Читать книгу Promised To A Sheikh - Carla Cassidy - Страница 11

She dreamed of him all night long. She dreamed of Sheik Omar Al Abdar and a beautiful foreign land called Gaspar, which he had described in one of his letters as a gemstone afloat on the sea.

In those dreams of Omar, he had gazed at her with his beautiful eyes and told her that he loved her more than anyone else on earth, and he called her Cara instead of Fiona. She’d awakened with a fierce longing, wishing that her dream would become a reality.

It was just before noon when Cara stood before her bathroom mirror, checking her reflection to make sure she looked all right for lunch with a sheik.

The dreams had stirred a wistfulness inside her, a longing to see the country that Omar had written about so eloquently in his letters, a longing to spend time with the man who had written such beautiful words.

The woman in the mirror who stared back at her wore a small frown. She had searched through her closet, trying to find something to wear that might be something Fiona would choose. But Fiona and Cara had completely different taste in clothing.

Fiona was like a brilliant flower, partial to vivid colors and cutting-edge styles. Cara was far more conservative, bland and boring. Her frown deepened, and she consciously smoothed it away and smiled at her reflection.

She’d found the jade-colored dress in the back of her closet with the tags still attached. She’d bought it on a whim, although it wasn’t her usual conventional style. The scoop neckline was a little risqué for her and the flirty skirt was definitely shorter than what she normally wore. The dress was more the type that Fiona would wear, which was why she had chosen to wear it today.

A wave of guilt swept through her and she turned away from the mirror. She was consciously planning on impersonating her sister for the first time in years.

As children they had occasionally fooled people by pretending to be each other. Those were childish games with no real consequences. But she and Fiona weren’t children anymore, and her impersonation of Fiona had prompted an important man to travel thousands of miles to propose.

Just for a couple of days, she told herself. Surely there was no harm in continuing the pretense for a couple of days. What memories these days would provide her in the future!

Her heart leaped up to her throat as a knock fell on her door. A quick glance at her watch told her it was time for Omar to pick her up.

She just hoped she could pull this off. She grabbed her purse from the sofa and she was surprised to open the door and see not Omar, but rather a short, thin man.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Carson. My name is Rashad Aziz. I am the personal assistant for Sheik Al Abdar. He is awaiting your company for lunch.”

Cara smoothed a hand down the skirt of her dress and nodded. “I’m ready to go,” she replied.

The little man smiled in delight. “Ah, a rare woman—one who is ready on time.” He escorted her to the waiting limo. When she was safely ensconced in the back, he shut the door, then took a position in the passenger seat next to the driver.

She wished Rashad had joined her in the back of the limo. Perhaps he might have chatted with her and she wouldn’t be thinking about what a huge mistake all this was.

As the limo pulled out of the Carson property and headed toward town, Cara told herself again that everything would be all right. She was certain the sheik wouldn’t remain in town long, that he would need to return to his country fairly quickly.

In the meantime she could enjoy a couple of dates with him, then turn down his marriage proposal. He would entertain fond memories of Fiona, and Cara would have wonderful memories of being dated by a handsome sheik who had shown in his letters his gentle, kind nature.

Dating had always been difficult for her. Although Mission Creek had more than its share of handsome, eligible bachelors, most of them at one time or another had dated Fiona. And Cara had made it a personal decision never to date a man who had dated her twin sister.

Cara never wanted to worry about being a second choice, a pale imitation of what the man wanted but couldn’t have. She never wanted to wonder if the man was dating her because she was a replica of her sister.

However, Fiona’s fickle dating style made it difficult for Cara to find men her sister hadn’t dated.

Omar hadn’t dated Fiona. He knew Fiona only through her letters. Letters Cara had written. Granted, he’d spent several hours with Fiona at a cotillion six years before, but it hadn’t been a date.

That night Fiona had played the role of belle of the ball, flitting from man to man in true Scarlet O’Hara fashion. Cara had, as usual, blended into the woodwork, watching the festivities rather than participating in them.

She had been introduced to Omar that night, but knew he probably didn’t remember her at all. Her gown had been a pale pink and she hadn’t tried to compete with her sister for male attention.

She’d watched him that night—watched him watching Fiona—and she’d thought him one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen.

Her heart beat faster as the limo entered the small town of Mission Creek. Ahead she could see the Brighton Hotel, and knew the eight-story luxury building was where they were going. Not only was it exorbitantly expensive with a five-star rating, but also it was the only hotel in the small town of Mission Creek aside from the accommodations at the Lone Star Country Club.

As the limo pulled to a halt before the gold-trimmed glass front doors, a uniformed valet stepped forward. Rashad jumped out of the car and waved the valet away.

He opened the door for her, his smile exposing perfect white teeth. “I will escort you to where Sheik Al Abdar awaits.”

He led her through the front doors and into the posh lobby. The furnishings were in burgundy and gold, with lush green plants providing the accenting green.

Cara had spent little time in the hotel before, and looked around with interest. When her family planned dinners or gatherings, they always took place at the Lone Star Country Club.

When they reached the back end of the lobby, Rashad led her through a doorway that entered into the Gold Room Restaurant.

There were several people seated at the tables, but Omar wasn’t one of the diners in the dimly lit room.

It wasn’t until they reached another door at the back of the restaurant that Cara realized Omar must have reserved a private dining room.

Two men stood on either side of the door. Judging by the thickness of their necks and their stern demeanor, Cara guessed they were bodyguards to the sheik.

Rashad gestured toward the door and smiled once again. “Sheik Al Abdar awaits you,” he said.

She’d thought dining with the sheik would be relatively safe. After all, it would be difficult to have too private a conversation with other diners talking, with the clink of silver and glassware all around them.

As she eyed the door before her, trepidation swept through her. A private dining room meant…well, privacy. She would have to be on her toes to make him believe she was the same woman he’d seen the night of the cotillion.

Drawing a deep breath, she knocked.

Omar opened the door, his handsome face lit with a smile that instantly warmed her. “Elizabeth,” he said as he took her hand in his and pulled her across the threshold. “You look positively stunning.” He closed the door behind them.

“Thank you,” she murmured, then exclaimed in surprise as she looked around the small room. Fresh-cut flowers were everywhere, bouquets of them that filled the room with their sweet fragrance.

She stepped over to an arrangement of multicolored roses on top of a marble stand, and drew a deep breath. “Oh, Omar, they are all so lovely.”

He smiled. “I remembered you love flowers. I hope they please you.”

“Please me? How could I not be pleased?” She was touched beyond belief. First because he remembered she’d mentioned in one of her letters how much she liked flowers, and second because he had gone out of his way to fill the room with them for her.

“Please have a seat.” He gestured toward the small table in the middle of the room. In the center of the table two candles were lit, their warm glow flickering on the crystal glasses and gold tableware.

Cara sat in one of the chairs, then gasped in surprise as he turned off the overhead light, plunging the windowless room into candlelight intimacy.

She became conscious of soft music playing in the background and realized the scene was set for romance. Her heart pounded as her nervousness increased.

As Omar took the seat opposite her, a waiter appeared through a doorway she hadn’t noticed in the back of the room. He held a bottle of wine and wore a deferential smile.

“I took the liberty of ordering the wine,” Omar said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” she assured him, as the waiter filled their glasses. When the waiter was finished, he disappeared once again.

Omar picked up his wineglass and held it out toward her. “To the future. May it bring us much happiness.”

It was a toast Cara could make without a twinge of conscience. After all, he hadn’t said “to us,” which would have been difficult for her to toast to since she knew there wouldn’t be an “us.”

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 didn’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.