Promised to a Sheik (9 page)

He took her hand in his and drew it to his lips. “And I've never enjoyed scrubbing a back so thoroughly.” He released her hand and grew more serious. “It's a long flight to Gaspar and I'm afraid there is business I must attend to during the flight.”

“Don't worry about me,” she said quickly. “I'll be just fine right here.”

“There is reading material, or you are welcome to watch a movie,” he said as he released her hand. “I'll be in the office next door, should you require anything.”

“I'll be fine, really,” she assured him.

A few minutes later, as the jet engines wound up for takeoff, he sank into his desk chair and thought again of what a good choice he'd made in Elizabeth.

He was grateful that she seemed to understand the demands on his time, that she didn't appear to be the kind of woman who would be jealous of the hours he needed to work at running his country.

What was interesting to him was that when he was with her, she somehow managed to make him forget that he was a sheik. She treated him like a man, looked at him as a man, and it was a refreshing difference from the way he'd been treated all his life.

He was eager to get her to Gaspar, to share the
beauty and wonder of his country with her. There was a childlike quality to her, an innocence that he found delightful. In showing her the beauty of Gaspar, he would rediscover his country through her eyes.

Rashad entered the office, a smile lighting his diminutive features. “It will be good to get home,” he said as he sat in one of the chairs at the conference table.

“Yes,” Omar agreed. “I enjoy visiting the States, but I'm ready to get home and get back to the business of Gaspar.”

For the next two hours, that was exactly what Omar did—took care of business. Phone calls were made to his key advisors, letting them know his approximate time of arrival. He received updates on the oil negotiations and other trade agreements and on domestic situations that needed his attention.

He returned to the compartment with Elizabeth when it was time for lunch. He found her thumbing through a magazine, and her eyes lit with pleasure as he walked in.

“I thought you might be getting hungry,” he said as he sat next to her on the sofa.

“I wasn't until I started smelling wonderful scents coming from the kitchen.”

Omar smiled. “The chef has just let me know that our lunch is ready.” He pointed to the table on the opposite side of the compartment. “Will you join me for lunch, my wife?”

She smiled prettily. “I would be delighted.”

They moved to the table, and within minutes were
being served a delicious meal of chicken cordon bleu and fresh steamed vegetables.

“It will be after midnight in Gaspar when we land, and I've told my staff there is nothing we will need for the night. Tomorrow morning we will breakfast with my father in his quarters.” He saw the edge of nervousness that shadowed her eyes and smiled. “And my father will find you as charming, as beautiful and as perfect as I do.”

She laughed. “I think I've married a sweet-talking man,” she said, her green eyes sparkling with the teasing light he found so intoxicating.

“I intend to sweet-talk you every day of your life,” he said.

For a moment her eyes were somber, and she held his gaze intently. “I hope so,” she said, and her intensity surprised him.

He wondered if she was having doubts. “Elizabeth, I know you're leaving behind all you know and love to be my wife. I promise you that I will spend every day of my life making sure that you are never sorry for the choice you made,” he said.

To his surprise, her eyes grew misty with tears. “And I hope, Omar, that you are never, ever sorry that I'm the person you married,” she replied.

“I can't imagine that ever happening,” he said as he reached across the table and took one of her hands in his.

He was touched by her obvious sentimentality, something he hadn't really expected from the kind of woman he'd thought her to be.

“And now let's talk about what some of your duties will be as my wife,” he said, wanting to erase the tears from her eyes.

He explained to her that her main duty as his wife would be to present herself with dignity and grace, and function as hostess and helpmate at a variety of functions. “But of course your number-one priority is keeping me happy,” he said with a grin.

She raised one of her eyebrows. “That sounds a bit chauvinistic.”

He laughed. “It's only chauvinistic if I don't intend to make keeping you happy one of
my
priorities,” he replied easily.

She smiled, her eyes clear and shining. “I am happy.”

“I hope you say the same thing a year from now.”

Again her eyes held an intensity that seemed out of proportion to the topic of the conversation. “And I hope you're happy with me a year from now.”

After lunch, when Omar was once again seated at his desk, he thought of Elizabeth's unusual seriousness and was again struck by how emotional women could be. Women worried far too much about love and forever and such nonsense.

They had been married less than twenty-four hours, and it seemed she was already worried about the future of their marriage.

Of course their marriage would work. He'd chosen to marry Elizabeth after much thought on the subject.

Their marriage would work because
failure
was not a word in Omar's vocabulary.

The rest of the flight was uneventful. Omar divided his time between the two compartments, working for a while, then visiting with his wife. They shared an evening meal together, then Omar returned to his office to complete the last of the work he could accomplish while in the air.

It was just after midnight local time when the jet landed at the airstrip on the palace grounds. An official car awaited them, and moments after landing they were being driven to the palace.

He heard Elizabeth's gasp as his home came into view, and pride filled him. To say that Gaspar Palace was impressive was an understatement. Although more than a dozen buildings officially made up the compound that was the palace, the main building rose upward, pink marble and granite capped by a dome that seemed to attempt to meet the moon.

Several other, smaller domes topped other areas of the main building, giving the illusion of a Taj Mahal-type structure.

Although it was magnificent to behold, for Omar it was simply home, and his heart filled with the sweet comfort of returning to the place of his birth, the place where his children would be born.

He saw the awe on Elizabeth's face as they drew closer. “Oh, Omar, it's beautiful,” she exclaimed, and reached for his hand.

He gave her hand a squeeze. “Welcome to your new home.”

F
or the first time since she'd said “I do” to Omar, the enormity of being a sheik's wife struck her as she viewed her new home.

She'd been awed when she'd gotten her first glimpse of the palace, and the feeling continued as she and Omar entered the huge doors that led into a foyer the size of Cara's cottage in Texas.

The ceiling was covered with decorative ceramic tiles and inlaid with opals, jade and amethysts. The marble walls were covered with the official flag of Gaspar and silk tapestries in the royal colors. Beneath their feet, the floor was covered with luxurious oriental carpets.

“I will give you the full tour in the morning,” Omar said as he led her toward a huge staircase. “For tonight, we'll just go to our private quarters.”

She nodded, too overwhelmed by it all to reply. The place was cavernous, with passageways and corridors leading in every direction. “I'll need to leave bread crumbs on the floor to find my way,” she murmured.

Omar laughed and squeezed her arm as they ascended the stairs. “It won't take you long to learn the
layout. Just remember, when you reach the top of the main stairway, our personal quarters are on the right. My father lives in the left wing.”

They reached the top of the stairs and went down another hallway, then approached a large double door where uniformed guards stood on either side.

“Good evening, sir,” one of the two said. “And welcome home.”

“Thank you, Abba. It is good to be home,” Omar replied. “And may I present my new bride, Elizabeth.”

Both the guards bowed to Cara, then Abba opened the door between them. Cara gasped as Omar grabbed her and swung her up into his arms. “The West has some charming traditions, and one of them is carrying the bride over the threshold,” he said as he stepped into the haven that was his private dwelling.

Before she could get a glimpse of her immediate surroundings, he kissed her gently on the lips. “I'm so glad you're here with me.”

“I'm glad, as well,” she replied, then gasped as he set her down inside and closed the door behind them. “It's all so beautiful,” she exclaimed.

They stood in a large living area that radiated warmth and comfort. Two sofas faced each other, their beige material covered with colorful throw pillows. One entire wall appeared to be a state-of-the-art theater system complete with big-screen television and a stereo system that looked as if it would do everything except clean house.

“This is where I'm able to shed my responsibilities
and worries as leader of my country and simply enjoy some quiet time as a man,” he said.

She pointed to the theater system. “That doesn't look exactly conducive to quiet time,” she teased.

“I confess, I'm a sucker for good movies.” His dark eyes glittered brightly, sending a sweet heat rushing through her. “But I think my evenings will be better occupied now.” There was a promise in his words, in the flames of his eyes, and a shiver of anticipation fluttered up her spine.

He led her from the living room into a formal dining room exquisitely decorated and big enough to seat twelve to fifteen people. Beyond that was a small breakfast nook with a breathtaking view of formal gardens, and beyond that the sparkling blue sea.

Within minutes of the brief tour, her head was spinning. In addition to a library and study and sunroom, there were also half a dozen gorgeous guest rooms and baths.

As he led her from room to room, he explained about the maids and secretaries, the cooks and other staff she would meet in the morning.

Still, nothing she'd seen so far had prepared her for the utter splendor and magnificence of the master bedroom. It looked like something from a version of
Arabian Nights
.

The bed was bigger than a king-size and covered with a luxurious deep purple spread. Shimmering silk in vivid purples, reds and turquoises cascaded down from the ceiling, falling on all sides of the bed to produce a gauzy, romantic enclosure.

Huge pillows were scattered about the room, providing places perfect to curl up with a book or merely stretch out to daydream. Floor-to-ceiling windows and a French door along one wall provided a view of what Omar said was a private little garden and the sea.

The master bath was just as impressive, with a sunken bathtub big enough to swim in and a shower and sauna nearby. Decorative jars of bath salts and oils sat on the tile next to the tub.

Home.
This was her home. Her mind worked to wrap around the enormity of it all. Cara had been raised in a wealthy family and had enjoyed a certain level of luxury, but nothing like the opulence that surrounded her.

“I'm overwhelmed,” she said, turning to face him. “It's more beautiful that you described.”

“I can't wait to show you my country and my people,” he replied as he drew her into his embrace. “I hope you will love them as I know they will come to love you.”

She smiled tremulously. “I can't remember ever being this happy in my entire life.”

He leaned down and touched his lips to hers in a soft, sweet kiss. “And it is my wish that you will always be happy here. And now, are you hungry? I could get somebody to get us a snack.”

She shook her head. “No. The meal your chef cooked for dinner on the plane was wonderful, and I'm still quite full.”

“Then, I suggest we call it a night. We have break
fast arranged for seven in the morning. I took the liberty of ordering nightwear for you, knowing that we'd be arriving late and might not want to unpack. In the closet on the left in the bathroom are some things for you.”

He was a man of many surprises, Cara thought as she went back into the bathroom and into the closet he'd indicated. There she found hanging a lovely red silk nightgown, but it wasn't his thoughtfulness in arranging for a new nightgown that touched her.

Next to where the dress hung, there was a shelf, on which sat a bud vase with a single perfect red rose. There was a note tied to it, and the note read:

She knew the words well, for she had written them to him in a letter when she'd spoken of her love of flowers.

The fact that he'd remembered her sentiment and given them back to her with a lovely rose, filled her heart with a deepening love for the man she had married.

She changed from her clothes to the nightgown, loving the way the elegant silk caressed her skin. Although just that morning Omar had made love to her in the shower, she hungered for his touch as if it had been months, years, since they had last been intimate.

With the rose in her hand, she entered the bedroom, where the lights were dim, candles burned, music tinkled faintly and the fragrance of incense filled the air.

Beyond the wispy veils that surrounded the bed, she saw her husband, and her heart stepped up its rhythm at the beauty of his male form stretched out against white sheets.

“You are amazing,” she said as she parted the veils around the bed and crawled up next to him. She held the rose to his nose, allowing him to smell the intoxicating fragrance. “How did you remember the words I wrote to you?”

He smiled. “I remember many of the words you wrote to me.” He slid one of his hands through her hair, caressing the strands as if they were fine silk. “You always spoke in such beautiful words.”

“I used a lot of beautiful quotes to speak what was in my heart. So many people through the ages have been eloquent when speaking about beauty and dreams and love.”

She suddenly realized he hadn't spoken of love, not one time, not in the days they had spent together in Texas, not when he'd proposed marriage and not since the ceremony that had made them man and wife.

Of course, she hadn't told him that she loved him, either. Her love for him was too new to speak of, an ever-deepening emotion that continued to thrill her.

Deep inside, she knew the real reason she hadn't spoken of her love for him was that it didn't seem right to tell him she loved him before she told him of her true identity.

You should tell him the truth now,
a little voice whispered inside her head, but at that moment his lips sought hers in a kiss of such passion, such desire, it instantly overwhelmed any need she felt for such a confession.

Later, as she drifted off to sleep with the exotic scents and sounds of her new home surrounding her, she told herself she would tell Omar the truth tomorrow. And hopefully, he would not only forgive her, but would take her in his arms and tell her he didn't care what her real name was, that he loved her and only her.

 

Morning crept into her consciousness with the sound of birds singing sweet morning songs, and a gentle breeze caressing her naked body as it whispered through the gauzy curtains that surrounded the bed.

She opened her eyes to see Omar, fully dressed and standing at the opened French doors that led out into a private garden.

She took the opportunity to study the man she had married, admiring the breadth of his shoulders beneath the white suit jacket, the slender hips and muscular legs hugged by the white slacks.

His dark hair gleamed in a shaft of sunlight that found its way to where he stood, and she remembered clutching his hair, gripping his shoulders and clinging to him the night before as he'd made love to her.

She was struck once again by the sounds of birds. Their different songs filled the air.

“What a lovely way to wake up,” she said.

Omar turned from the doorway and walked over to the bed, where he pulled aside one of the veil curtains and smiled at her. “Yes,” he agreed. “There's nothing better than awakening to a gorgeous naked woman in your bed.”

She fought the desire to pull the sheet up over her, a new confidence flowing through her as she saw the pleasure that lit his eyes. “Silly, I was talking about the bird songs,” she replied.

“Ah yes, the birds. This garden has an aviary that my father had built when he was Sheik of Gaspar. He's something of a bird lover.”

“I can't wait to meet him.”

“And so you will, in half an hour,” Omar replied.

“Half an hour!” Cara shot up and scrambled from the bed. “Why didn't you tell me it was so late?” she exclaimed as she ran for the bathroom.

She was surprised to discover the clothes she had brought with her from Texas were now hanging neatly in the closet. Her underclothing was on a shelf and her toiletries were on the countertop next to one of the two sinks.

She took a fast shower, then dressed in a long-sleeved, lightweight beige dress. As she applied just a touch of makeup, she was surprised to discover she was nervous about meeting Omar's father.

She knew from Omar's letters and from their conversations that he held an enormous amount of love and respect for his father, and it was important to her that Omar's father approve of her.

When she finally stepped out of the bathroom, Omar's eyes lit with pleasure at the sight of her, and she knew the choice of the conservative dress had been correct.

“Ah, Elizabeth, you look lovely. My father's heart will be stolen by you as quickly as my own heart was.”

His words soothed her nerves and, as they left their private quarters, she was even more grateful when he took her hand.

“Does Rashad live here at the palace?” she asked, as they walked down the long corridor that led toward the opposite wing where his father resided. She hadn't seen the charming little man since they had landed at the airport.

“Rashad has a comfortable apartment in another of the palace buildings. However, I imagine he will be at breakfast. Rashad is like a member of the royal family and is usually a part of any gathering.”

Guards also stood on either side of the door that led to Sheik Abdul Al Abdar's quarters. They bowed respectfully to both Omar and Cara, then opened the door to allow them entry.

Rashad met them just inside the door, his face wreathed with a smile as he greeted them. “Good morning to the newlyweds,” he exclaimed. “You both look positively splendid this morning.”

“Thank you, Rashad,” Cara replied, as always finding herself smiling when in his presence.

“Your family awaits you in the dining room,” he said to Omar.

Cara looked at Omar curiously. His
family?
The word implied more than his father, and she didn't know Omar had other family members.

She suddenly realized she knew very little about Sheik Abdul's personal life, although she knew Omar's mother had died in childbirth. Perhaps Omar had aunts and uncles who would be eating breakfast with them.

Sheik Abdul's quarters were laid out much like Omar's quarters, although smaller and less grand. As they walked through the living-room area, Omar squeezed her hand, as if knowing her nerves were stretched taut. She cast him a grateful smile.

They entered a dining room, not as large or formal as the one in Omar's quarters. Seated at the table were a man and three women, all of whom stood when they entered.

If Sheik Abdul had been in a lineup of a hundred men, Cara could have picked him out easily as Omar's father. Their build was the same—tall with powerful shoulders and arms.

Omar had taken from his father not only his build but also his sharply honed facial features and striking handsomeness.

“Ah, my son.” Sheik Abdul embraced Omar, then turned to Cara, his eyes warm with welcome. “And my new daughter. Welcome,” he exclaimed as he hugged Cara, as well. “Come and sit.” He released Cara and gestured toward the table. “I'm starving.”

Omar laughed. “Some things never change. Father, you're always starving.” He took Cara's elbow and
led her to where the three women stood looking at them both expectantly. “Elizabeth, may I present Hayfa, Jahara and Malika, my father's wives.”

 

If Omar had entertained any doubts about the woman he'd chosen to make his wife, the last of them would have vanished during the breakfast meal.