I Married a Sheik Read online

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  I Married a Sheik

  Sharon De Vita

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  Published by Silhouette Books

  America's Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  I suppose a woman who writes romances should believe in love at first sight, but it took a very special man to make a believer out of me. As I was deep in preparations for my oldest daughter's wedding, a kind, loving, wonderful man—a widower—walked into my life, uninvited and certainly unexpected, and proceeded to turn it upside down. And I will forever be grateful!

  This one's for that very special man, who has brought love, laughter, and especially joy back into my life—and my heart. Thank you, sweetheart. This one's for you!

  —Colonel Frank Noland Cushing (Ret)

  JOE COLTON'S JOURNAL

  Between worrying about my missing foster daughter, Emily, and trying to keep my wits about me in the face of danger, I don't remember the last time I've had a decent night's sleep. And don't get me started about the rift that gets wider each day between me and my wife. But it looks like I'm not the only one who is in dire straits. My honorary son, Sheik Ali El-Etra, seems to be in way over his head. He's heir to the throne and under pressure by his family to choose a bride. He's finally gotten serious about someone…but it's the last woman on earth I would have expected. Just between you and me, Ali thinks he's God's gift to women. And his feisty computer consultant-turned-girlfriend, Faith Martin, is hardly the type to bend to a man's will. Those two are like oil and water! Perhaps my troubles with Meredith have made me a cynic…. Who knows, maybe Ali's bachelor days are finally numbered.

  About the Author

  SHARON DE VITA,

  a former adjunct professor of communications and a newlywed with three grown children, is also an award-winning, USA Today bestselling author of over twenty-four books of fiction and nonfiction with more than two million copies in print and translations in thirteen foreign languages. Sharon admits, "I was both thrilled and honored to be asked to author one of the books in Silhouette's new continuity series, THE COLTONS. This series has everything a reader could want—fabulous characters, a wicked mystery and, of course, incredible romance. I think this series is destined to become one of readers' favorites."

  Meet the Coltons—a California dynasty with a legacy of privilege and power.

  Ali El-Etra: The powerful sheik. Accustomed to having his minions scurry to do his bidding, this sultan is shocked—and infinitely intrigued—by his new consultant's irreverence. Has he just met his match?

  Faith Martin: The plain Jane. Wary of high-handed "princely" types like Ali, she'd like to take the sheik down a notch or two—and then keep him in her loving arms forever!

  Meredith Colton: The misplaced matriarch. With no memory of her true identity, the real "Meredith" has been having recurrent dreams about a little redheaded girl crying out for her help—a child that she instinctively knows is her own daughter!

  Emily Blair: A woman in jeopardy. With little cash and a heart full of fear, the Coltons' foster daughter hitches a ride to Wyoming when she suspects she is the target in a botched murder attempt.

  Acknowledgment

  The author gratefully acknowledges the technical help and assistance of the following computer wizards who answered numerous questions with infinite patience and never laughed at this self-confessed computer moron!

  Any errors are my own.

  My heartfelt thanks to:

  Dennis Liby, Gay Wescott, Jason Arden, Dave Pede.

  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

  One

  San Diego

  Faith Martin was fuming.

  Ignoring Mr. Kadid, the dark, elderly male assistant who had been keeping her company for the past hour and a half, Faith expelled an exasperated breath, sidestepped the man and made a beeline for the closed double mahogany doors.

  "Wait. Miss Martin, you—you can't go in there." The words came out of his mouth on a near gasp. He was right on her heels, clucking his tongue in dismay.

  But it was too late. Unwilling to be denied, she threw open the double doors and came to a stunned halt, staring at the unbelievable opulence.

  "Good Lord." The words slipped from her mouth as her gaze quickly traveled around the elaborate office suite. She'd been in a lot of offices since she'd started her own computer consulting business seven years ago, many belonging to some of the wealthiest entrepreneurs in California, but nothing had ever compared to the decadent luxury of this one.

  The enormous suite was breathtaking.

  Done in subtle, masculine shades of navy and maroon, the room contained a collection of exquisite art she had no doubt was genuine. The walls were papered in elegant white silk with hand-carved mahogany chair and ceiling moldings.

  In the middle of the room, backlit by a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the sprawling city, was a large elegant cherry desk that looked hand-crafted. In front of the desk sat two overstuffed navy leather club chairs, each with its own matching ottoman.

  On the walls hundreds of books were shelved, some of which appeared to be rare first editions, giving the room a homey, comfortable feeling. In the farthest corner of the room, in front of another row of floor-to-ceiling windows, sat a long carved conference table with matching navy leather armchairs. A soaring marble fireplace with an intricate coat of arms above the mantel was nestled in another corner.

  Placed around the room was an assortment of Waterford vases displaying floral sprays in an array of beautiful fall colors, permeating the room with a sweet, almost sinful aroma.

  The late afternoon sun danced through the windows, shimmering off the beautiful pieces and heightening their beauty.

  Faith shifted her gaze. In the middle of this opulence, behind the desk, sat a large dark-haired man engrossed in a telephone conversation, totally oblivious to her.

  He didn't even bother to glance up.

  "Mr. El-Etra," she said, storming across the plush navy-blue carpeting to plant her tennis shoes squarely in front of his desk. "Mr. El-Etra," she repeated, more firmly this time. She was close enough now to see the family crest of gold inlaid in the top of the magnificent desk. It was a remarkable piece of work and almost had her gaping again at such decadent extravagance.

  The man's custom-tailored suit in a subtle gray pin-stripe probably cost more than her annual rent. If you added the custom-tailored monogrammed white shirt, it could probably cover her grocery budget for a time as well.

  Terrific, she thought sourly, letting her gaze slip around the room again.

  Annoyingly rude, unbelievably rich, and no doubt irresponsibly spoiled. Her three least favorite things about a man, let alone a client.

  She planted her hands on his desk. "Mr. El-Etra, I appreciate that your investment firm is an important and integral part of the business community. However, you need to understand that my time is no less important or valuable." Faith paused to take a breath, vividly aware that the dark-haired man was not in the least bit aware of her.

  Or her tirade.

  He was so engrossed in his telephone conversation, she could have been an ant on the floor for all the attention he'd given her.

  However, the rather nervous assistant now hovering at her elbow seemed about to swallow his tongue—if the bulging of his eyes and the nervous tic in his cheek were any indication.

  Faith took a step closer t
o the gleaming cherry desk, her temper inching upward by the second as she glared at the man. It wasn't enough that he had kept her waiting for almost two hours, now he had the audacity to ignore her!

  "Mr. El-Etra!" She rapped on his desk with her knuckles. He never even flinched. "Your managing director called me this morning and insisted I come immediately, that your computer problems were of an urgent nature, but it certainly can't be that urgent if you've kept me cooling my heels in your waiting room for almost an hour and a half."

  "Uh…Miss Martin…" The assistant held a finger in the air. "It's—it's not Mr. El-Etra," he corrected softly.

  Faith blinked at him and felt a momentary skitter of alarm. Good Lord, had she stormed into the wrong office? She almost groaned. That would be a perfect end to a perfectly dreadful day.

  She took a careful breath. "Excuse me?"

  "It's Sheik El-Etra."

  Her eyes narrowed. "You've wasted almost two hours of my valuable time and now you're going to get picky about titles?" Her voice rose as she took a step closer to him, forcing him to take a self-protective step back.

  In addition to cooling her heels in the outer office, she'd missed lunch and had sat for nearly two hours in rush-hour traffic in order to keep this blasted appointment.

  She'd been unusually nervous and excited when she'd received the call, well aware of the prominence of the El-Etra Investment Firm, and what having its name on her client list could do for her successful, but still not-over-the-hump computer consulting business.

  Nerves, however, had finally given way to an inexplicable bout of temper. She was successful, in demand, and had garnered an impeccable reputation in the business community and was not accustomed to being treated like a bad-tempered stepchild.

  "Ms. Martin." The assistant's lashes fluttered nervously. "I'm certain—"

  "No, Mr. Kadid, I'm certain that your boss's title is of the utmost importance to you." Planting her hands on her slender jean-clad hips, she turned to glare at the man still engrossed in his telephone conversation. "But trust me on this, I couldn't care less what you call him, although I'm quite certain I could come up with a few names on my own." She gave her head an arrogant toss.

  "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really don't have time for this nonsense. Give my regrets to the sheik," she snapped, deliberately giving his title a great deal more emphasis than necessary as she turned and marched toward the doors. "Tell him when he gets serious about his business to give me a call. Until then, don't bother wasting my time." Muttering under her breath, Faith stormed back toward the still-open double doors, muttering imprecations under her breath.

  "Miss Martin." The very deep, slightly accented voice caught Faith off guard, stopping her in her tracks. She hesitated for a moment as that voice seemed to reverberate along her nerve endings like an unwelcome caress. A shiver raced over her and she turned on her heel in curiosity to stare at the man that voice belonged to.

  He'd hung up the phone, and was now standing, drawn to his full, elegant height, and Faith resisted the urge to take a step back. She had to tilt her head to take in the full length of him.

  Magnetic was the first and only word that came to mind, crowding everything else out. With his proud, regal bearing, and dark good looks, his presence was forceful, incredibly masculine and magnetic.

  Magnificent was the second word that popped into her mind. He was, she decided, one incredibly magnificent-looking male.

  At the moment, however, he was also apparently annoyed, judging from the stormy look in those dark, smoldering eyes. Her chin rose a notch.

  Too bad.

  So was she.

  Unwilling to be intimidated by his looks or his posture, Faith took a step closer.

  She'd been too irritated to pay much attention to his features before, but now she could see he was, in a word, incredible. Much more elegant and handsome than in the silly society photos where he was usually photographed with some bubbling, beautiful airhead clinging to his arm like sticky flypaper.

  Burnished olive skin, deeply etched features, a thin, elegant mouth, large dark eyes and a head of thick black hair made him like look a renegade pirate from another age. An unconscious shiver raced over her as she felt the full force of that masculine pull.

  That was until she reminded herself of his reputation as a playboy who went through women faster than a termite through rotted wood. She pretty much knew this was not a man she was going to have much in common with.

  He reminded her too much of her father. Another handsome, irresponsible playboy who'd cared little for those who'd cared for him, less for the broken hearts he left behind.

  Faith almost shivered. She'd made it a practice to steer clear of this type of man. Thank God she didn't have to deal with him on a personal level. She didn't have much patience for immature male nonsense, and what little she'd had her father had worn out years ago.

  Having to deal with this man professionally was going to be more than enough, judging from this first encounter.

  "Ms. Martin." There was a hint of annoyance in his tone and Faith took a step closer, wondering what the heck he had to be annoyed about.

  "I believe we have an appointment?" One dark brow lifted in an imperious manner, only further annoying her. Impenetrable dark eyes stared levelly at her, as if taking her measure.

  "Had," she corrected, marching back toward him, feeling as if his twin nearly black eyes could see through her. "Had an appointment, Mr…. Sheik El-Etra." She tapped the face of her no-nonsense sports watch. It matched the rest of her no-nonsense outfit. "Almost two hours ago."

  "It's Ali," he said quietly.

  Faith blinked again, trying to shake off the shivers that deeply masculine voice had caused. It was an exotic blend, deep, smooth, with just a hint of an accent. "Excuse me?"

  "It's Ali." He tilted his head, and she thought she saw a small smile curve the corner of that elegantly sculptured mouth. "My name, it is Ali."

  His smile bloomed, transforming his face into something breathtaking. Faith felt her own breath wither in her throat. Her heartbeat sped up, and she resisted the urge to take a self-protective step back, to put some distance between them.

  "Although I'm sure you've thought of other things you'd like to call me." Amused, his dark eyes twinkled, and Faith flushed, embarrassed that she'd allowed her temper to overrule her professionalism, and embarrassed that she was allowing herself to have such a strong physical reaction to him.

  Her flush deepened. "I'm not accustomed to being kept waiting," she said defensively, meeting his gaze. "My time is at a premium—"

  "As is all of ours," he countered, looking at her curiously. He was not accustomed to having a woman look at him as if he'd just slithered from between a crack in the flooring, and he was absolutely certain he didn't care for that cold look of suspicion she was aiming at him, as if she'd examined and found him lacking.

  It was most unusual, and hardly the reaction most women had to him.

  He spread his hands in supplication. "I apologize, but this delay could not be helped. I have been dealing with just one of many crises today. We will, of course, compensate you for your time, Ms. Martin."

  "It's not merely a question of money," Faith snapped, irritated that he apparently thought money was her only concern. "Some things are more important than money."

  One brow lifted again. "Really?"

  It figured he would think money was the only important thing. Something else he had in common with her father. Looking at him, looking into those dark eyes, she had the strangest feeling he was mocking her. Faith stiffened.

  "To some people money isn't the be all and end all. It's a question of time and priorities. I have other clients who were in dire straits today and needed my assistance, clients I put off because your needs seemed to have been the most urgent. Apparently that's not the case."

  "On the contrary, Ms. Martin. My needs are most urgent." The tone of his voice had changed, softened, making her think of other needs, m
ore primal needs, and she felt an unfamiliar heat flare through her.

  "And contrary to your initial statement, Ms. Martin, I take my business very, very seriously."

  Fascinated, Ali studied her. She was, he decided, too plain to be considered beautiful, but there was something about her, even in her drab clothing, that was elementally interesting.

  The khaki slacks fit snugly at her waist and flared over hips that were elegantly curved in a way that would keep a man's head turning.

  The plain cotton T-shirt was baggy, yet didn't hide the lush curve of her breasts or her slender, almost elegant shoulders.

  Her hair, although pulled tightly from her face and left to hang down her back in some intricate braid, was a beautiful honeyed-auburn with every color of red woven in. He'd bet his next foal it was all natural, and complemented her ivory complexion in an extremely appealing way.

  Her face was an interesting, feminine mix of angles with enormous green eyes, high cheekbones and full lips that were made for kissing and kissing well. Although judging by the looks of her, she probably hadn't been kissed very often.

  She was not generally the type of woman a man pursued or fantasized over. She was far too plain. Her face was devoid of any cosmetics, yet her lashes were dark, long and full, shadowing her eyes and giving her a rather exotic look.

  Ali found himself curiously intrigued and could not imagine why.

  He gave a quiet sigh. Perhaps he'd been working too hard. An extremely sensuous man by nature who found everything about a woman, from her looks, to her scent, to the gentlest curve of her hip, gloriously fascinating and arousing, he had perhaps been too busy fending off the females his parents kept foisting on him to seek out a woman that could truly please and appreciate the most sensuous part of his nature.

  Although he wanted—desired—the company of an intelligent female companion, one who was more than an advertisement for the latest designer, and who could respond honestly to his passionate nature, he had no wish or desire for love. It was simply not something he would ever allow in his life again.