Promised to a Sheikh

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 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.”