Promised to a Sheik

by Carla Cassidy

  It was over lunch that she asked the three what it was like to be married to the same man.

  “Forgive me for being nosy, but I’ve never known anyone practicing polygamy,” she said.

  “You must understand that it was a different time, a different generation, when we all married Sheik Abdul,” Malika explained. “Before Sheik Abdul came to power, Gaspar was a poor nation. We sat on the biggest oil fields in the Middle East, but were doing nothing to utilize that resource.”

  “We were also a nation that had far more women than men, and if a woman didn’t marry, she starved,” Hayfa continued. “So, a man took as many wives as he could afford to take care of.”

  The entire concept was alien to Cara, but she understood the difference in the time and the culture. “Still, it must be difficult emotionally to know that you share Sheik Abdul’s love among the three of you.”

  Hayfa smiled ruefully. “You westerners rely far too heavily on emotion when it comes to love. I knew when I married Sheik Abdul that he was not offering me love. He needed a mother for Omar, and he knew I was barren and would never have children of my own.”

  “Sheiks are taught to use their heads, not their hearts,” Malika explained. “Love is an emotion that weakens a man, and sheiks cannot be weak. Women are respected, admired and desired, and for us, that is enough.”

  Cara nodded, but what they didn’t understand was that respect, admiration and desire would never be enough for her. She had to believe that Omar Al Abdar was a sheik in touch with his heart, and that his heart loved her.

  “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?” Omar asked his wife as he drew her into his arms for a dance.

  “Several times, but feel free to tell me again.” Her gorgeous eyes shone brightly as she gazed up at him.

  He felt her happiness thrumming inside his veins, warming him from his head to his toes. It was a familiar feeling, one that had been with him for the past two weeks, whenever he’d been in her company.

  “You look absolutely stunning,” he said. And it was true. The deep purple jalabiya fit her to perfection, hugging the curves that had become so familiar to him and deepening the shade of her emerald eyes.

  “Thank you,” she replied.

  He pulled her closer, the scent of her stirring his senses as they glided across the dance floor. As he held her tightly against him, he eyed their surroundings with satisfaction.

  The celebration to introduce Elizabeth as his wife had been an unqualified success, although it was now beginning to wind down.

  The menu had been an international one, with French cuisine being served right next to Greek pastries. The guest list was an international one, as well, with ambassadors from several countries in attendance along with other dignitaries.

  Yes, it had been a huge success, largely due to Elizabeth’s natural charm and grace—qualities that already had most of the people of Gaspar in love with her.

  In the two weeks, she had done everything she could to make herself visible and accessible to the people. She had visited the sick at a local hospital, read to the elderly in a nursing home, and had even managed to win over Hayfa.

  “You’ve become very quiet, Your Highness,” she said, those bewitching eyes of hers once again connecting with his.

  “I was just thinking about what a wonderfully intelligent man I am,” he replied.

  “Really? And what brought you to such a startling conclusion?” she asked.

  “You,” he replied. “I must be wonderfully intelligent to have married you.”

  Her eyes, so expressive, misted slightly. “Do you mean that, Omar?” she asked softly, but the softness in her tone was belied by the intensity of her gaze. “Are you happy with me? Would you marry me all over again?”

  As always, he was oddly touched by the streak of insecurity she occasionally displayed. “How a woman as beautiful, as giving and as special as you could ever doubt that I would marry you again is beyond me,” he replied. “I would be a fool not to marry you again, and trust me, my love, I am nobody’s fool.”

  She lay her head back on his chest, and he breathed deeply of the familiar scent of her hair. There had been many pleasant surprises for him over the course of the past two weeks of marriage, so many things he hadn’t considered.

  Aside from the fact that he had a warm, willing woman in his bed each night, he’d come to enjoy their early conversations over morning coffee. He liked the fact that his living quarters now retained the scent of her in every room, just as her laughter so often filled the chambers of his heart.

  When he’d thought in the abstract of being married, he’d never considered how much he would enjoy sharing his life, his thoughts, his dreams with another person.

  “Now that the oil negotiations are no longer an issue, I’m hoping to spend more time with you,” he said. The negotiations had concluded the day before, with the signing of new agreements and the promise of continuing prosperity for the people in Gaspar.

  “That would be very nice,” she replied, looking up at him again. “Although I’m not complaining, it doesn’t seem like I’ve seen much of you.”

  Again he tightened his arm around her. “Unfortunately, there has been too much business lately and not enough pleasure, but hopefully things will quiet down now and I’ll have some leisure time.”

  He smiled as she stifled a yawn. “And now, I think perhaps it’s time for the sheik and his wife to call it a night. It’s been a long day, and, as I recall, you had one of your nightmares last night.”

  Her cheeks colored. “And I’m sorry for waking you up,” she replied.

  “I’m not sorry that you woke me up,” he replied. “I’m just glad I can be there to hold you and soothe you when those night terrors hit.” Again her eyes grew moist, and he thought it was probably a result of too much party and too little sleep.

  “I will have Rashad take you to our quarters, and I will be up in just a little while. There are some people I need to say goodbye to.”

  He gestured to his aide, who stood nearby. Rashad was instantly by their side. “Rashad, would you please escort Elizabeth to our quarters?”

  “It would be my pleasure,” Rashad replied.

  Omar watched as Rashad and Elizabeth made their way toward the doors to the ballroom. It took them several minutes to reach the doors because she stopped again and again to speak to people, to shake a hand and offer a smile.

  “She is delightful.”

  Omar turned to see his father standing next to him. “Yes, she is, isn’t she.”

  “She will bring good things to the palace, things like laughter and joy.”

  Omar smiled. “She’s already brought that to me.”

  Sheik Abdul nodded. “She reminds me of your mother.”

  Omar looked at his father in surprise. It was the first time he could ever remember his father even mentioning Omar’s mother. But before he could say or ask anything more, Sheik Abdul walked away.

  It was some time later that Omar sat at his desk in his official office, checking to make certain there was nothing that needed to be attended to before he joined Elizabeth in their private quarters.

  He leaned back in his desk chair, thinking of the mother he had never known. What little he knew about her, he’d learned from Hayfa and Rashad, not from his father. What he found even stranger than his father’s mention of his mother was the wistfulness he’d thought he heard in his father’s voice.

  “Nothing more than my imagination,” he murmured aloud as he checked his wristwatch. It was nearly two, and he was exhausted. But, of course, not too exhausted to hold his wife in his arms, fill his senses with her and make tender, passionate love to her.

  On impulse, he opened his desk drawer and took out the picture of Elizabeth, the photo that had been taken so many years ago at the cotillion where she’d first bewitched him.

  Before he’d gone to Texas to claim her as his own, he’d thought the photo a good one. But there was no way a photograph could
effectively capture the special sparkle of her beautiful eyes, the warmth of her generous smile or the impish dancing of the beauty mark just above her luscious lips.

  He frowned, staring at the photo. The beauty mark. In the picture it was on the right side of her lips. But that wasn’t right. Omar had kissed that beauty mark a dozen times in the past two weeks—and it was on the left side of her lips.

  Unless she’d had plastic surgery to move a beauty mark from one side of her face to the other, which seemed highly preposterous, the woman who had married him was not Elizabeth Fiona Carson.

  He picked up the phone on his desk and quickly punched in the numbers that would connect him to his aide. “Rashad, I’m in the main office. Bring me my marriage certificate.”

  Haley Mercado stood in Harvey Small’s office talking to her FBI contact on the phone. “Gotta go,” she exclaimed hurriedly when she heard the sound of footsteps just outside the office. She had just hung up the receiver when Harvey came in.

  “What are you doing in here?” he asked, his eyes narrowed. “It seems like lately every time I come in, you’re here and on my phone.”

  Haley drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. She placed her hands on her hips in her best imitation of her alter ego, Daisy. “Maybe if I wasn’t working so many hours for you, I’d be able to conduct my social life on my own time.”

  The last thing she needed was to draw any attention to herself, from Harvey or anyone else. If her cover was blown, her life wouldn’t be worth a plugged nickel, but it wasn’t just her own life she worried about. Pain pressed against her chest, and she consciously tried to will it away.

  “I don’t give a damn if I’m interfering with your social life. You can consider this office off-limits from now on.”

  “No problem,” Haley said with a forced flippancy as she left the office. It was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. Although for the past several months she’d been using the phone to talk to her FBI contact, she knew the FBI would simply figure out another way.

  Still, the moment she was out of Harvey’s sight, tears welled in her eyes.

  The stress of the past couple of months suddenly seemed too much to bear, and she couldn’t control the tears that spilled down her cheeks. All of a sudden her heart was overflowing with all the losses of her life.

  The death of her mother and the estrangement from her family were aches deep inside her, but it was the memory of a single night of passion with the man she’d always cared about, and the result of that night, that caused so many tears to fall.

  She raced for the employee lounge, needing to get herself under control before starting work. She was grateful to find herself alone, and sank into a chair at one of the tables, fighting for control.

  But control was just out of her reach, and she realized the tears that were impossible to stanch had been building inside her for a very long time.

  She fumbled in her purse for a tissue as sobs racked her. Her arms ached with emptiness and her heart felt as if it were breaking in two. The tears came faster and faster.

  “Hey, girl,” Ginger said as she came into the break room. “How’s it going?” She stopped and looked at Haley, then sat at the table across from her and grabbed one of her hands. “Daisy? What’s wrong?”

  Haley couldn’t speak. Ginger’s fingers tightened around hers, and her youthful face shone with the concern of a good friend.

  Haley drew a deep breath as her sobs began to subside. The need to talk about at least a part of her pain was intense, and she knew if she could trust anyone, she could trust this young woman.

  “Ginger, if I tell you something, you have to promise me you won’t repeat it to anyone.”

  Ginger’s light blue eyes didn’t waver from Haley’s. “You know you can trust me, Daisy,” she replied.

  Haley closed her eyes, remembering the sweet scent of baby powder, the snuggly warmth that had once filled her arms—a scent, a warmth now gone.

  She opened her eyes, needing to share some of the pain, needing to talk about the heartache that had been a part of her for too long. “You know the baby girl who was found on the golf course six months ago?”

  Ginger frowned in confusion. “Sure. Everyone was talking about it when it happened. The last I heard, they still hadn’t found out who the mother is.”

  “I am,” Haley said softly, and again the pain came over her in waves. “Her name is Lena and I’m her mother.”

  She saw the shock that darkened Ginger’s eyes, felt it through the fingers that clutched hers.

  “What?”

  Haley pulled her hand from Ginger’s and wiped her cheeks. “She’s mine. I arranged for her to be left on the golf course.”

  She thought of that day so long ago when she’d arranged with Carl Bridges, a judge and her trusted friend, to take baby Lena while she worked undercover. At the time the FBI had arranged for her to work with them, she’d been tormented with fear for her child, and placing her on the golf course where her father was to be playing golf seemed a good plan.

  Unfortunately, Lena’s daddy hadn’t played golf that day. In fact, nobody seemed to know where Luke Callaghan was. So, baby Lena had wound up with Flynt Carson.

  “But why?” Ginger asked incredulously. “Why would you leave your baby on the golf course?”

  More than anything, Haley wanted to tell Ginger everything, about her real identity and how she was working undercover and helping the FBI by decoding cryptic conversations. But she knew these were things she couldn’t tell Ginger. They might put Ginger in danger.

  So, instead, in halting words interspersed with tears, she spoke about the ache of not having her baby with her, the ache of knowing everything that she was missing in Lena’s life with each day that passed.

  “I gave her up for her own safety,” she finished by saying.

  Once again Ginger reached for her hand and squeezed it tight. “Daisy, what’s going on? What kind of trouble are you in?”

  Haley shook her head. “I can’t tell you anything more, Ginger. I know it sounds overly dramatic and you have no reason in the world to believe me, but if I tell you anything more it might put you in danger.”

  “Of course, I believe you,” Ginger replied. “And I know this, Daisy—I know the kind of loving person you are, and I know only the threat of harm could make you give up your baby girl.”

  They were words Haley wanted, desperately needed to hear, an affirmation that she’d done the right thing in securing Lena’s safety.

  “Daisy, is there anything I can do? Any way I can help you?” Ginger asked.

  “Pray,” Haley said softly. “Pray that I’ll be with my baby soon.”

  Eleven

  It had been a magical night, Cara thought as she got into bed to await her husband. She’d felt like a princess in a fairy tale, and Omar had been her knight in shining armor.

  The food had been delicious, the band had played everything from traditional Gaspar music to Latin rumbas and good old rock and roll. Yes, it had been a magical night, but she knew the real magic was yet to come.

  Two weeks. For two glorious weeks she had been his wife and every day had been like a fantasy. Although his days had been busy with the business of running his country, the early mornings and the evenings had belonged to her.

  They had spoken of their future, making plans, teasing about the children they would have and how they would raise them. They’d watched movies together while cuddling together on the big, overstuffed sofa.

  Now she stretched languidly across the sheets, thinking of the night to come, a night that promised more of Omar’s passion.

  A shiver of delight raced up her spine as she remembered the way his dark eyes had caressed her throughout the evening. He’d touched her often, as well, during the celebration, a hand on her back, caressing her arm, stroking her cheek, as if he’d been unable to help himself, and she’d reveled in each of them.

  Her heart thudded in anticipation as she heard the door to the bedroom
open, then close. A small lamp cast a golden glow to the room, and through the gauzy curtains surrounding the bed, she could see him approach.

  He tore the curtains aside, and she sat up as she saw the expression on his handsome features. These were not the features of her loving, gentle husband; rather, his was the countenance of a desert warrior.

  “Get up,” he commanded, his voice harsh, his eyes glittering with a daunting darkness.

  “Why? What’s wrong?” She sat up, but he moved away from the bed, allowing the curtain to fall back into place.

  Hurriedly she got out of bed and pulled on her robe, her eyes on him. He stood at the doors that led out to the garden, his back to her.

  She approached where he stood and placed a hand on his back. “Omar?” He stiffened at her touch and when he whirled around to face her again, she instinctively took a step backward.

  At some point from the time she’d left him, he’d removed the turban he’d worn to the celebration. His black hair was mussed, which usually gave him a charmingly boyish look, but there was nothing boyish about him now.

  Not only were his eyes angry, but his entire body seemed to seethe with the emotion. His mouth was a tight slash of suppressed rage.

  “You ask me what’s wrong? Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong, Cara?” He spat her name as if it were a filthy curse.

  The blood seemed to leave her body, replaced by an icy chill, as she realized he knew the truth. Oh God, this wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen, she thought frantically. She had wanted to pick the time, the place so she could make him understand. She drew a deep breath, fighting for composure.

  “Omar, I wanted to tell you…I tried to tell you…” She reached out a hand toward him again, needing to connect with him, to get past the blackness, the near soullessness of his gaze.

  He stepped away from her touch, as if finding the very idea of her hand on him repugnant. “You have made a fool of me, dishonored me and my position.” He spat the words angrily. “You have made a mockery not only of me, but of the institution of marriage. Everything we have shared has been based on a lie.”