The Sheikh's Christmas Wish

by Clare Connelly

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “I’ll find a table then.”

  She chose one near the back of the bar, away from the crowds. It wasn’t that she wanted to be alone with her good Samaritan so much as she wanted to be away from others. The reality of what had happened was beginning to sink in, and though she was putting a brave face on it, there was horror there too.

  Horror, compounded by the discovery that Brent had, yet again, ditched rehab.

  Months of pressuring him into going, the hope that maybe this time would be different, all evaporated before her.

  She leaned back in her chair and looked into the pub just as Ra’if began to cut through the crowds. He did so effortlessly, his tall, muscular body moving with a lithe athleticism that spoke of true strength. Even in this crowd of after-work professionals, dressed in his exercise gear, he seemed to radiate power and machismo.

  He slid a glass of red wine towards her and straddled the seat opposite. She noted he had no drink for himself.

  “Thank you.” Melinda didn’t drink often, but her nerves were quivering inside of her. She sipped it, taking in a big gulp and closing her eyes as the warmth of the wine soothed its way down her body. She could feel it spreading to her fingertips and toes, quietening the frantic race of her pulse. She sipped again, eyes still closed, mind racing.

  “Hey.” He reached over and put a hand on hers. Sparks seared her soul. She jerked her eyes open and stared at him. Their eyes locked and it was though a wild electrical current was arcing between them. But it was out of their control; it was sharp and it was strong. “Don’t be afraid now. What happened to you was random. He’s gone. You’re okay.”

  Was she?

  Why did Melinda feel more terrified now than she had in the alley? She knew she should pull her hand away but her body wouldn’t cooperate. “I know that.” She sipped her wine once more, but kept her eyes on his.

  “Do you always leave work at this hour?” He asked, pulling his hand away and settling back in the chair.

  “No.” She frowned. “I rarely stay after five.” It was just that Jordan was having a play with the kids upstairs, and she’d needed space and time to process yet another Brent disappointment. “I got caught up,” she said as though it hardly mattered.

  A waiter appeared a minute later. “Chips?” She juggled a bowl onto the table and Melinda smiled her thanks.

  “And the steak?”

  Melinda looked at Ra’if.

  “Just put it anywhere.”

  “It” turned out to be four plates. A chicken curry, a vegetarian pasta bake, steak, and hand cut chips.

  “I’m not really that hungry,” Melinda couldn’t help laughing as she surveyed the personal banquet.

  “That’s fine. Eat what you’d like. I wasn’t sure what your preference would be.”

  “So you got everything? It’s like that scene in Pretty Woman. You know … where he … Richard Gere …” at his blank look, she shook her head. “Never mind. Thank you.”

  “A pleasure.” And it was. Ra’if dismissed the realisation. He was simply doing his civic duty. The fact that he found his companion unexpectedly charming, utterly beautiful, and incredibly fascinating had little to do with why he had practically dragged her to this dive.

  She reached for a chip and lifted it to her lips. They were full lips, and generous, curving naturally into a smile even as she ate. Her skin was a flawless cream, with a slight tan, that might have been genetics or the result of a recent holiday. She had long lashes that curled softly, and there was an elegance to her movements that was obviously innate to who she was. Her eyes were what really held his attention though. They were enormous, a dark shade of brown, almost black, and so expressive. He felt they would give him her life story if he were to look into them long enough.

  “So,” she murmured, lifting another chip to her mouth. “Who are you?”

  She’d been shocked when they’d spoken. She’d obviously forgotten his name. Unused to being not only a private citizen but a man who excited little speculation in the media, the experience of not being known was a glorious novelty.

  “Ra’if,” he responded with a smile.

  It made her belly roll. “You told me your name,” she said, sipping her wine again. “I mean, who are you? You said you’re not from the UK?”

  “No.” He nodded. “I’m not. I’m from Dashan.”

  She racked her brains, trying to recall anything about the country. But, to her embarrassment, it was just one of those places that existed a long way away, somewhere hot and arid. She knew nothing of its people or its places. “And what brings you to London?” She asked, moving the conversation onto grounds that were less likely to make her feel like a fool.

  “Work.” He reached for a chip at the same time she did and their fingers brushed. She startled, shifting back into her seat.

  He smiled at her, his eyes lightly teasing. Her temperature spiked.

  He watched while she ate, indulging her attempts at small talk with a growing frustration. Despite the constant flow of light-hearted conversation, his sense that she was an enigma he might never understand only heightened.

  “I’d better get going,” she said with a smile. “Thank you for dinner. And for saving my life.”

  He stood, his eyes serious now as they held hers. “You’re welcome, for both.” He walked with her, out into the ice cold night air. He lifted a hand to hail a cab and one stopped almost instantly, actually screeching its brakes in an effort to meet his silent command.

  Yes, he was authoritative all right, as though he’d been born to command.

  “Well,” she turned to face him. “Thanks again.” Saying goodbye was proving oddly difficult. It was absurd; they’d just met. Perhaps the intensity of the situation in which they’d found themselves accounted for why she was finding it wrenching to actually leave him. Mentally, she shook herself and forced a smile to her face. This whole day had been strange, from beginning to end. The sooner she got home and went to bed, the better.

  He held the door open for her and she stepped down into the seat. To Melinda’s surprise, he didn’t swing the door closed behind her.

  Instead, he brought his large frame into the cab alongside her. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here,” he said, his gravelly voice not inviting argument. “I feel a degree of responsibility for your safety this evening. Let me finish the job I started.”

  “The job of saving me?” She said with a lift of her brow.

  “Exactly.”

  She sank back into the seat, her mind berating her for not arguing. But fighting him was the last thing she wanted. The truth was, she was taking enormous comfort from his presence. And it didn’t yet occur to her to be bothered by that.

  CHAPTER TWO

  At any time of night, there was action in Putney. As the cab drew to a halt outside her block of flats, a group of school kids ran past, laughing loudly into the cold night air. A Tesco truck sped past, tooting its horn when one of the children threw a magazine onto the road in front of him.

  Melinda reached into her bag but before she could withdraw enough money to cover the fare, Ra’if had flashed his credit card. The driver tapped it against his machine.

  “You don’t have to do that,” Melinda said quietly.

  “I know.” He pushed out of the cab, holding the door open for her, surveying the street in both directions. She was on the corner of the high street and a little alleyway, just one block from the Thames. There were three pubs within a stone’s throw, an Italian restaurant and a pizzeria. Groups of diners were mingling in the doorways and the pubs had huddles of smokers gathered beneath heaters.

  “I…” she stared up at him, scanning his face with a growing sense of embarrassment. “Would you like to come in? For coffee?”

  A muscle jerked in his cheek. “You mean actually for coffee?”

  Her blush deepened. “No, I’m propositioning you,” she rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what every girl wants after having
a gun drawn on her? To have a little romp with a random stranger?” She crossed her arms, shivering into the night air. “I meant a coffee. Or a hot chocolate. As a thank you. And to warm you up before you get back into central.”

  He laughed at her quick disparagement of his misunderstanding. “Good. Because I have to tell you, I would have found it hard to say no to the other invitation.” He winked. “Coffee sounds great, though.”

  The statement confused her, perhaps as he’d meant it to. She covered it with a wobbly smile. “Come on up.”

  The door groaned as she pushed it inwards then scooped down to lift a pile of mail – mostly junk – from the carpeted floor. “There are only four flats in the building. It was a really beautiful old house until the war and then the owners sold it off. Mrs Walters, my neighbour, was born right at the end of the war. She’s eighty seven now and has lived in the flat her whole life.”

  She pulled a small bunch of keys from her bag and sent him an apologetic look. “Sorry. I babble when I’m …” The keys dropped to her feet and she swore softly under her breath.

  “Nervous?” He prompted, picking the keys up and handing them to her, his direct stare looked to hers.

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  She was beyond charming. A strange sense of awareness settled heavily in his gut. Alarm bells were screaming at him. It was definitely not the time in his journey to be getting hooked on a woman.

  She pushed the door inwards and reached around, flicking a switch. The apartment bloomed to life with a golden glow.

  And Ra’if lost just about any hope of not wanting to get to know Melinda better.

  “Did I miss something?” He murmured, stepping inside and looking around in dismay.

  “Like what?” She frowned, trying to see the apartment as he must.

  “Like the signpost to the north pole?” He laughed, a throaty sound she could get addicted to.

  “Oh!” Her eyes were enormous as she studied the tree, glistening with decorations, the tinsel that had been strung from one side of the apartment to the other, the hand-carved Christmas villages she’d set up on the mantel above the fireplace and the six foot high inflatable Santa that was standing beside the tree. “I like Christmas.”

  A loud noise cracked from upstairs and she winced, hoping Jordan hadn’t been involved in whatever had dropped. She could hear Tara’s voice through the floorboards, a muffled sound of exclamation and then a laugh.

  She filled the kettle and flicked it on then reached into the cupboard for two cups. “What would you like to drink?” She lifted a spoon out of the drawer. “I’ve got coffee. Tea. Herbal tea. Hot chocolate. Wine.”

  He arched a brow, moving through the apartment, careful not to knock a reindeer cushion that was balanced precariously on the edge of the sofa. “Whatever you’re having.”

  “Hot chocolate with two marshmallows?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  She laughed. “Somehow I saw you more as a black coffee kind of guy.”

  “Really?” He rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Why’s that?”

  “Oh, you know.” She pulled one of her matching glass canisters from beside the stove and opened the lid. She spooned chocolate powder into the two mugs then poured some milk into a saucepan and laid it onto the stove. “It’s that imposing, sensible businessman vibe you give off. You’re corporate. I think if I met you in different circumstances I’d be way too intimidated to speak to you. Let alone offer you an eight year old’s choice of beverage in the middle of an apartment that Santa and all the reindeer might as well have spat out.”

  He laughed, shaking his head ruefully from side to side. “That almost makes me glad we met as we did.” He remembered the way he’d felt when he’d seen her with that gun angled at her forehead and shook his head. “No. I could never feel anything but revulsion for how we met.” He propped his elbows on the bench, fixing her with his curious gaze. “Are you feeling okay?”

  A frown tugged at her lips. “Strangely enough, I am.”

  “Good.” He pushed up from the bench, walking to the nearest window. He attempted to lift it, but it was locked.

  “If you’re too warm, there’s always a draft near by bedroom.”

  He sent her a teasing look. “I’m not too warm. I was just assuring myself that your windows have adequate locks.”

  “Oh.” Something like pleasure and surprise spread through her. “You don’t have to do that. I mean, I have all that stuff under control.”

  A knock sounded at the door and Melinda jumped. She blamed her attacker for the fact her nerves were shot; not the man opposite, who was making her emotions misfire and her pulse screech.

  He sent a glance at his watch, a frown on his face. “It’s almost ten o’clock.”

  “Shoot. Is it?” She flicked the heat off the stove and moved quickly across the apartment.

  Tara smiled at her from the hallway beyond. Her dark hair was bundled up on top of her head, her face wiped clean of makeup. A sleepy bundle of little boy was cradled in her arms. “I thought I heard the door slam,” she whispered. “This little guy’s been fighting it for the last hour.”

  “Thank you.” Melinda reached out and took him, instinctively breathing in the sweet smell of clean clothes and soap. As she moved back into the apartment, Tara followed, but the sight of Ra’if stopped her dead in her tracks.

  “Oh!” She exclaimed softly, her eyes travelling from his dark head to this running shoes, and enjoying every single inch in between. “I didn’t know you had company,” she grinned.

  Melinda shot a look over her shoulder and poked her tongue out. “He’s not company,” she whispered. “So much as a Good Samaritan I can’t shake.”

  Ra’if laughed at the description, for it was as accurate as it was amusing. He watched, not bothering to hide his interest, as Melinda carried the dark haired little boy through another doorway. A minute later she reappeared, smiling at her neighbour. “Thanks again for minding him.”

  “Anytime,” Tara said. “I mean anytime.”

  Melinda laughed. “This is definitely not what you’re thinking, going from the way you’re ogling the two of us.” She shot another look at Ra’if and he felt a kick of pleasure in his gut.

  “And what am I thinking?” Tara asked, moving quickly to the door. “That you’re having a well earned night off? That you’re having fun with a guy who’s fit as …”

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Melinda laughed, pushing her friend towards the door. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow, okay?”

  “We’ll see. You might be busy tomorrow.”

  “Tara,” she groaned, pushing her one more time, so that she stepped out of the apartment.

  “Just try to keep it down to a dull roar, okay? I’ve got my own sleeping kids to think of.”

  “We won’t disturb them,” Melinda promised, fighting a burst of laughter. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Night, love.” She craned back around the door. “Night, stud.”

  Melinda rolled her eyes as she clicked the door back in place. “I’m sorry about her.”

  Ra’if followed Melinda with renewed curiosity. “You have a child.”

  “Do I? Huh. I thought it was just a small vagrant who had decided to live with me.” She sent him a droll look as she poured the still-warm milk into the mugs and stirred them both. “That’s Jordan.”

  Ra’if nodded, trying to reconcile the implications of this fact to how he’d been feeling a moment earlier. When he’d been looking at Melinda and imagining making love to her against the sofa, with those darned reindeer cushions wedged around them.

  “How old is he?” His calm voice belied the sense of urgency driving his curiosity.

  “Five.” She reached into the cabinet above the range hood and pulled out a plastic jar. “I have to keep these up here or Jordan will eat the whole stash. He’s a total sniffer-dog when it comes to treats.”

  “His father?” Ra’if winced inwardly at how to-
the-point the question was.

  Melinda’s eyes flew to Jordan’s bedroom door. “He’s … not really in the picture,” she murmured after a significant pause.

  “No?” What were those feelings pounding him from the inside out? “Does he support you?”

  “Now, now. I think you’re taking the guardian angel thing a step too far, don’t you?”

  “It’s a simple question.” His eyes narrowed. He turned and surveyed the apartment, looking beyond the Christmas explosion to the furnishings and décor. It was nice, neat, modern. Not luxurious, by any stretch of the imagination, but nor did it look as though Melinda was struggling to put food on the table.

  “He’s not in a position to support us,” she said finally, her words clipped. She passed a hot chocolate mug towards Ra’if and reached for her phone. She pressed a few buttons and Christmas carols began to play through a speaker on the bench. They were the old-fashioned ones; he recognised the strains of Dean Martin and a flood of his own childhood memories danced on the periphery of his mind. Memories of his family. His mother. And life after she’d died.

  “But he was in a position to give you a child.” He tried, and failed, to keep judgement from his words. He took up a seat on the sofa. Melinda perched on the other edge, curling her legs beneath her. She looked very beautiful, very small, and very fragile, and a dangerous need to protect her swirled through him.

  “Yes, well.” She bit down on her lower lip. “It takes two to tango,” she said simply.

  He pushed thoughts of Melinda tangoing, in bed or otherwise, from his mind. That was a dangerous path he was better not following. “How old are you?”

  She sipped her hot chocolate. “Didn’t we decide this makes me about eight?” She laughed, but it lacked the spontaneity of earlier. She was nervous. Tense.

  “I’m making you uncomfortable?” He suggested, not beating about the bush.

  She expelled a sigh and nodded. “I know what you must think. Young single mum, walking around dark alleys late in the evening, going to pubs with strange men … inviting said strange men into my home.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I just don’t know why I care so much what you must think of me.”