CLUB TIMES

For Members’ Eyes Only

When you see a breathtaking sheik, wear a raincoat!

I was getting a manicure at the club spa, and when I stepped out for some fresh air I noticed a limo go by. Not a rarity in these parts, but since the window was rolled down, I saw a handsome sheik in the back seat! Well, call me cool as a cucumber, but I spilled coffee all over my new peach skirt. Does anyone know who this sheik is…and if he’s single?

This just in: Fiona Carson jetted off to Paris this morning. Did anyone get a chance to submit a souvenir wish list to her? That feisty Carson daughter is going to kick herself for missing the fine male specimen mentioned above. Wouldn’t it be a gas if her prim and oh-so-sweet sister Cara Carson charmed this seductive sheik? Hmm…sheik husband or little Eiffel Tower key chain? You choose.

I’d like to take a minute to pay homage to our beloved district attorney Spence Harrison. Basically, we think you’re the cat’s meow and the wind beneath Mission Creek’s wings. Don’t blush, Spence. We’re rooting for you as you put away the bad guy who killed our judge Carl Bridges. We also hope that someone has the good sense to keep you warm at night.

As always, members, make your best stop of the day right here at the Lone Star Country Club!

About the Author

CARLA CASSIDY

doesn’t belong to the Lone Star Country Club, but she did marry a prince of a man years ago. Like all the heroines in the Carson family, she was lucky enough to find true love. Carla spends her days writing books and her nights playing love slave to her “prince,” which makes them both giggle!

Promised to a Sheik
Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Welcome to the

Where Texas society reigns supreme—and appearances are everything.

Seduction and deception course through Mission Creek…

Sheik Omar Al Abdar: This commanding oil tycoon needs a wife and heirs to continue his bloodline. He has the perfect woman in mind to fulfill his every desire. But little does Omar know that the younger woman who breathlessly pledges “I do” is his intended bride’s smitten twin sister!

Cara Carson: She fell head over heels for Sheik Omar when he courted her sister through his heart-swelling love letters. It didn’t take much to convince her uninterested sis to let her fill in as Omar’s starry-eyed bride. But would the shy schoolteacher’s deception ruin her one chance at true happiness?

The Mysterious Waitress: Waitress “Daisy Parker” is harboring a shocking secret that could link her to a high-profile investigation. Will the truth compromise her perilous mission?

The Missing Mercenary: MIA millionaire Luke Callahan is embroiled in a furtive adventure that could have dire consequences….

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

One

“Sheik Al Abdar, could you tell us if this impromptu visit to Texas is for business or pleasure?”

Sheik Omar Al Abdar flashed a slightly cool smile at the female reporter whose voice had risen above the others. He’d only just stepped out of the private jet that had flown him from his small, Middle East country of Gaspar to a private airstrip just outside Mission Creek, Texas.

“I was unaware that the press had been alerted to my presence here in Texas,” he replied.

“When one of the most eligible bachelors in the world comes to Texas, Texas sits up and takes notice,” the reporter responded with a dazzling smile.

Omar paid her no attention. His mind was focused on his mission.

What if she says no? The question came unbidden to Omar’s mind and he shoved it away, refusing to consider the possibility.

Rashad Aziz held up his hands to halt the volley of questions. “Please, please, His Royal Highness has traveled a long distance today and is eager to get to his destination. He will answer no questions at this time.”

As if on an unspoken cue, several guards moved into position, shielding Sheik Omar from the small crowd of reporters as they ushered him toward an awaiting car.

“Thank you, Rashad.” Omar smiled at his personal assistant once they were all settled in the car and pulling away from the circle of reporters. “It would appear the owner of the airstrip leaked the information about our arrival here.”

Rashad Aziz, a petite man in his fifties with skin the color of a coconut shell and a cynicism Omar often found amusing, grimaced. “I’m sure he was paid handsomely for giving the information to those vultures.”

Rashad withdrew a small pad from his breast pocket. “We have made arrangements for you at the Brighton Hotel in Mission Creek. The Ashbury Suite will be yours for as long as you like. I spoke to the owner of the hotel myself, and he has assured me that his entire staff is eager to see that your every wish is granted.”

“I’m sure it will be just fine,” Omar said absently. “And now you will tell the driver that we will go to the Carson Ranch before checking into the hotel.”

Rashad didn’t blink an eye even though the plan had been for Omar to go immediately to his hotel. Rashad moved to the seat directly behind the limo driver and quickly relayed the change in plans. He remained seated there, as if instinctively recognizing that the sheik wanted a few moments with his own thoughts.

Omar stared out the window at the passing landscape. It irritated him that the press knew he was here. He’d hoped to fly into Mission Creek, accomplish his goal, then return to Gaspar without the glare of the media upon him.

He did not want the press to be privy to his personal business, and this trip to Texas was strictly personal. When he succeeded, he’d be more than happy for the world to know what he’d done.

What if she says no? Again the question came from nowhere to plague him with the disturbing possibility. He reached into his breast pocket and withdrew a photograph.

The picture was of a young woman in a shimmering silver ball gown. The dark brown wavy hair that framed her heart-shaped face complemented her peaches-and-cream complexion. He remembered her eyes had been like emeralds, flirting and dancing and surrounded by thick, long lashes. A beauty mark at the corner of her mouth drew attention to the lush, thoroughly kissable-looking lips.

Elizabeth Fiona Carson. She’d been twenty-one years old when the photo was taken at a cotillion Omar had attended in this very town. That had been six years ago—and now he had come to claim her as his bride.

What if she says no?

He tucked the photo back in his pocket and straightened up in the seat. Of course she would not say no. He was Sheik Omar Al Abdar, King of Gaspar. Any woman would be proud to be chosen by him as his wife.

As the driver turned onto the Carson property, Omar once again turned his attention out the window. The Carson ranch was known throughout Texas for the quality of its cattle, but he was more interested in the fact that this was Elizabeth’s home, the place of her birth and her upbringing.

In the letters they had exchanged over the past year, she had spoken of this place and of her parents with great affection.

Although not nearly as big as his palace back in Gaspar, the main house was certainly impressive. A large porch ran the length of the front of the massive house, along with dozens of large windows.

The grounds were well kept, manicured to perfection and with aesthetically pleasing flower gardens and an abundance of trees.

As the car began to turn into the half-moon driveway in front of the house, Omar leaned forward. “No,” he said. “Not the main house. There should be a caretaker’s cottage somewhere on the premises.” He pointed to an offshoot drive that led past a four-car garage. “There. Go there.”

The driver did his bidding, passing the garage and other outbuildings. In the distance Omar spied the small cottage where he knew Elizabeth lived.

He knew it not only from the letters she’d written him, but by the baskets of flowers that hung from the small porch. She’d told him she loved flowers.

As the car came to a halt before the little cottage, Omar felt a curious fluttering in the pit of his stomach. It couldn’t be nerves, he thought. He was a sheik, the king of his country. He didn’t get nervous, he made other people nervous.

Hunger. Surely that was what made his stomach roll. They had traveled all day to arrive in Texas, and their last meal had been far too long ago.

Rashad opened the door to allow him to step out. With a head full of thoughts about the woman inside the cottage, Omar absently smoothed a hand down the front of his Armani suit, hoping he didn’t appear too travel rumpled.

As Omar walked up to the front door, his two bodyguards stationed themselves on either side of the porch and Rashad returned to the back of the limo.

Omar drew a deep breath, aware that this would be one of the defining moments of his life. At thirty-eight years old, it was far past time he claimed a bride, and even though he hadn’t seen Elizabeth Fiona Carson for six years, she was the woman he had chosen to make his wife.

He knocked on the door, at the same time aware of the sweet scent of the nearby flower baskets. He made a mental note to ensure there were always fresh-cut flowers in her rooms at the palace.

The door opened, and Omar gazed at his bride-to-be. “Elizabeth,” he said. In an instant he drank in the sight of her, pleased that she looked just as he remembered.

“Omar!” Her brilliant green eyes widened in shock at the same time her hands raced first to her hair, then to smooth down the front of her dress.

Even though her dark wavy hair was slightly tousled and the denim dress she wore was rather plain, she looked lovely, and the desire he’d felt for her on that night so long ago sprang to life as if the six intervening years had never occurred.

“Wha—what are you doing here? I didn’t know you were coming to Texas. I just got your last letter today, and you didn’t mention a word about coming here.” She bit her bottom lip, as if aware she was rambling.

Omar found the rambling charming. He smiled at her, more certain than ever of what he was about to do. “I didn’t let you know I was coming to Texas because I wanted to surprise you.”

“You’ve certainly done that,” she replied. “Uh, would you like to come in?”

“I would not be so thoughtless as to appear un-announced on your doorstep and expect you to entertain me,” he replied. “I have yet to check in to my hotel, but I wanted to stop here first and ask you an important question.”

“Question?” She still looked stunned by his appearance. Again she raked a hand through her hair, and he noticed her hand trembled slightly. “What kind of a question?”

He captured her fluttering hand in his, and again her beautiful green eyes widened. He could smell her fragrance, a floral scent that instantly reminded him of the night at the cotillion.

She had bewitched him that night, blatantly flirting and charming every man in attendance, and Omar had been no exception. But at that time Omar had been no more ready for marriage than she had been.

“Elizabeth, I’ve come to tell you how much I have enjoyed our correspondence over the past year, that through your letters I feel as if I have come to know your mind and your heart.”

Her eyes seemed to grow even wider, and he tightened his hand around hers. “Elizabeth Fiona Carson, I have come to Texas to claim you as my wife. Will you marry me?”

Elizabeth Cara Carson stared at the handsome man before her, fighting against the panic that urged her to jerk her hand away, turn and flee into the cottage.

This can’t be happening, she thought frantically. “Omar…I…I…this is so sudden,” she finally managed to say as she pulled her hand from his. In truth, this was not only sudden, it was a disaster!

“I have taken you by surprise,” he said, stating the obvious.

“That’s certainly an understatement.” She had known from the photos she’d seen of him since their one and only meeting six years ago that he had matured into a devastatingly handsome man.

However, no picture had prepared her for the dark, liquid warmth of his eyes, or the impossible width of his broad shoulders. No pictures had prepared her for the hard, masculine planes of his face, a masculinity tempered by long, dark eyelashes and a soft smile.

Omar nodded. “I will leave you now to contemplate my proposal. Would you do me the honor of having lunch with me tomorrow? We can discuss our future at that time. I’m staying at the Brighton downtown.”

“Lunch?” she echoed.

“I will send a car for you at noon. Does that sound all right?” His dark eyes were bottomless pools that beckoned her in. But she averted her gaze from his, refusing to fall into the seductive depths.

She was in trouble—big trouble—and perhaps by noon the next day she would be able to get it all sorted out.

“That would be fine,” she agreed. “Lunch tomorrow. I’ll be ready at noon.”

“Good. I look forward to it.” He gave her a small, formal bow, then turned on his heels and headed back to his awaiting car.

Our future. The words rang in Cara’s ears as she watched the stretch limo disappear from her sight. The minute the car was gone, she flew into the cottage and grabbed the phone.

Fiona. She had to get in touch with Fiona. Quickly she punched in the numbers that would ring in her sister’s quarters at the main house.

“You know I want to talk to you.” Fiona’s voice purred in Cara’s ear. “Unfortunately, I’m not here at the moment, but please leave your name—”

Cara hung up, suddenly remembering that that morning her sister had been whining over the fact it was Saturday night and she didn’t have a date. Fiona had decided to spend the unusual free Saturday night at Body Perfect, the spa in the Lone Star Country Club.

Cara grabbed her car keys and left her cottage. She had to talk to Fiona. She had to tell her that Sheik Omar was here, in Texas, and had just proposed marriage to her—only, he thought she was Fiona. Things were suddenly a major mess.

It took only minutes for Cara to reach the Lone Star Country Club. As always as she pulled up in front of the impressive four-story pink granite building, a swell of pride filled her heart.

The resort and country club was part of her legacy, built partially on Carson land by her grandfather and a neighbor, J. P. Wainwright, in 1923. In the intervening years the country club had become world renowned for its luxury, many amenities and top-notch staff.

But Cara’s pride lasted only a moment, quickly swallowed by the imminent need to talk to her sister.

She parked her car beneath the covered portico and jumped out. “Hi, Larry,” she said to the awaiting valet.

“Ms. Carson, nice to see you again,” he said as he took her keys from her.

“I shouldn’t be too long,” she said, then flew through the doors that led to the huge lobby. She nodded and smiled to the people she knew as she hurried to the elevators.

Body Perfect, the ladies’ spa and beauty salon was located on the second floor. The receptionist greeted her in surprise. “Cara!” She frowned and looked at her computer screen. “I didn’t realize you had an appointment this evening.”

“I don’t. I just need to speak to my sister,” Cara replied. “Can you tell me where she is?”

“She has an appointment for a massage with Heidi in fifteen minutes, and I think she was going into the sauna before her massage.”

“Thanks,” Cara said, then rushed toward the changing room just outside the sauna.

As she changed her clothes and grabbed one of the white, fluffy body towels provided, she thought of that moment when she’d opened her door and seen Sheik Omar on her front porch.

She wouldn’t have been more stunned if the Easter bunny had been standing there in all his floppy-eared splendor.

Omar had asked for her hand in marriage. Cara’s stomach clenched. Suddenly the harmless little deceit she and Fiona had indulged in for the past year didn’t seem so harmless anymore.

Fiona would know what to do. Fiona was good at extricating herself from trouble. Cara opened the door and stepped into the steamy mists of the sauna.

She instantly spied her sister, prone on one of the benches, a hand towel covering her face. She was thankful there was nobody else using the facility at the moment.

“Fiona,” Cara said as she poked her sister in the side.

Fiona yelped and grabbed the towel from her face. “Cara, what are you doing here?” she asked in surprise. She sat up and faced Cara.

The two women were identical twins. The only difference was the location of their beauty marks. Cara’s was just above her lips on the left side and Fiona’s was just above her lips on the right side. Mirror images.

“We’re in trouble,” Cara said without preamble. She sat down next to her sister on the bench. “Guess who showed up on my front doorstep ten minutes ago?”

“I can’t imagine.” Fiona raked her fingers through her damp hair.

“Sheik Omar Al Abdar.” Cara watched as her twin sister’s green eyes widened in shock. “He asked me to marry him, Fiona.”

Fiona stared at her another moment, then threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, this is just too amusing!”

Cara swallowed a sigh of irritation. Fiona never took anything seriously. “Fiona, the man proposed to me, but he thinks I’m you.”

Fiona eyed her sister curiously. “What on earth did you write in those letters to inspire a marriage proposal?”

Cara shrugged. “Just stuff,” she replied. Her dreams, her hopes, her innermost thoughts—that was what she had written to Sheik Omar, and at the end of each letter she had signed her sister’s name.

Fiona waved a hand dismissively. “Well, I’m certainly not going to marry any sheik,” she exclaimed. “Besides, if I remember correctly, Sheik Omar is old.”

“He isn’t old,” Cara instantly protested, thinking of the man she’d seen only minutes earlier. “He’s only thirty-eight.” And he’d looked as fit and as virile as any twenty-year-old, she mentally added. “He’s quite handsome and he wants to have lunch tomorrow to discuss our future together.”

“So, have lunch with him and keep your mouth shut.” Even through the steam, Cara could see the bright sparkle of her sister’s eyes. “Oh, Cara, have a little fun with this!”

“I couldn’t do that,” Cara said softly, although Fiona’s words held a provocative appeal. “He should know the truth.”

“Why? Why does he need to know that I got tired of writing him letters and you kept up the correspondence with him?”

She grabbed Cara’s hands in hers. “Your life is such a bore. I’m not saying you have to actually marry him, but you’re twenty-seven years old and have never had anything exciting happen in your life—other than that dreadful incident last year in school. Wouldn’t you love to have a great story to tell your grandchildren someday?”

The “dreadful incident” was what had prompted Cara to decide not to renew her contract as an English teacher at the high school for this year.

“The way my love life is going, I’ll probably never have grandchildren,” she replied softly.

“Of course you will,” Fiona exclaimed. “You’re the type who will eventually fall madly in love and settle for a life of simple domesticity, complete with kids and a dog.”

Cara grinned. “You make it sound like a fate worse than death.”

“It’s fine for other women.” Fiona grinned impudently. “I just have loftier ideas for myself.” Her grin faded and once again she reached for Cara’s hands. “Go for it, Cara. How many times in your life are you going to be able to be engaged to a sheik?”

Cara said nothing, for a moment remembering the warmth of Omar’s hand around hers, the sweet appeal in the depths of his eyes. Would it be so terrible to pretend for just a couple of days to be Elizabeth Fiona Carson instead of Elizabeth Cara Carson?

Certainly she would love to get an opportunity to talk in person to the man whose letters had so touched her heart. She would love to spend just a little bit of time being somebody special in his life.

“Go for it. I’ll even make it easier on you,” Fiona said, pulling Cara from her inward thoughts.

“What do you mean?”

Fiona took the hand towel and dabbed at her forehead. “I’ve been so utterly bored the past couple of weeks that I’ve been toying with the idea of taking a little vacation. First thing in the morning I’ll hop a jet to Paris for a week or two. That way I’ll be out of town and there will be no chance that Omar will realize you aren’t me.”

Cara was silent for a moment, thinking of all the reasons she shouldn’t indulge in such a subterfuge, yet unable to still the sweet anticipation that rushed through her as she realized she was going to do it.

“And, Cara, if you are going to be me, please do me justice,” Fiona said dryly. Then she placed the towel over her face and once again stretched out on the bench.

Just for a couple of days, Cara told herself minutes later as she showered, then dressed once again. She would pretend to be the woman Omar had been so taken with at the cotillion, the woman whose signature she’d signed to the dozens of letters she’d written him.

Just for a couple of days she wanted the opportunity to shine in somebody else’s eyes. In Omar’s eyes. Eventually she would tell him she couldn’t marry him, and he would return to Gaspar none the wiser.

It seemed a foolproof plan, but Cara had a feeling the only fool in the whole plan might just be her, for even contemplating such an adventure.

As Cara Carson left the Lone Star Country Club, two waitresses in the country club’s Yellow Rose Café went on break together.

“So, Daisy, do you have any big plans for the rest of the weekend?” Ginger Walton asked, as the two sat down at the small table in the break room.

Haley Mercado, who for the past six months had been pretending to be Daisy Parker, smiled at Ginger. The auburn-haired, blue-eyed young woman had, in the past couple of months, become a good friend. “Yeah, I’m working tonight, then I’m working tomorrow night.”

Ginger laughed. “Me, too. At least working all these hours keeps us out of trouble, right?”

“Right,” Haley replied, although nothing could be further from the truth in her case. She was in a world of trouble.

Working undercover for the FBI, Haley was not only pretending to be somebody she wasn’t, she was also tied emotionally and by blood to one of the most powerful families in the Texas Mafia. And that was just the beginning of her woes.

“Just think,” Ginger continued as she opened a bag of potato chips. “Maybe someday we’ll be here waiting tables with tired feet and sore backs and our Prince Charmings will waltz in and take us away from all this.”

Haley snorted in appropriate Daisy-like fashion. “Honey, I gave up on the notion of Prince Charming a long time ago,” she exclaimed in the thick accent she’d adopted for her new persona.

“Not me,” Ginger replied, a dreamy expression in her eyes. “I’m not looking for a man to take care of me or anything like that,” she hurriedly added. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time. But it would be nice to have somebody special to share my life with, somebody who adored me as much as I adored him.”

Ginger’s words stirred a memory in Haley, one she rarely allowed to surface in her mind. A single night of passion spent in the arms of the man she’d loved from afar for years. Her heart ached as she thought of the consequence of that night.

She shoved away the memory, knowing that to indulge herself in thoughts of the past and that man would only make her life now more difficult. And things were difficult enough already.

“Where does Harvey have you stationed for tomorrow night?” Ginger asked.

“The Men’s Grill,” Haley replied.

“Lucky you, the tips are always good in there,” Ginger replied.

Yeah, lucky me, Haley thought. She’d already told her contacts at the FBI that she was assigned to the grill the following night. That meant when she came to work the next evening she’d be wired, and her goal would be to record any conversations that might take place that could bring down the Mafia.

The temporary Men’s Grill was the place where power was wielded, deals were made, and bargains were sealed. In the smoky confines of the private bar and restaurant, “the family” met to conduct business.

“The family” included members of her family, the Mercados, and part of her deal with the FBI was that she would help tumble the Mafia in exchange for immunity for her father, Johnny, and her brother, Ricky.

However, there was one man Haley hoped to bring to his knees. Frank Del Brio. His very name caused a chill of fear to race up her spine. Fear coupled with rage.

Since the death of Carmine Mercado, the head of the “family,” there had been rumors that her brother was the logical choice to take his place. Haley had also heard rumors that Frank Del Brio was acting as if he was already the new don.

But that wasn’t why Haley wanted to see him arrested and locked up for the rest of his life.

Frank Del Brio had briefly been her fiancé. It had been because of him that she’d had to fake her own death and was now working with the FBI. He’d been responsible for her estrangement from her family, for the plastic surgery she’d undergone to transform her features and for the murder of her mother.

“Hey, am I paying you two to sit in here all night?” Harvey Small, the manager of the Lone Star Country Club, stuck his head into the break room. “Break is over. I need you on the floor.”

“Back to the salt mines,” Ginger said. She crumpled up her empty chip bag, tossed it into the nearby trash container, then stood.

“Yeah, no rest for the wicked,” Haley said, also standing.

Maybe tomorrow night she would get the information the FBI needed and the mob would be busted. Frank would be thrown in jail, and Haley could reclaim her life. She could be reunited with all the people she loved.

And maybe tomorrow night Frank Del Brio would recognize her beneath her disguise and all would be lost. She shoved this frightening thought out of her head as she and Ginger hurried back to work.

Two

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.

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.”

“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.

He knew she was speaking of the bodyguards who followed behind them at a discreet distance. “I am only without them when I am in my private quarters in Gaspar. That is one of the things you would have to become accustomed to as my wife—the presence of guards in your life.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sure life in Gaspar would be far different from life here in Texas.” She pulled her hand from his in order to open a gate that led to a pasture.

As they walked through the lush green grass dotted with wildflowers, she shared with him some of the history of the ranch.

He listened with interest as she explained to him about Big Bill Carson and J. P. Wainwright, who had met on a cattle-buying trip in 1898 and become good friends. In 1923 the two families had founded the Lone Star Country Club.

When the large herd of cattle came into view, Omar was surprised at how knowledgeable she was about the breeding, buying and selling process.

While he found the conversation interesting, far more fascinating to him were the expressions on her lovely face as she spoke. She had a face made for storytelling, expressive and animated. It was easy for him to imagine her entertaining their children with stories of her days in the faraway land of Texas.

“I’ll bet you were a wonderful teacher,” he said, as they paused to rest for a few minutes in the shade of a small grove of trees.

“Why do you say that?” She leaned with her back against a tree trunk.

Omar stood directly in front of her and braced himself with a hand on the trunk next to her head. “Your face lights up when you speak of things you care about. You must have generated a lot of enthusiasm among your students.”

“I liked teaching.” Shadows momentarily doused the light in her eyes.

He fought the impulse to reach out and stroke the shiny length of her hair. Instead he eyed her curiously. “You never told me why you decided to take some time off from your teaching position.”

A frown creased her delicate forehead, and she gazed off into the distance. When she finally looked at him once again, the shadows in her eyes were deeper, darker.

“It was three days before the end of the school year,” she finally said. “The bell had just rung for the end of the last class of the day, and the students were all leaving the building. I was gathering up my things, also getting ready to head home, when Donny Albright burst into my room.”

She paused, and once again looked off into the distance. “And who is Donny Albright?” Omar asked.

She sighed, a deep, tremulous sigh that made Omar want to sweep her up into his arms and hold her against his chest. At the moment she looked achingly vulnerable.

“He was a senior, a troubled young man. But until that day none of us realized just how troubled he was.” She reached up and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Anyway, when he came into the room, he was distraught, crying and yelling so that I couldn’t understand what was wrong. I finally managed to get out of him that he’d failed his math class and wasn’t going to graduate.”

She pushed herself away from the tree trunk and gestured to Omar that she wanted to walk once again. He grabbed one of her hands, surprised to find it bone cold and trembling slightly. “What happened?”

“Donny wanted me to speak to Mr. McNair, his math teacher. He wanted me to get McNair to change his final grade. When I told Donny I couldn’t do that, he pulled out a gun. He held me at gunpoint for three hours before I finally talked him into giving up to the police, who by then had surrounded the building.”

Horror shot through Omar, and he halted in his tracks, drew her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. He couldn’t imagine the terror she must have gone through.

She leaned into his embrace, as if gathering strength from his arms. The clean scent of her hair filled his senses, and he tried not to focus on the evocative sensation of her warm breasts pressed against his chest.

“You must have been terrified,” he murmured as he ran a hand up and down her slender back.

She sighed once again, then stepped back from him, and they continued to walk. “It’s funny, I wasn’t frightened while it was all happening. I never believed Donny would actually shoot me. What I worried about more was Donny getting hurt by the police.”

The fact that she had been concerned for the boy impressed Omar. “If that had happened to you in Gaspar, I would have thrown the boy into a dungeon.”

“Do you have dungeons in Gaspar?” she asked.

“No, but I would build one specifically for people who threatened the safety of what belongs to me, for people who would attempt to harm you.”

Her eyes brightened, and she smiled at him. “While I don’t necessarily approve of the method, I appreciate the sentiment.” Her smile fell away. “Besides, Donny didn’t need a dungeon. He needed help. We learned later that both his parents were severe alcoholics and that Donny had spent the previous two years raising his three younger sisters. He was frantic about his diploma because he was certain without it he wouldn’t be able to get a good job, and he was trying to save up enough money to take his sisters and leave his parents.”

“A sad affair,” he replied. “However, I can understand why you were reluctant to return to the school.”

“Actually, I returned the next day and finished out the school year and thought I was fine.” Again the shadows appeared in her eyes.

“But you weren’t fine.”

She shook her head, dark strands flying on either side of her heart-shaped face. “I think for a couple of days I was kind of in shock, then I started having nightmares about the whole thing. The nightmares don’t come as often anymore, just occasionally. But I made the decision that I didn’t want to go back this year.”

“I don’t blame you. I’m sure the idea of entering that building again must be difficult.”

“That isn’t why I decided not to go back.”

He looked at her in surprise. “Then, why?”

She waited until they had left the pasture and she’d carefully locked the gate behind them before she replied.

“I think that whole incident with Donny made me realize just how short life is, that it can be taken away from you in the snap of a finger. I just decided I wanted to take some time off and enjoy life to the fullest.”

“Ah, so what you seek is a confirmation of life,” he observed.

“Yes, something like that,” she agreed.

He grinned at her teasingly. “They say the best way of doing that is to make love.”

Her cheeks warmed with sweet color. “I wouldn’t know about that.”

He looked at her in surprise. “You have never made love?” he asked incredulously.

She raised her chin. “Well, it certainly hasn’t been from lack of opportunity,” she exclaimed defensively.

“I wouldn’t have dreamed anything to the contrary,” he replied with amusement. “I just assumed in this day and age that you had enjoyed an intimate relationship before.”

They had almost reached the cottage, where his car was parked out front. “I guess I’m more old-fashioned than I pretend. Besides, I simply haven’t met the right man,” she said.

Omar pulled her into his arms once again, enjoying the way her eyes flared in surprise. “You have met him now, Elizabeth. I will be the man who will introduce you to the pleasures of making love.”

“Omar…”

Whatever she was about to say was drowned out by Rashad yelling his name and holding up the phone. Omar frowned, torn between his desire to spend more time with Elizabeth and the duty that called him yet again.

“I must take that,” he said. “Rashad would not have called me if it wasn’t an important call.”

She nodded, and he hurried to where Rashad stood and took the cell phone. The call required Omar to return to his hotel room, where he had the paperwork required to deal with the problem. He hung up the phone and went back to where Elizabeth waited.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I must return to the hotel room to attend to some business.”

“Of course, I understand,” she said, but he thought he saw a whisper of disappointment in her eyes. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. “Dine with me tonight?”

“I’d love to,” she replied.

“Good, then I will send the car for you around seven.”

“I’ll be ready.”

How he wanted to gather her back into his arms and taste the sweetness of her lips. But he knew now was not the time or the place.

“She is perfect,” he said to Rashad moments later, when they were driving back to the hotel. “She is perfect, just like I knew she would be. I have made a wise and good choice.”

He stared out the window, thinking of the woman he’d just left, then looked back at Rashad. “She is intelligent and sensitive and has a compassion inside her that will make her valuable not only to me as a man, but to my country as my queen.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that she is not hard to look at,” Rashad said slyly.

Omar grinned at his assistant and friend. “No, that certainly doesn’t hurt.”

He redirected his gaze out the window, his thoughts once again filled with Elizabeth. He liked her even more than he’d thought he would. He’d known from her letters that there were many things he admired, but he hadn’t expected to enjoy her company quite as much as he did.

Of course, his feelings for her would never deepen into anything remotely resembling love. His father, Sheik Abdul Al Abdar, had warned him from an early age that love took away a man’s power, made him look dependent and weak in the eyes of his countrymen.

Love was out of the question—but desire certainly wasn’t, and the thought that Elizabeth had never been with a man before stirred Omar with anticipation.

If he could seduce her tonight, he had a feeling she would easily succumb to his wishes that she marry him.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, planning the seduction of the lovely Elizabeth Fiona Carson.

In a jungle in a rain forest in the Central American country of Mezcaya, Luke Callaghan leaned his head back against a tree trunk, closed his eyes and for a moment imagined he was back home in Texas.

The sound of distant gunfire, the buzz of the infernal mosquitoes and the exhausting humidity seemed to fade away as he thought of home.

Luke had grown up on an estate twenty miles north of Mission Creek. Orphaned at seven, he’d been left an amount of money that made him a millionaire many times over, but he’d never cared much about the money.

The military had provided the family Luke had wanted, and now at the age of thirty-four he had achieved his desire. He was a double agent, working for the military in a position so secretive even his best friends didn’t know about it.

He smiled grimly and raked a hand over his jaw as he thought of his buddies back home.

They would all probably think he was off on another party jaunt, wining and dining women all over the world. None of them would believe that he was in a stinking jungle fighting terrorists.

His mouth watered as he thought of a rack of ribs dripping with barbecue sauce. Ribs and a cold beer—that was the first thing he’d order when he got back to Texas.

If he ever got out of this infernal jungle alive.

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