Promised to a Sheik (6 page)

“Daisy.”

Haley turned to see Harvey Small hurrying toward her, a worried frown between his beady little eyes. “What?” she asked.

“Put your tray down. Meagan is going to cover your tables. I need you to bartend for a party in the blue dining room.”

“Now?” she asked. Usually the private dining rooms were booked far in advance, and she hadn't heard of any private party being booked.

“Yeah, now. Somebody called a few minutes ago and said they'd be here in fifteen minutes. I don't even know if the bar is stocked, so you'd better hustle in there and get things ready.”

“All right.” She put her tray down and, with a wave to Ginger, hurried from the kitchen and headed toward what the help called the Blue Room.

The private dining room was small and decorated in navy blue. Its single table seated eight people, but could accommodate twelve. There was a built-in bar against one wall, and Haley went directly there to make certain everything she would need for serving drinks was stocked.

She didn't mind working the private rooms. Not only was there an automatic gratuity built into the patrons' checks for the bartender, but usually the private parties tipped well.

And she needed the tips.

It was ironic that she'd been raised in wealth, had never wanted for anything, and for all she knew there was still a bank account somewhere with her name on it, but a dead woman couldn't access funds. And as far as everyone was concerned, Haley Mercado drowned in a lake many years ago.

Long live Daisy Parker,
she thought bitterly.

While she waited for the party to arrive, she opened a jar of olives and another of cherries, and sliced several limes and lemons, ready for whatever drinks they might order.

She heard them before they entered, the sounds of gruff male voices and the higher-pitched voice of Harvey as he greeted them outside the door.

Then the first of the party walked in, and her breath caught painfully in her chest. Her father and her brother. For a moment, fear of being recognized was overwhelmed by the need to run to them, throw herself in their arms and weep.

This was what she'd both yearned for and feared. She'd hungered to see her family again, but knew that if they recognized her, if they discovered she was alive and well, then all she had worked for would be destroyed and her very life would be in danger.

She drew several deep breaths to steady herself, and watched as her father and brother sat at the table.
She could only hope that with her now-blond hair and the plastic surgery she'd had many years ago nobody would recognize her.

Still, she drank in the sight of her father. She hadn't seen him since before her mother's death and she was vaguely surprised by how much he'd aged. His once dark, lustrous hair was almost completely gray and his hazel eyes held a sadness that broke Haley's heart.

Ricky was as handsome as ever, and more than anything, Haley wished she could hug the brother she'd grown up idolizing.

She turned and faced the wall of bottles behind her, needing to get her emotions under control. Tears burned hot against her eyes and a ball of emotion pressed heavily in her chest. She had never felt so alone in her life.

She could only remember feeling like this one other time and that had been when she'd posed as a nun to get into the hospital to see her mother after Isadora Mercado had been beaten by thugs. Thugs she suspected had been hired by one particular member of the family.

That night, after she'd tearfully revealed herself to her dying mother, she'd gone to the Saddlebag. At the popular bar she had made the mistake that set in motion the chain of events that led her here, to the Lone Star Country Club, working in disguise and wearing a wire for the FBI.

More male voices joined those of her father and brother, and she turned around to see several other “family” members arriving. Included in the group
was one man who made her blood run cold—Frank Del Brio, the man she believed had hired the thugs that had killed her mother.

The tall, muscular, short-haired man swaggered into the room as if he were already head of “the family.” Her engagement to Frank had prompted her to fake her own death. That and the fact that she wanted out of the Mafia family. Even in the brief time they had been engaged, she had sensed his ruthless nature, been repelled by his blind ambition and had seen his explosive temper.

To her relief, it was her brother who approached the bar. He flashed her a quick smile, his gaze shooting to her name tag. “Hi, Daisy. Why don't you set us up with two Scotch and sodas, a Scotch on the rocks, and a couple of gin and tonics.”

“Coming right up,” she said with a thick Texan twang.

Minutes later, as she served the drinks, she relaxed. None of the men paid her any attention. It would appear that her disguise was successful. Now all she could do was pray that at this meeting the men would discuss enough business that the FBI could make the arrests they wanted. Then Haley could claim back her life.

“A
month?” Grace Carson stared at her daughter in disbelief. “You can't get married in a month! It will take at least that long just for me to get together an appropriate guest list.”

The two women were seated in the sunroom just off the kitchen, where Cara had found her mother having a late-morning cup of coffee. “We don't want a big wedding, Mother,” Cara protested.

Again that morning, as she and Omar had driven to City Hall to get a marriage license, she'd tried to find a way to tell him that she was Elizabeth Cara, not Elizabeth Fiona. But he'd spent most of the time on the telephone, and for the few minutes they'd had to talk, she hadn't been able to find the right words to confess.

She told herself that before the wedding she would certainly find the right time and place to tell him the truth. After all, she had a full month. However, each time she thought of confessing, her heart bucked and kicked in protest.

“Even a small wedding takes time and planning,” Grace exclaimed, pulling Cara back to the moment at hand. “We'll have the ceremony at the Lone Star
Country Club, of course, and a beautiful reception afterward. We'll get Ramon to do the flowers. He does such nice work. Have you thought about colors, Cara? And how many bridesmaids should you have? Oh, and what about the cake? Whom should we hire to do the cake?”

“Mother, please, take a breath,” Cara exclaimed, her own head spinning with all the details her mother had brought up.

Grace paused, then laughed. “I guess I do need to take a breath, don't I?” She leaned forward in her chair and covered Cara's hand with hers, her expression suddenly serious. “Are you sure about all this? Do you really love him, Cara?”

“I do,” she replied softly. And that was the problem. She had fallen in love; first with the man who had written the beautiful letters she had bundled and tied with pink ribbon and kept next to her bed.

In the past couple of days since spending time with Omar, her love for him had grown. He was tender yet passionate, intelligent yet sensitive. He stirred her not only on a physical level, but on an emotional level.

He made her feel special and exciting and wanted, and she was so afraid of losing that, of losing him.

“It's quite a challenge you have ahead,” Grace said as she sat back in her chair and wrapped her plump fingers around her coffee mug.

“What do you mean?” Cara asked curiously.

“You're going to go live in a foreign country, with new people and new customs. You'll be going there
as a wife to a man you haven't spent much time with. Are you sure this is really what you want?”

Cara paused and took a sip of her coffee, then smiled at her mother. “I feel as if all these years I've been living a practice run for real life, and now suddenly I'm about to begin living for the first time.”

Grace looked at her with empathy. “Your sister is a difficult act to follow.”

Cara laughed. “That's putting it mildly.” Her burst of laughter faded and she frowned thoughtfully. “You know I adore Fiona, but Mission Creek has never been big enough to allow both of us to shine. Omar looks at me, and I feel as if I'm the most unique, special woman in the world. More than anything, I want to build a life with him in Gaspar.”

Once again Grace reached out and took Cara's hand in hers. She squeezed it and smiled. “You know your daddy and I only want happiness for you. And if your happiness lies in Gaspar with Omar, then, you know you have our blessing.”

Cara rose and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I know, and thank you. And now I'm going to change and get ready for the barbecue.”

That afternoon, the barbecue turned into an engagement party of sorts for Cara. Her sisters-in-law, Josie and Rose,
ooh
ed and
aah
ed over her ring and teased her about finding a handsome sheik who was sweeping her off to live in a desert palace.

It was near dusk and the barbecue was winding down when Cara carried her glass to the kitchen and found Josie sitting at the table with a tall glass of
milk. Baby Lena was in a stroller next to her, sound asleep.

Cara placed her glass in the dishwasher, then joined Josie at the table. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

Josie smiled and rubbed her pregnant tummy. “We're doing just fine.”

“It must be so exciting to know that in a few months you're going to have a new baby,” Cara said. Her heart expanded as she thought of carrying Omar's child inside her. What a wonderful miracle that would be.

“It is,” Josie agreed, then looked down at the sleeping Lena. “Loving this baby inside me makes me wonder what on earth could possess her mother to abandon her.” She looked back at Cara and smiled. “But talk about exciting! I can't believe you're going to marry Sheik Al Abdar and fly off to Gaspar to live.”

“He thinks I'm Fiona.” The words fell from Cara's mouth before she even knew she was going to confess her secret to Josie.

“What?” Josie leaned forward in her chair and eyed her with surprise.

Suddenly Cara wanted, needed to talk to somebody about the whole mess. She quickly explained to Josie about Omar being drawn to Fiona the night of the cotillion, and writing letters to Fiona for a year.

She told her pretty blond sister-in-law that Fiona had quickly tired of the correspondence and that Cara had taken over, answering each of the sheik's letters as if she was her sister.

“Needless to say I was shocked when he showed up on my doorstep with a marriage proposal,” she said.

“So he still thinks you're Fiona?” Josie asked. “How is that possible? Does he call you Fiona?”

Cara shook her head. “I signed the letters Elizabeth, and that's what he calls me. And now I'm afraid to tell him the truth.”

“Why? It's obvious he was quite taken with your letters, enough so that he decided to ask you to marry him.”

Cara sighed. “He's also quite taken with the memory of Fiona that night at the cotillion, and I'm not sure who he's in love with—the woman who flirted and danced with every man at that dance, or the woman who wrote the letters. I love him, Josie, and I'm scared to death that if I tell him the truth I'll lose him.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

She bit her lip. “I have a month before the wedding to tell him. I keep thinking that the more time we spend together, the better he'll take it when I finally tell him the truth. I'm hoping I can make him forget about the woman at the dance that night, and that he'll realize it's me—Cara—that he loves.”

Josie reached out, grabbed Cara's hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hope it works out the way you want it to, Cara. Honestly, I've never seen you look so happy. If you and your sheik have half the marriage Flynt and I do, then, you'll be happy for the rest of your life.”

Cara returned the squeeze, then released Josie's hand. “There have been so many times in the past that guys have tried to get close to me just to be near Fiona. Or I've had an interest in a man, only to discover he's dated my sister and is still carrying a torch for her. If I tell Omar the truth too quickly, I'm afraid he'll walk away without a backward glance.”

Josie's green eyes twinkled. “Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

Cara grinned ruefully. “I'm not sure,” she admitted. “Maybe both.”

“Well, your secret is safe with me, but you'd better not wait too long to tell him. Sooner or later somebody in town or around here is going to call you Cara.”

That was Cara's biggest fear. Over the past three days, thankfully, most of the time she had spent with Omar had been in his suite at the hotel, except for one evening when they had dinner with her parents.

Both Ford and Grace had abided by her wishes and had referred to her as Elizabeth throughout the evening. Ford had also made it clear to Omar that he expected his “little girl” to be allowed to fly home to visit whenever she wanted.

Omar had assured the Carson patriarch that he would never keep her away from the family she so obviously loved.

And in those three days, time and time again, Cara had tried to find the words to tell Omar the truth. But it seemed each time she got up the nerve to confess, something conspired to keep her silent. The phone
would ring or a waiter would appear, and Cara would swallow her confession, vowing that she'd find a better place, a better time.

She now sat in the back of the limo that was carrying her from her cottage to Omar's hotel for lunch. She'd been surprised the driver had come to the door rather than Rashad.

In the past week she had come to like the little man with his wicked sense of humor and infectious smile. The trips to and from the hotel were made more enjoyable by Rashad's company.

And in the past three days her love for Omar had grown stronger. He was all she had ever dreamed of in a man. Each time he kissed her it grew more and more difficult to stand by her conviction to wait until their wedding night to make love with him. She hoped there would be a wedding night.

When they arrived at the hotel, Rashad was waiting for her just inside the lobby. “I regret that I was unable to accompany you today,” he said as he walked with her to the elevator.

“Is everything all right?” she asked, noting the lines of tension that tightened his wizened features.

“Fine, fine,” he said, but his taut smile told her otherwise. He handed her the key to reach the penthouse suite.

She rode alone in the elevator, but when the door opened into the suite, Omar wasn't there waiting for her. From the bedroom she could hear his voice. It was obvious he was on the phone, and the conversation was not pleasant.

“You tell them we are a small country, but we are not a stupid country.” His voice held a power and authority she'd never heard before. “They are not negotiating, they are toying with us, and until they make a reasonable offer, I will no longer discuss anything with them.”

Cara stood just inside the living room, uncomfortable over the fact that Omar wasn't aware of her presence. She heard him slam down the receiver, then pick it up once again.

“Rashad,” he said. “Get me a copy of all of our trade agreements, particularly the ones dealing with Kyria, and bring it to me immediately.”

Again she heard the crash of the receiver into the cradle, then he exited the bedroom. His mouth was a tight slash of fury and his eyes were darker than she'd ever seen them. His nostrils were flared, and the air around him seemed to pulsate with energy.

In that instant, Cara knew she was seeing Omar the Sheik. Power radiated from him, the powerful arrogance of a man accustomed to getting his way, the commanding assurance of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

The moment he saw her, he visibly relaxed. “My dear,” he said as he strode across the room and took her hand in his. “I apologize. I didn't hear you come in.”

“I didn't want to interrupt you,” she replied.

“You could only be a pleasant interruption.” He led her to the sofa, where she sat while he remained
standing. “As usual, you look positively gorgeous today.”

“Thank you, but it sounds like you have more important things to attend to than lunch with me.”

His eyes were gentle as he gazed at her. “And what could be more important than lunch with my fiancée?”

“Oil negotiations that will affect the future of your country,” she replied. “We can have lunch together tomorrow, Omar, if now isn't a good time.”

He smiled and leaned over to stroke a finger down her cheek. “Each day that we spend time together you do something to confirm how right I am to want you as my wife,” he said softly. “And you just did it again.”

The look in his eyes, the seductive quality of his voice and the heat of his caress made Cara feel as if she were melting inside. “I'm serious, Omar. If this is not a good time for you, we can arrange something for later.”

“Unfortunately, there might not be a later,” he replied. A soft bell indicated the arrival of the elevator. The doors opened to reveal Rashad, a sheath of papers in his hand.

Omar took the papers from Rashad and clapped the small man on the back. “Thank you, Rashad. I'm sorry if I've been brusque with you this morning.”

Rashad gave him a little bow, his dark eyes sparkling with impish humor. “I am at your disposal, Sheik Al Abdar, even when you have the mood of an ill-tempered camel.”

Omar laughed, the deep, rich sound filling every chamber of Cara's heart. “I should have you beheaded for impudence,” Omar said good-naturedly.

“Ah, but you would miss my impudence,” Rashad replied with a toothy grin. With a bow, he turned and got back into the elevator.

“I like him,” Cara said.

Omar joined her on the sofa and placed the papers on the coffee table before them. “He's impertinent and outspoken and can nag worse than an old woman, and I don't know what I would do without him.”

“He mentioned that he worked for your father before working for you.”

Omar nodded. “Rashad has been a trusted member of the Al Abdar family for as long as I can remember. But enough about him. I have more pressing matters on my mind. I fear our oil negotiations have completely broken down and I must return to Gaspar.”

Thick disappointment overwhelmed her. “When?” she asked.

“I should leave immediately, but I would wait until tomorrow if you would go with me as my wife.” He reached out and took her hands in his. “Marry me, Elizabeth. Marry me this afternoon, right now, and go home with me tomorrow. I don't want to return to Gaspar without you at my side.” He squeezed her hands, his eyes compelling her to acquiesce to his wishes.

Cara's heart thudded frantically in her chest as she felt herself falling into the beautiful depths of his
eyes.
Tell him,
a tiny voice whispered in the back of her head.
Tell him now.