Sheik's Revenge

No rules. No mercy.

Faith Sinclair never missed a shot—or a kill. But when the mysterious man she knew only as Santiago was in her sniper’s sights, the game changed. It had to. She couldn’t kill him in cold blood. Not the father of her unborn baby.

Sheik Omair Al Arif’s mind was on one thing: revenge. The undercover king didn’t bargain on an intoxicating enemy bent on foiling his plans. And when the two would-be foes joined forces, they discovered nothing was as it seemed—their identities, their missions and especially the flames burning between them.

“Sleep now,” he whispered gently. “We have a long, hot ride ahead in the morning.”

Beyond exhaustion, Faith did fall asleep, curled on the tarp under the blanket by the fire.

He looked down at Faith again.

“I don’t know who you really are,” he whispered. “But you’re one hell of a woman, and I intend to find out.”

She murmured in her sleep, and Omair felt a strange pang in his heart. God help him, he was falling, absurdly, for a woman sent to kill him, and it had started the moment he’d first laid eyes on her in that cantina on the banks of the Tagua River. And she could still be pulling the wool over his eyes.

Dear Reader,

Duty, honor, loyalty are traits that run fiercely through the blood of my Sahara Kings heroes. Above all, my sheiks stand for family, country and tradition, and they will fight to the death to protect those values and those they love. The hero of this story is probably the fiercest of all the Al Arif brothers. He’s the lone rider, the dark horse prince, last in line to the throne, and the role of seeking justice for his family has fallen heavily on his shoulders.

But Omair Al Arif’s values are tested when he unwittingly sleeps with his enemy—a woman with equal devotion to duty, honor, valor. She’s a loyal soldier and an assassin, and she’s given an order by her country to kill the man she’s coming to love. Now both will be forced to choose between duty and obeying the heart.

I hope you enjoy their journey!

Loreth Anne White

Sheikh’s Revenge

Loreth Anne White

LORETH ANNE WHITE

was born and raised in southern Africa, but now lives in Whistler, a ski resort in the moody British Columbia Coast Mountain range. It’s a place of vast wilderness, larger-than-life characters, epic adventure and romance—the perfect place to escape reality. It’s no wonder she was inspired to abandon a sixteen-year career as a journalist to escape into a world of romantic fiction filled with dangerous men and adventurous women.

When she’s not writing you will find her long-distance running, biking or skiing on the trails and generally trying to avoid the bears—albeit not very successfully. She calls this work, because it’s when the best ideas come.

For a peek into her world visit her website, www.lorethannewhite.com. She’d love to hear from you.

For Ola and Noor, who make the Sahara real.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Chapter 1

Sheik Omair Al Arif sat in a dark corner of the cantina, sipping the last of his espresso as he watched the woman working the bar. She was the single pleasure he’d been afforded over the past few months as he’d bided his time in this sweltering Colombian rathole along the banks of the Tagua River, watching, waiting, listening for a sign the deal was about to go down.

He’d positioned himself at a round wooden table in the shadows, his back to the wall—an assassin’s habit. From this vantage point he could quietly watch the cantina door, as well as see who ventured in from a deck that tilted drunkenly over a coffee-colored estuary that snaked down through mangrove swamps to the sea.

Outside, monkeys screeched and swung from massive kapok trees that brooded over the building and sent giant roots down into the anaconda-infested waters. Inside, it was strangely empty for a Friday night. An older couple, maybe in their seventies, drank beer from big mugs at a table across the room. At another table a group of men—cacao plantation workers—huddled over drinks and smoked dark tobacco cigarettes, skin glistening. Every now and then one of them would glance furtively toward the door. This was the heart of cartel country—life here was cheap, everyone on the take, and eyes were constantly shadowed with mistrust and fear.

Music played softly from an old jukebox in the corner.

The barmaid was wiping down the counter, her body gleaming with sweat. Omair could see from the way she moved that she was well aware of his appreciative gaze. Tonight she wore her bloodred dress, his favorite. The fabric flowed like liquid over her Latina curves and plunged down the front of her chest to expose a smooth olive-skinned cleavage, along with just a tease of black lace bra. He enjoyed the way her raven hair fell thickly across her cheekbones as she moved, the way she tossed it back over her shoulders, the way her deep brown eyes made him think of sex.