I Married A Sheikh. Sharon Vita De

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      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.”

      I Married a Sheik

      Sharon De Vita

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      

       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.

      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)

      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

       F aith 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