Promised to a Sheik (2 page)

“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.

S
he 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 per
sonal 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 rel
atively 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.