Promised To A Sheikh. Carla Cassidy

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.”