Carla Cassidy - Promised to a Sheikh

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.

“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 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 different. 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 something 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.