After dinner I’ll tell him, she thought as she accepted the oversize menu.
After dinner she’d tell him the truth—that she wasn’t the enchanting, audacious Fiona who had matured, but rather just plain old boring Cara.
Omar had never felt as right about anything as he did about making her his wife. Every moment that ticked by in her company reassured him that his decision to marry her was good.
Although there would be some in his country who would be irked that he’d chosen an American as his bride, for the most part he knew his subjects would rejoice in the fact that he had finally married and would begin to work on producing heirs. She would win over any of the critics with her beauty, warmth and charm.
When they had placed their orders and the waiter had departed, Omar once again focused his attention on Elizabeth. She had only grown more lovely over the years.
The jade of her dress made her eyes appear an impossible green, and each time she leaned forward he was gifted with a teasing glimpse of the thrust of her breasts. He’d also noticed before she took her seat that her short skirt had displayed legs that were long and slender.
This was a woman who had enough class to be an asset to him in his role as sheik. And this was a woman who was pretty enough, sexy enough, to be an asset to him as a man.
“Your parents are well?” he asked.
“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 did
n’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.
Three
“Tell 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 no
t 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.
Promised to a Sheik Page 3