Promised To A Sheikh. Carla Cassidy

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.

      It was just after noon and the sun overhead was bright and beat warmly on his broad shoulders, but he noticed only how it played in her hair, teasing out impish tones of red and gold in the dark brown strands.

      “Rashad will wait here with the car where there is a phone,” he said to her, then frowned apologetically. “I’m afraid that my negotiations are at a crisis stage and I cannot be away from a phone for too long.”

      Elizabeth nodded and smiled at Omar’s aide. “Rashad, if you or the others get thirsty or anything, please feel free to go into the cottage and help yourself.” The “others” were the driver of the car and two bodyguards.

      Rashad gave a formal bow. “Your hospitality is most appreciated, but I will be fine here.”

      “Shall we begin the tour?” Omar asked as he took her hand in his. He smiled at her. “Although I would be just as content to stand here and look at you all day long. You look like a piece of sunshine.”

      He was granted one of her beautiful smiles. “Thank you,” she replied.

      It was true. Wearing yellow slacks and a matching blouse, she looked beautifully vibrant. The bright color emphasized the richness of her dark hair, and the cut of the clothes complemented her shapeliness.

      “I don’t wear yellow very often,” she explained as they began walking away from her cottage.

      “You should. It becomes you. I’ll see to it that you have a dozen outfits in that color when we are married.”

      Her eyes seemed to flirt with him as she cast him a sideways glance. “You’re very sure of yourself, considering the fact that I haven’t agreed to marry you yet.”

      “Ah, but you will.” He squeezed her hand lightly. “I will see to it that you find me utterly irresistible. There are women in Gaspar that find me so.”

      She eyed him again, her eyes twinkling. “Perhaps they have lower standards than I do.”

      He laughed, delighted that she could not only meet his wit, but challenge it, as well. “Then, for you, I will simply try harder.”

      As they walked toward the outbuildings in the distance, Elizabeth shot a quick glance behind them. “Do they go everywhere that you do?” she asked.