Читать книгу I Married A Sheikh - Sharon Vita De - Страница 10

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 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 to 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, more 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.

Most of the women in his universe were either perfect models or beautiful debutantes who wouldn’t dare go anywhere without being decked out in their finest designer apparel.

Their facades of beauty, minds of cobwebs and hearts of stone, which allowed little for true passion of any kind, had left him cold.

And a cold woman was the curse of a man’s life. A fate worse than death, he believed.

In his experience a woman who was so preoccupied with how she looked rarely took the time to examine what she could feel, and a woman who could not accept, enjoy and appreciate the feelings of passion a woman was capable of was truly not a woman.

Ali cocked his head to examine the woman before him more closely, feeling a heated arousal of interest just from the angry passion radiating from her.

This was clearly a woman who allowed herself to feel all of life’s emotions.

And he found her both interesting and intriguing.

It was just a shame she was so sullen and surly.

He was not accustomed to having anyone, let alone a woman, speak to him in such a disdainful manner. Women generally were falling all over themselves in an effort to impress him.

It had become truly annoying, simply because he didn’t want to be impressed by beauty or clothing or jewels; he wanted a woman to impress him with her essence, her honesty, her being.

And so far, he had not yet met such a woman.

“Ms. Martin, if these computer problems are not solved, and solved quickly, it will jeopardize the entire operation of El-Etra Investments, something I cannot allow. I have a responsibility to my clients. They have entrusted me with their funds, some with their life savings, and I don’t intend to cause a panic among my investors because of a silly problem with a machine.”

“Silly problem with a machine,” Faith echoed in disbelief, blowing out a soft breath. “Mr. El-Etra, if it wasn’t for that silly machine, I sincerely doubt you’d be in business. That machine has no doubt improved your productivity and saved time, not to mention money.”

“Are you scolding me, Ms. Martin?”

His words hung in the air for a moment, still soft, still polite, but with an underlying hint of power. Faith had a flash of awareness that perhaps she’d gone too far, but she wasn’t about to back down. To anyone.

“Just stating facts, Mr. El-Etra,” she replied coolly. She refused to use his first name or his title, which would put this situation on a more personal level and she intended to keep this strictly business. “So exactly what is the problem?” she asked, determined to get on with the business at hand.

He smiled. “If I knew, Ms. Martin, trust me, I would have fixed it myself, or had my staff of computer experts attend to it. I’m afraid that we are at a complete loss to understand this confounded system.”

She tried to place the accent, but couldn’t. There were definitely hints of English, probably Oxford, she surmised, but there was also a hint of whatever his native language was still detectable in his impeccable speech patterns. It was an enticing blend of something foreign, exotic and slightly…erotic.

He dragged a hand through his dark hair. “All I know is that this problem has disrupted my entire operation, and it simply cannot go on or be tolerated. I must have the problem fixed immediately.”

“Immediately,” she repeated with an irritated nod of her head. Obviously this was a man who was accustomed to getting what he wanted when he wanted it. Spoiled, she thought again, realizing she’d been right about him.

Her eyes flashed. “Well, if I hadn’t been cooling my heels in your waiting room, perhaps I’d have a clue what the problem is and be well on my way to solving it.”

“Perhaps.” Apparently, she was not about to forgive him so easily. “I understand that you are considered the best computer consultant in the business?”

“Considered?” One auburn brow rose and Faith felt the stung of his subtle doubt. Fists clenched in frustration at his high-handed arrogance, she took a step closer to his desk. “Well, you’ve apparently been misinformed.”

It was his turn to look surprised. His glance shifted from her to his elderly assistant who was still quietly hovering in the background. “Kadid? What is this?” He glanced at Faith, his dark brows drawn together, then back at his assistant. “Have I been misinformed?”

The carefully chosen words sounded like a threat, almost making Faith shiver. The guy gave a whole new meaning to the word arrogant.

“Absolutely,” Faith responded before the assistant could. “I am the best computer consultant in the business.”

“Modest, too, I can see,” Ali said, with a cautious smile of relief. Plain, but feisty, he decided with a hint of amusement. An interesting combination.

“No, Mr. El-Etra, not modest, just honest.” Her chin lifted. “Honest, and the best, but my time is valuable, and I don’t appreciate having it wasted.”

There was anger, he noted, and something else radiating from her, something he couldn’t quite place.

“Nor do I, Ms. Martin,” he said, making it clear that he considered her little temper tantrum a waste of his time. “If you are the best, then I trust you’ll be able to fix this insidious problem. Immediately.” It was a clear challenge, one Faith couldn’t ignore.

“Well, I don’t know about your idea of immediate, but once I find out what the problem is, I’m sure I can fix it. I can’t tell you how long it will take, though, until I know exactly what we’re dealing with.” She met his gaze head-on. “Some things take time whether we like it or not.” And she was not about to be rushed. Sensing he was going to issue another order or command that would no doubt only tick her off more, she rushed on. “Now, if you can give me an idea of just what the problem is, it might help. I have to start somewhere. I’m good, but I’m not a mind reader.”

His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, stung once again by her sarcasm. He drew himself upward, slipping his hands in the pockets of his pants. “We are a full-scale investment firm, Ms. Martin, and once a month an assortment of checks are issued to each and every client, checks of different denominations for different purposes, of course.”

“Of course.” She wished he’d stop staring at her. He was making her…itchy.

Ali blew out an exasperated breath. “A few days ago, on the first of the month, when the first batch of checks were distributed, the system began spitting out checks in the wrong denominations. In addition, we discovered that it was also crediting deposits to the wrong accounts and in the wrong amounts. Both new funds, interest, as well as divestitures were misappropriated to the wrong accounts.”

With a shake of his head, Ali glanced down at the neat sheaf of papers on his desk. He’d spent hours going over paperwork, trying to fix this problem, then more hours on the phone, soothing investors. He felt as if he hadn’t left his office in weeks.

“As a result, chaos has reigned. My accountants did not discover the errors until after the first checks had been mailed and the first irate calls started coming in.” His brows drew together as he remembered the flurried panic among his staff that morning.

“Our in-house computer experts were at a loss as well. They began searching for the problem—”

“Immediately,” she injected with a nod of her head, causing him to stop and stare at her for a long moment. Obviously this was a man not used to being interrupted, judging from the look on his face.

“Yes,” he said slowly, still watching her carefully. “But alas, they came up empty. They tried various things, unfortunately, nothing worked. As a result, we had to completely shut down our entire computer system simply because it is set up to distribute and print checks automatically. I have been deluged with calls from angry investors who have either not received the proper funds or have not received any funds at all. Now, unfortunately, they have begun to question the integrity as well as the security of my firm.” He sounded as if he was surprised by this.

“Well, that would do it for me.” She slipped her hands in the pockets of her jeans and rocked back on her heels. “If I’d invested my life savings in a firm and found out they’d screwed up and sent my money to someone else, I’d be a tad annoyed as well.”

“Screwed up?” His dark eyes narrowed and she could hear Mr. Kadid sigh from behind her. Apparently telling the sheik he’d screwed up wasn’t part of the proper protocol. “This cannot continue, Ms. Martin,” he said in clipped tones. “So as you can see, this is of an urgent nature and must be attended to. Immediately.”

Perhaps if he hadn’t sounded like he was issuing a command, she might have softened at his plight.

“Situations happen whether we allow them or not. And as for urgent and immediate, I’m not the fire department,” she clarified, watching his face darken. The assistant was apparently back to sighing again as well. “Clearly you’ve got a problem with your accounting program,” she said, meeting his gaze. “But it wouldn’t take a genius to figure that out.”

He stiffened and his eyes went cold at the perceived insult. “I can assure you, Ms. Martin, that my staff is more than qualified to handle almost any situation that arises—”

“But apparently not this one. If they were, I wouldn’t be here.”

Her words hung in the air for a long moment, and Faith wondered if perhaps she’d gone too far. But the man was just so…downright arrogant, she couldn’t help but goad him a bit.

“Touché.” He nodded, as if he was gracing her with some great gift, and allowed a small smile to touch his lips. “But of course you are right. This was one problem my own people have not been able to solve.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “El-Etra Investments prides itself on its impeccable reputation. As I’m sure you can understand, when someone trusts you with their money, any hint of impropriety can have devastating effects, not just on your actual business, but also on your reputation. And in this business, your reputation is everything.” He took a slow, deep breath. His gaze never left hers. “I have assured my investors that this problem would be solved immediately, and although I have ample insurance to cover such an occurrence, it is my name on the firm, and I have vowed to personally make good on every single penny invested and due. We’re in the process of personally distributing checks now to every investor to cover any losses, differences or discrepancies.”

“You have that kind of money?” The question popped out before she could stop it. She glanced around. This was no mom-and-pop store, but a big-league operation that no doubt had millions of dollars invested in it.

The mere idea of having that kind of indeterminable wealth almost stopped her heart.

For someone who had struggled, pinched pennies, worked two jobs just to put herself through school, and had gone deeply in debt just to start her own fledging computer consulting business and had worked like a dog for seven years to make a go of it, the thought of endless funds seemed like nirvana.

And this man discussed it without so much as a blip in his voice.

“But of course,” he said simply, as if they were talking about pocket change. “Why, are you planning on raising your rates?”

She couldn’t help but grin. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it before, but now, I just might consider it.”

“Ms. Martin, I am Sheik Ali El-Etra.” The way he said it made her wonder if she was supposed to bow or something.

“So I’ve heard, since everyone around here keeps telling me, although I can’t possibly imagine why.” Apparently she was supposed to be impressed.

She wasn’t.

“It means nothing to you?” For a moment he didn’t know if he should be annoyed or amused. Most women he encountered had all but done a Dunn and Bradstreet check on him before he ever met them.

“I don’t have a clue what your title means or why it should be important to anyone but you.”

He couldn’t help the little stab to his ego. “My title, Ms. Martin, merely means that I am of royal blood.”

“Royal blood?” One brow rose suspiciously. “Right.” This time the sigh from behind her was louder, and laced with just a bit of…panic, she thought. “Royal blood?” she repeated with a frown, considering. “You mean like a king or queen or something.”

“Or something,” he admitted with a slow nod.

“And of course no one thought it was important to mention this little tidbit to me?” she asked, feeling just a tad embarrassed by her own behavior. He was a client, and just because he’d been rude, didn’t mean she had to be.

He just annoyed her so with his arrogant, high-handed orders and demands. As if the world revolved around him.

“Would it have changed your behavior if you had known?” Or your viperous tongue, he wondered.

“Probably not,” she admitted honestly. “Unless you have the power to have someone beheaded.”

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound rich as it rumbled around the room. “I’m afraid, Ms. Martin, that we no longer behead people.” He flashed her a brilliant smile. Faith felt as if the temperature in the office rose twenty degrees. “Too messy.”

“Well, I’m grateful for small favors.”

Cocking his head, he studied her. “And would it have mattered anyway?”

“The beheading?”

He shook his head, amused. “No, my bloodlines.”

“Not unless you plan on running in the Kentucky Derby.” She shrugged. “Otherwise, your bloodlines don’t matter one whit to me.”

He laughed again. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared to speak to him so freely. Not since his beloved grandmother. But this woman certainly did not remind him of his grandmother.

On the contrary, she was young and vibrant, with a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue. And he found himself suddenly both irritated and amused by her.

A woman who was not impressed by his title, his bloodlines or apparently his money. A novelty, for sure.

“My title, it is, as you said, perhaps, of no real importance,” he admitted, “except to those who are impressed by such things.” He smiled and she realized anew just how incredibly attractive he was. “And you apparently are not one of those people.”

She shrugged. “I couldn’t care less if you’re the King of Siam.”

“Wrong country, wrong continent.” He pointed to a large, full-scale color map framed and anchored to one wall. “The land of my birth is Kuwait, Ms. Martin.”

Faith glanced across the room to where he was pointing. The details of the map were so precise, so vivid, it actually looked hand-painted. Probably was, she decided. He probably had his minions paint the little trinket just to decorate his office. Why, she wondered, did the mere thought annoy her?

Faith shifted her gaze back to his. Kuwait. So that explained the faint accent, the inlaid family crest on his desk, above the fireplace. It explained a lot of things about him.

She’d been right; he was spoiled and rich and, on top of it, a royal. Terrific.

“You are frowning again, Ms. Martin. Have I said something to annoy you?” Apparently, he’d been saying and doing a lot that annoyed her.

“You can call me Faith,” she said absently. If the man had royal blood, she supposed he could use her first name. “So what is a man of royal blood from Kuwait doing in California?”

“What all normal men do, I suppose. Conducting business.” He cast another scathing look at the computer on his desk. “Or trying to.” He didn’t know why it was important to explain, but for some reason he did. “Many years ago my father and his partner, Joe Colton, who happens to live in Prosperino, California, went into business together. It was the perfect merger of two like-minded men, two countries and cultures.”

“I’ve heard of the Coltons,” she said with a quiet nod.

The Coltons were California’s version of royalty—well-connected, well-respected, and with a sterling reputation in the business, political and social community.

She’d always admired the vast family from afar, eagerly reading about them in the paper, envying them for their closeness, their love, their incredible devotion to one another. The Coltons were, in her mind, what the definition of what a true family was, the kind she’d never had.

But her affection for the Coltons went far deeper than what she’d read in the society pages. The Coltons were a philanthropic family, giving to a great deal of needy causes. They had, in fact, funded the Hopechest Ranch, where she’d spent some of her teen years. Without the ranch, she would have probably ended up on the streets, just another lost kid.

She owed a lot to the Hopechest Ranch and, ultimately, the Coltons for making such a place possible for children who either had nowhere to go or had no one who wanted them.

She’d been just such a child. But she wasn’t about to tell this man any such thing. Someone like Ali El-Etra would never understand what it was like to be alone in the world, never knowing where your next meal was coming from, never knowing if you’d have a roof over your head.

He had minions who did nothing but hand-paint maps for him. Obviously he’d never understand where she came from.

Ali continued. “My father is a descendant of the Kuwaiti royal family, and our family is the largest land-holder in our country, land that is rich with oil. Oil my country was not even aware of so many years ago, nor did they have any experience extracting that oil from the land. Joe Colton, on the other hand, had equipment, experience and an oil-rigging company.” Ali shrugged, not mentioning how close the El-Etras and the Coltons had become over the years. They’d been like a surrogate family to him, particularly during the years of unrest in his country, when his father, fearing for his safety, had sent him to America, to the Coltons, to live.

It was a painful time for Ali, a time when he’d been separated from his family, and when he’d lost his beloved Jalila.

Ali shook away the memories, preferring not to think of them. They were still far too painful.

“Together, Joe Colton and my father became not just partners and very close friends, but very, very successful men.” He shrugged, his massive shoulders moving beneath the custom-tailored suit. “It has worked out quite well for all concerned.”

Faith glanced around at the room. “Apparently,” she said with a nod and a smile. Her initial assessment of him had been accurate. He was an impossibly spoiled man who had no idea what it meant to work. A man who’d been handed everything in life. A man she could never relate to or understand.

She was proud of all that she’d worked for and accomplished on her own, without any help from anyone.

But then again there’d never been anyone to help her, she thought. She had no choice but to do everything on her own.

She shifted her gaze back to him. “So it’s daddy’s money you’re pledging to cover your investors.” She nodded thoughtfully, trying not to feel envious. “Now I understand.” Cocking her head, she met his gaze. “I imagine it’s easy playing at being successful when someone else is footing the bills.”

“My father’s money?” The words boomed out of his mouth. His face darkened, and an unrecognizable emotion swept through his eyes as he shot to his feet like a cannon.

“On the contrary, Ms. Martin. It is my money,” he corrected firmly, coming around the desk to stand in front of her. He was so close she caught a hint of his aftershave. It was something discreet, masculine, and absolutely intoxicating.

At a distance, he was impressive; standing so close, his presence was nearly overwhelming. She could see the tiny pinpoints of annoyance glinting from his dark eyes, eyes that were nearly hypnotizing. She could see the way his mouth tightened, thinned.

“Ms. Martin, I came to America and started El-Etra Investments on my own nearly ten years ago, without any assistance from my father or my family, financial or otherwise.” Feeling defensive, Ali glanced around the spacious room. “The only assistance my father has provided to me has been advice and counsel, something I value tremendously since he is not only successful, but a man of quality and integrity.”

He paused to level her with a gaze that almost had her quaking in her shoes. “My father was one of my very first clients, but make no mistake, Ms. Martin, my father is not a fool. He would never have entrusted or invested part of the family fortune in this firm if it was not a viable business enterprise.”

Faith watched him warily, the way she would eye a hungry rabid dog she’d suddenly stumbled upon.

Apparently she’d hit a nerve, one that was particularly sensitive. He was fairly quaking with anger, and his dark, fathomless eyes were hot enough to singe the hair on her head.

Apparently she’d really put her foot in her mouth this time.

Faith wanted to sigh as regret swept over her. She realized she needed to pull back, get some distance, emotionally and physically, and apologize.

She didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this job. Not because he was of royal blood, or rich. Neither meant a hill of beans to her.

But his business did.

She needed it in order to secure the bank loan that would help her expand into larger offices and hire a few more consultants. But none of that was possible if she ticked off El-Etra and lost this account.

In spite of her own apparent disdain for the man and his lifestyle, she needed to remain emotionally uninvolved, not let her own personal feelings about his life, his reputation or his wealth affect her business sense.

Detached. Completely and totally detached. She had to remember that. Looking at him, she had a sinking feeling it was going to be easier said than done because he represented all the things she detested in a man.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, vividly aware that he was still standing just a few inches from her, far too close for comfort. Close enough for his male scent to tantalize and tease her senses. Close enough for her to see how attractive he really was. It was totally unnerving. “I didn’t mean to insult you or your family.”

“Family is a very sacred thing to me, Ms. Martin,” he said quietly, sincerely. Still, it sounded like a warning.

“I’ll try to remember that,” Faith said with a nod.

“Please do.” His eyes had cleared and his face had softened into a small smile. The man was far too gorgeous to be allowed to smile in public.

He looked at her carefully, as if studying her. “It would be a pity if I had to reconsider my position on beheading, don’t you think?”