Because she had no idea what Omar’s plans were for returning to Gaspar the next day, she had shared a tearful goodbye with her parents, with promises to write often and to return home for Christmas in six weeks.
As she had been packing a couple of suitcases, her mother had sat on the edge of her bed, talking to her about marriage and the responsibilities of a wife.
“You won’t even be here for Thanksgiving,” Grace exclaimed, her eyes filling with tears.
Cara sat on the edge of the bed next to her mother. “Mama, be happy that I’ll be spending Thanksgiving in my new home with my new husband,” she replied. “Be happy that I’ve found the man I want to spend the rest of my life with.”
“I am happy for you, Cara.” Her mother reached out and took Cara’s hand in hers. “I just hope you didn’t marry your sheik for the wrong reasons.”
Cara looked at her mother curiously. “What do you mean?”
Grace smiled at her, a smile of such unconditional love that Cara felt it flowing through her. “You suffered quite a trauma at the end of last year with that student, and I hope that hasn’t affected your judgment.”
“It hasn’t,” Cara replied quickly, not wanting to think of those terrifying hours.
“You can’t go through something like that and not have it change you,” Grace observed.
“Still, that experience isn’t what has made me jump into a marriage with Omar,” Cara said firmly.
“Then, I hope you haven’t married Omar in order to be in a new place with a new group of people, to escape your sister’s presence.” She held up a hand as Cara started to protest.
“I know you’ve always believed you live in Fiona’s shadow, but the truth is, Cara, the only difference between you and your sister is that for some reason you lack Fiona’s self-confidence. You are just as bright, just as beautiful and just as charming, but you’ve never really believed that.”
Now, Cara shoved away thoughts of the conversation with her mother and went into the bedroom of the suite, where the sight of the king-size bed sent shivers of apprehension through her.
Tonight she and Omar would make love. Every nerve ending in her body tingled at the thought.
Omar would be here soon, and she had told him she’d be waiting for him in the hot tub. Her fingers trembled as she pulled her bathing suit from her suitcase.
If she was more like her sister, she’d be waiting in the hot tub naked, but she simply couldn’t do that. She nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a knock on the door.
Surely it wasn’t Omar already! She’d only just moments before called him to tell him she was here. She hurried to the door, opened it—and stared in shock at her sister.
“Fiona!” she exclaimed, and pulled her sister into the room. “What are you doing here?”
Fiona removed her oversize sunglasses. “I couldn’t let you fly off tomorrow without saying goodbye.” She wrapped her arms around Cara and gave her a hard hug. “I got home a little early—and apparently just in time. Mom and Dad told me what’s going on—that you were here and would be leaving for Gaspar tomorrow.”
Tears of joy burned in Cara’s eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” she exclaimed.
“I can’t believe you married him, Cara!” Fiona released her and stepped back. “I told you to have fun with this, to enjoy being engaged to a sheik. But I didn’t expect you to marry him.”
“I didn’t expect to marry him, either,” Cara replied. “But I love him, Fiona, and I’m sure he loves me.”
“So, how did he take it when you told him the truth about you writing the letters instead of me?” Fiona asked.
Cara averted her gaze from her twin. “Oh my God, Cara, you haven’t told him the truth?”
“I’ve tried,” Cara exclaimed fervently. “I’ve tried several times, but the timing was never right, or something happened and I lost my nerve.”
Fiona’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “My devious sister, I never would have thought it of you.” Then the light in her eyes dimmed. “Oh God, Cara, I’m going to miss you terribly.”
This time it was Cara who reached for her sister, and again they hugged. “I’m going to miss you, too,” Cara said. “But I love him, Fiona, and I want to spend my life with him.”
“Let me see the ring.” Fiona grasped Cara’s left hand and squealed at the sight of the lovely emerald. “Maybe I made a big mistake in not continuing to write him,” she teased. “And I guess I’d better get out of here before he shows up.” She stepped away from Cara. “You’ll call me often?”
“You know I will,” Cara replied, her heart aching as she realized the path she’d chosen to follow was truly taking her away from her family and everything she’d known all her life.
Fiona opened the door to leave, then turned back to Cara with a smile. “If you really love him, and he loves you, then I envy you, Cara. I’ve always envied you, but now more than ever.” She leaned forward and kissed Cara’s cheek. “Be happy,” she said, then before Cara could reply, she turned and hurried down the hallway.
Cara closed the door, tears once again stinging her eyes. She was going to miss her twin sister desperately. She was going to miss her parents, and her little cottage and her brothers and their wives.
She was going to miss it all, but it was time to put her past behind her and embrace her future. Her future with Omar.
She returned to the bathroom and once again grabbed her swimsuit. As she changed into the demure one-piece, her mother’s words haunted her.
Had she married Omar for all the wrong reasons? Had it been a combination of wanting to escape Fiona’s bright light and some sort of delayed reaction to being held at gunpoint by a distraught student?
And what had Fiona meant by telling her that she’d always been envious of her? Why on earth would Fiona have any reason to envy Cara? She dismissed the very idea from her mind. Then she thought of Fiona calling her “devious.”
She wasn’t devious. She hadn’t set out to deceive Omar. It had all just spun out of control.
When the brief marriage ceremony had ended, she’d held her breath when the justice of the peace gave Omar a copy of the marriage license. To her immense relief, Omar had instantly handed it to Rashad, without looking at the signature.
Omar might believe he’d married Elizabeth Fiona Carson, but on the marriage certificate she’d signed Elizabeth C. Carson, she thought as she pinned her hair up on top of her head.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. She’d married Omar under false pretenses and she truly didn’t know if she’d married him for all the wrong reasons. She only knew she wanted to stay married to him for all the right reasons.
She left the bathroom and walked back into the living room. The champagne was on ice, and a tray of fresh fruit, cheese and crackers awaited their nibbling pleasure.
She thought of pouring herself a glass of champagne to ease some of the nervous tension that flowed through her, but dismissed the idea and instead slid into the hot tub.
The hot water instantly soothed her tight muscles, wrapping around her like a soothing massage. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, thinking of Omar.
He had mistaken her tears immediately after the marriage ceremony, believing that she was mourning the fairy-tale wedding she wasn’t getting.
His response to her that he would see to it she had a dream wedding once they got settled in Gaspar had only made her feel worse about her deception.
One thing was certain, she vowed to be the wife he deserved. More than anything, she never wanted to give him a reason to think that he’d married the wrong sister.
She opened her eyes, tension peaking as she heard the sound of a key in the door.
Omar entered, closed the door behind him, then stood, his dark eyes blazing with passion. “What a vision you are,” he exclaimed, his voice low, husky and flowing over her as sensually as the water that surrounded her.
&nbs
p; “Why don’t you pour us a glass of champagne and join me?” It was the most brazen thing she’d ever said to a man, but she reminded herself that this wasn’t just any man. This was her husband, the man with whom she intended to spend the rest of her life.
He dropped the small overnight bag he carried. “That sounds like a marvelous idea.” He took off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the sofa. Then, his gaze still locked with hers, he began un-buttoning his shirt.
Cara’s heart beat with a delicious rhythm as his broad, firmly muscled chest was revealed.
During the last week of his visit, they had indulged in heated kisses, and shared intimate meals and conversations, but she hadn’t seem him when he wasn’t impeccably and properly dressed.
The shirt fell to the floor, and her mouth grew dry as he kicked off his shoes, then unzipped his pants. The water around her seemed to get hotter as his pants slid from his slender hips onto the floor, leaving him clad only in a pair of socks and black silk boxer shorts.
He was absolutely gorgeous. As he bent over to remove his socks, she drank in the beauty of his physical appearance. Not only was his chest muscled, but his stomach was lean, without an ounce of body fat. His hips were slim, but his legs were powerfully built.
Omar was a poster boy for physical fitness, and Cara couldn’t believe he was really her husband. Nor could she fathom that within minutes he would possess her completely. She shivered despite the heat of the water.
After several days or weeks of marriage, after they had made love a dozen times or so, then she would tell him the truth about her identity. Surely by then it wouldn’t matter to him. He would realize she was the woman he loved.
“There’s cheese and crackers and fruit if you want any,” she said as she watched him pour the champagne into two fluted glasses. “I didn’t order any dinner yet. I wasn’t sure what you would want.”
“We can eat later,” he said as he walked toward the hot tub. He held one of the glasses out to her, then eased down into the water and sat next to her.
His shoulder pressed against hers, as did his hip and thigh, and as he took a sip of his champagne he put an arm around her, pulling her even closer against his side. She tensed, unsure what to expect, afraid and excited of what was to come.
Cara took a deep swallow of the chilled champagne, as his fingers caressed her arm.
“Relax, my sweet,” he said softly. “I promise I don’t intend to ravish you in the next few minutes.”
She smiled up at him. “I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.” His gaze was tender. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to make tonight the most wonderful night of your life.”
With the sweet heat flowing from his eyes and the promise on his lips, her tension dissipated. There was no reason to be nervous, she told herself.
This man was her husband, and she loved him. Making love to him would only complete the union that had begun the moment they said their vows to each other.
“This feels wonderful,” he said, and smiled at her. “A perfect way to unwind from the day. Were your parents angry with us?”
“Not angry, but definitely upset. I explained to them that things happened very fast, that you have to return to Gaspar in the morning and I wanted to go with you as your wife. I also reminded them that you have said I can return home for visits often.”
He nodded. “As often as you like. I would never do anything to keep you from your family.” He took a sip of his champagne, then set the glass on the tiled edge around the tub. He scooted deeper into the water, his leg rubbing sensually against hers, then reached out and took her glass from her.
Cara’s heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. He placed her glass next to his, then gathered her into his arms. The water made her body buoyant, as he pulled her between his outstretched legs. He held her more tightly against him, and she felt the evidence of his arousal. Her heart renewed its frantic beating.
“You look pretty with your hair up,” he said, his lips mere inches from hers. His hands moved up and down her back, electrifying her through the thin material of her bathing suit.
“I feel as if I’ve been waiting for this night, for you, for a very long time.”
Cara wondered if he was thinking of the young woman he’d flirted with at the cotillion so long ago or the woman whose letters had touched his heart.
It didn’t matter, for at that moment his lips met hers, and she was overwhelmed with the taste of him, the mastery of his kiss and the sensations of his hands stroking her back.
His mouth ravished hers, his tongue swirling with hers in erotic play. The sensations that flooded her were intoxicating. The hot water surrounding them, the feel of his powerful arousal against her, and the hot wonder of his mouth against hers—all combined to create in her a desire she’d never experienced before.
When his lips left hers, they blazed a trail down the side of her neck, nibbled lightly on her earlobe, then moved down across her collarbone.
Cara tightened her grip on his shoulders, gasping with pleasure at each touch of his lips.
“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.
Promised to a Sheik Page 8