Promised to a Sheik

by Carla Cassidy

  “What are you doing, Cara?” he asked softly.

  The tip of her tongue smoothed over her lips, and her gaze held his. “I’m dancing for you,” she replied, her voice deeper, huskier than usual. “If you will not allow me to share your life as your wife, then perhaps you will allow me to share your bed as a lover would.” She punctuated her sentence by opening his robe and leaning into him, allowing her breasts to rub against his chest.

  Her words and the contact of her skin against his shattered the last remnant of self-control he’d been desperately clinging to. He grabbed her to him and devoured her mouth with his, reveling in the fullness of her lips, the sweet familiar taste of her.

  She welcomed his kiss, opening her mouth to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. He unwound her arms and broke the kiss, then took a step away from her. “Then, you would be happy to be my lover, my harem girl, my love slave?”

  “For tonight that would be enough,” she replied softly.

  She stepped to him, her hips against his, and began to dance again. The friction of her movements against him stirred him in a way nothing ever had before, and he knew she was aware of his intense arousal, knew it by the wicked glitter of her beautiful eyes.

  For a torturously long couple of minutes, she brushed her hips against his, then brought her hands up behind her back and released the clasp to her top. She caught the bra before it could fall, holding it against her breasts as her gaze continued to hold his.

  “If you wish me to be your love slave, Omar, then, that’s what I’ll be.” She dropped her hands to her sides, allowing the bra to fall to the floor before her.

  Omar had never before known that passion could be physically painful, but he ached with it, burned with it, and knew only she could assuage the yearnings of his body.

  He sank back to the pillows and pulled her down with him, once again seeking her mouth with his own. At the same time he captured one of her breasts in his hand and could feel her heartbeat thrumming deep beneath the hot, silky skin.

  “Elizabeth…Elizabeth,” he moaned into her mouth, lost in tidal waves of passion that swept over him, through him. “I have missed the taste of you, the feel of you in my arms.”

  “And I’ve missed you,” she gasped back, at the same time her hands worked his robe off his shoulders. He removed his arms from the material and allowed it to fall from his body.

  He wanted to tell her that this changed nothing, that he was still angry with her, still felt betrayed and manipulated, but he couldn’t find the words, not when her mouth moved from his and down his chest.

  He moaned as her fingers tugged at the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms, and he lifted his hips to help her remove them.

  When he was naked, she stood once again and removed the harem pants that covered her, then rejoined him on the mound of pillows.

  He reached for her, but she stopped him. “Just lie back and relax,” she murmured. “And let me bring you pleasure.”

  She moved her hands over his chest, splaying her fingers as if to make as much contact as possible.

  Her hands were hot and her eyes held a fevered light as she lightly caressed his upper chest. She smiled at him.

  “Your skin feels so good. I love the way it feels.”

  As her fingers moved to his abdomen, he drew in a sharp breath, surprised to find himself trembling with need.

  Her mouth joined her fingers, hotly kissing and nipping at his flesh, moving down his body with deliberate intent. As her mouth and hands moved lower, lower, he tangled his fingers in her hair, fighting for control as pleasure racked his body.

  When her fingers wrapped around his hardness, he drew in a sharp breath, knowing if she did anything more it would be over. And he wasn’t ready for it to be over.

  Cara gasped as he rolled her to her back. He hovered over her, his dark eyes flaming with fires that she knew would consume her. And she wanted to be consumed.

  His mouth claimed hers as his hands covered her breasts and his fingers swept over the pebblelike hardness of her nipples.

  The contact with her breasts pulled sensations through her entire body, and a sweet familiar tension began to build inside her.

  Although the physical aspect of what they were doing nearly overwhelmed her, it was the emotional side of things that brought a shimmer of tears to her eyes.

  Surely this would heal the wounds she’d inflicted upon him with her deception. Surely this would make him realize he’d married the right woman, after all, and his anger would finally and forever leave him.

  He kissed her with a ferocity that called up a ferocity of her own. She tangled her hands in his hair as their kiss continued.

  His hands left her breasts and moved down her sides, across her ribs and to her hips. He gripped her hips as he broke the kiss, and his gaze once again held hers. “If I had to choose a woman I wished to be my love slave, my choice would be you.” With these words, one of his hands moved to touch her intimately.

  She cried out, unsure which brought her more pleasure, his words or his touch. She only knew that she ached with the need for him, wallowed in the scent of him and was overwhelmed by the feel of his arms around her again.

  Closing her eyes, she gave herself to him, as the mastery of his touch swept her higher and higher. As she felt the tension inside her building to an impossible level, she clung to him and shattered.

  Immediately he entered her, filling her up with his heat. He moaned deep in the back of his throat, then took possession of her mouth as his hips moved against hers.

  She didn’t feel as if they were just making love; rather, she felt as if they were rejuvenating the marriage vows they had taken. She felt as if they were reaching across the chasm that had separated them for the past week.

  “You are a beguiling love slave,” he whispered as his mouth left hers to trail down the length of her neck.

  He increased the rhythm of his hips against hers, and she met him thrust for thrust as new need welled up inside her.

  She clutched at his back, and whatever control he’d still maintained seemed to break. He groaned, and his movements became frenzied, his strokes shorter and faster.

  Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She tried to cry out his name, but the sensations were too intense to allow speech.

  He whispered her name as he stiffened against her. She felt him spilling into her, and she hoped they’d make a baby right now, at this moment.

  Afterward he rolled to the side of her, his breathing slowly resuming a more normal rhythm. He didn’t look at her, but stared up at the ceiling.

  A renewed flutter of pain swept through her as she felt his emotional distance. Apparently there was to be none of the afterglow hugging and kissing, whispering and caressing that they’d always enjoyed.

  She leaned up on her elbow, gazing at his handsome but stern countenance. How she wished she could place a smile on his features, see his eyes deepen with gentleness, watch his entire face light up with love.

  But there was a forbidding harshness to his features that held her at bay. “Is there anything else my husband would like his love slave to do for him?” she asked with a forced lightness in her tone.

  He turned his head, his gaze lingering on her for a moment. In the depth of his impossibly dark eyes she tried to find a hint of any positive emotion. But there was nothing warm, nothing tender, nothing yielding there.

  “I have no further need of you for the evening,” he said as he sat up and grabbed his robe. “It’s been a long day and I’m just going to retire to my bed.” He stood. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As he left the living area and disappeared into the master suite, Cara wondered if he had any idea how his callous dismissal of her cut through her very soul.

  She stood, feeling vulnerable and stupidly naked, and quickly grabbed for the pieces of the belly dancing costume. It had certainly achieved its purpose, having seduced Omar into making love to her once again.

  But
she had wanted so much more. She had wanted their lovemaking to lead to his forgiveness. She’d wanted it to remind him of all she could give him, would give him as his wife.

  As she put the pillows back where they belonged, then carried the dishes to the kitchen, she wondered how long she would be cast in the role of love slave? When would he decide that she had done enough penance?

  What if he never forgave her? What if he intended to have her play the role of love slave for the rest of their married lives?

  Could she do that? Could she let him take his physical pleasure from her and offer her nothing more? Could that ever be enough for her?

  Where’s your self-respect? a voice whispered in the back of her head. She recognized the voice. It wasn’t her own, but Fiona’s.

  Cara knew that her sister would never allow a man to treat her the way Omar had treated Cara for the past week. But Fiona hadn’t lied…and Fiona didn’t love Omar. Did she, Cara, love Omar enough to continue to be satisfied with only her husband’s physical desire for her and nothing more?

  “Sir, we just got word that Commander Westin has been taken by the enemy and is being held about twenty-five miles from here.” The soldier stood at attention in front of where Luke sat at a desk.

  At the news, Luke stood, shocked. “Do we have any other details?” he asked tersely.

  The young soldier shook his head. “That’s all we know at this time.”

  “Thank you, that will be all.” Luke dismissed the soldier, needing time to digest, time to assess.

  He and a band of soldiers had spent weeks in the jungle, fighting terrorists, attempting to gain ground. After those weeks, exhausted and filthy, they had returned to the military base where they now had been for two days.

  Luke eased back into his chair, frowning as he thought of Phillip Westin in the hands of the enemy. Phillip Westin was not just a commander, but a friend, a man who had once saved Luke’s life.

  It had been during the Gulf War. Luke and four of his buddies—Ricky Mercado, Tyler Murdoch, Flynt Carson and Spence Harrison—had been on a mission, spying on an enemy camp.

  Somehow, a round of ammunition had inadvertently gone off in Tyler’s gear and the five of them had been captured. They had been held for six weeks. Half-starved and given just enough water to keep them alive, the men had stared their own mortality in the face.

  Phillip Westin had orchestrated a daring rescue and had managed to get all of them out of there alive, creating a lasting bond among them.

  And now Phillip was in trouble and Luke would do everything in his power for the man he cared about and respected, the man who had once saved his life.

  His mind worked to develop a plan of attack, and the first man he thought of to aid him in attempting a rescue of Phillip was Tyler Murdoch.

  Luke knew Murdoch had a reputation as a lone wolf, but he was a tough man and a bomb expert, and Luke knew those qualities would come in handy on a job like this. Besides, Murdoch owed Phillip his life, too.

  Luke stood, energized with determination. He’d see that Tyler was brought in, he’d find out as much as he could about Westin’s exact location and condition; then it was time for action. Time to pay back a debt.

  Fourteen

  Omar fought off irritation and tried to concentrate on the physical pleasure of his wife massaging his back with sensual oil.

  For the past two nights, she’d been at his beck and call. Wearing breathtakingly sexy belly-dancing costumes, she’d played the role of harem girl, dancing for him, pleasuring him in a thousand ways and making love to him.

  Tonight she had met him at the door wearing a deep purple outfit that had absolutely stunned him. The dark, plush color had brought out the lush creaminess of her skin tones and made her eyes seem impossibly green.

  It had been late when he’d come in, long after dinner and just before his usual bedtime. He’d assumed she would already have retired to her room, but she’d greeted him at the door and offered him a back massage.

  Most men would revel in his position. He was a powerful, wealthy sheik in charge of a prosperous, peaceful country. His wife was a credit to him in all public appearances and a superb lover in privacy.

  However, Omar wasn’t satisfied. In fact, with each passing day he grew more dissatisfied—and he knew the reason. While he had certainly been drawn to Cara’s physical attractiveness and sensual nature, he’d also enjoyed her intelligence, her quick wit and her laughter during the weeks that he hadn’t known the truth about her identity.

  And those were all of the things his anger had deprived him of. The problem was, he still wanted to hang on to his anger toward her. The lie she had perpetrated on him was immense, and he refused to find forgiveness in his heart.

  Still, anger was difficult to maintain beneath the gentle massage of her warm hands and with her perfume wafting in the air.

  She straddled his back on the large master bed, and each time she worked her hands up to his shoulders, her upper body made warm contact with his.

  He wanted her again. Despite the fact that they’d made love last night and the night before, he wanted her again with an intensity that surprised him.

  “That’s enough,” he said. “If you relax me any more I shall be asleep, and I’m not ready to sleep yet.”

  She scooted off him and left the bed, and he turned over on his back and looked at her. The purple harem outfit transformed her from beautiful into stunning. It displayed her physical attributes to perfection.

  But when had her eyes lost their brilliant sparkle? When had her features become so drawn, so utterly lifeless? For just a moment, a brief moment, sadness flooded him as he looked at her unsmiling countenance.

  “I’m glad you aren’t ready to sleep yet, Omar, because we need to talk.”

  Instantly his defenses kicked in. He sat up and eyed her through narrowed eyes. “I can’t think of anything we would need to talk about.”

  She held his gaze steadily. “We need to talk about us.”

  He frowned and got out of the bed, summoning the anger that was never far from the surface. He pulled on his robe, then looked at her again. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he said.

  Her chin lifted, and for the first time that evening sparks appeared in her eyes. “Perhaps you have nothing to say on the subject, but I have some things to say.”

  “That doesn’t mean I have to listen,” he replied, and stalked into the bathroom.

  But she refused to allow his escape, and followed him to the shower, where he started the water running in a steamy stream.

  “For heaven’s sake, Omar, how long do you intend to continue to punish me?”

  He didn’t answer her, but stripped off his robe and stepped into the shower. He remained beneath the hot water for a long time in an attempt to tamp down the desire that had roared through him minutes earlier, also recognizing that he was using the shower as an escape from a conversation he didn’t want to have.

  But he had underestimated her determination. When he shut off the water and stepped from the shower confines, she stood in front of him, a towel in hand.

  “Please, Omar, just listen to what I have to say.” Her eyes held an appeal he found difficult to resist.

  “Speak your mind, then be done with it,” he exclaimed as he dried off, then pulled on his pajama bottoms. He left the bathroom with her following right behind him.

  “Come with me to the breakfast nook. I’ll make us some coffee. I’m begging you, Omar. Just a few minutes of your time.”

  He sighed and raked a hand through his damp hair. “All right,” he relented. It was probably better that they talk in the kitchen rather than in the bedroom, which was filled with memories of a happier time.

  He followed her to the huge kitchen and sat at the table in the breakfast nook, watching as she moved across the room to the coffeemaker.

  If it weren’t for the placing of the beauty mark on her face, he never would have known that she wasn’t Elizabeth Fiona. If he hadn’
t realized the truth himself, would she never have told him? Had she just assumed that he would never learn the truth?

  Once again anger roared through him. Had her deception been the result of bored jet-setting sisters plotting a little fun at his expense? He couldn’t imagine what had possessed her to play such a game, or how he had been so blinded by her seeming innocence.

  By the time she placed a cup of coffee in front of him and joined him across the table, his anger was as rich and bold as it had been the night of the celebration dance when he’d first discovered the truth.

  She was nervous. She licked her lower lip twice, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for her cup. Instead of taking a sip of the hot brew, she wrapped her fingers around the cup, as if needing the warmth to calm her.

  “Omar, I have done a terrible thing,” she began. “And I’d give anything in this world if I could go back and undo it, but I can’t.”

  She paused, as if waiting for him to say something, anything, but he didn’t speak. He took a sip of his coffee and continued to gaze at her.

  Her cheeks pinkened and she gazed down at the tabletop for a moment, then looked at him once again, a hint of tears in her beautiful eyes. “I tried to tell you the truth before we got married. But every time I managed to get up my nerve, something else would interfere.”

  “If you had wanted me to know the truth, you would have found the time and place to tell me,” he responded coolly.

  Again her cheeks stained with color. “You’re right,” she finally said. “But you quoted words from my letters back to me. You made me believe you’d fallen in love with the woman who had written those letters, and I had already fallen in love with you.”

  So at least one of the questions he’d entertained had been answered. The letters that had touched him had been written by her, not the woman he’d thought to make his bride.

  “I told you, Omar, that what I did was terrible,” she continued. She stood abruptly and began to pace the floor in front of the table, tears once again gleaming in her eyes. “I had been hidden in the shadow of Fiona for most of my life. You have no idea what it’s like to grow up with a twin who is so bright, so beautiful and desirable.”