Ra’if ignored the searing barb of envy. “How old were you?”
“Seventeen. I’d just finished school.”
He took care not to react. “That must have been hard for you.”
“Hard was being kicked out of home. The baby stuff I found easy. I loved being pregnant. I loved having him.” Her expression was sombre. “The minute Jordan was born, I looked into his eyes and knew I could never do to him what my parents did to me.”
“Do you hear from them?”
“At Christmas,” she nodded. “I get a card offering me the chance to repent and rejoin their lives.”
“And you don’t?”
“I’m not going to repent! Jordan is a blessing. A hundred years ago, Brent and I would have been married at the ages we were, and the baby would have been seen as a sign of a successful union.” She winked. “No. I don’t think they have anything to offer me. And now I’m making that decision for my son as well, so I have to make it a good one.”
Ra’if lifted the bowls and came around the kitchen, to the small dining room. There were only two chairs. He took Jordan’s and she was grateful as heck that she’d had the presence of mind to wipe the caked-on spaghetti off before he’d arrived.
“And this is why you don’t date, too?”
“Aren’t I dating right now?” She reminded him in a voice he found almost unbearably seductive. In his old life, he would have made love to her by now. She wanted him. She wanted him with a heat and passion that he knew was eating her resolve. If he kissed her again, she would groan, her body would become pliant against his, and his hands would strip her clothes away and feel her naked flesh.
But he hadn’t been that man for a long time. Well over two years. And he wasn’t going to give in to old habits. Besides, Melinda wasn’t like the women he had used to hook up with. He hadn’t really had a type, at least in terms of physicality. He’d just wanted women who were up for a good time. Who’d make the same lousy life choices he had; who enjoyed any substance that could get them high and keep them there.
It was like looking through a mirror and seeing someone entirely different. He’d come so far from that life.
The silence stretched between them and Melinda’s nerves stretched with it, prickling down her spine. She dropped her eyes to the table, noticing the food properly for the first time.
“What is this?” She asked, as she tried to make sense of the unfamiliar dishes.
As though shaking himself from a dream, Ra’if said softly, “The food of my land.” The way he said it was with such pride that goose bumps danced across her flesh, as though a warm breeze from Dashan, with its heat and spice, had drifted into her apartment, temporarily thawing the cold December night.
“It smells good.”
He grinned. “I’m biased, but I do not think there is a food like it. It’s one of the things I miss most when I travel.”
An odd stitch tipped in her heart. “You live in Dashan?”
He studied her thoughtfully. “For the moment.” His eyes glowed with passion and fire. “Before that, I was in America for several years.”
“Where in America?”
A muscle jerked in his cheek. “LA, mostly, and then Vegas for a time.” He thought of the rehab facility that he’d called home for six months. The most important six months of his life. He did not hide his relationship with drugs, mainly because he was proud of the strength he’d developed to overcome that addiction. He understood now the emotions that had led to his dependency and he had conquered them. He knew he would never again be vulnerable to such extraordinary weakness and stupidity.
“Oh! I’ve always wanted to go to Vegas. Did you like it?”
He pulled a face. “It is exactly as you’d imagine. Full of wild parties and a little too much fun than is good for you.” He winked and Melinda found herself laughing.
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who would enjoy that at all.”
“Oh, really? This is because I am corporate, no?”
“No,” she tapped a finger against her lips, searching for the indefinable quality of the man. “You just seem so … steady. Sturdy. Rock-reliable. I can’t see you getting into the whole flippant, flamboyant, night life scene.”
Her words meant more to him than Melinda could possibly understand. He had been all those things at one time. And then, for too many years, he wasn’t. And now, finally, he was himself again. The man who had been born to rule a kingdom. A man who’d given up that right, who’d been supplanted by his brother, and who was free to focus on his business interests and his own life, but with the same strength and maturity that he should have brought to his role as Sheikh.
“Thank you,” he murmured seriously, transferring his attention to the plates in front of them. “This is a chickpea fritter.” He pointed his way around the plate then, listing each dish. “A rice that is flavoured with currants, pepper and saffron. Lamb and cumin. Fish and tomato. And a sauce that is a little like a spiced yoghurt.”
He watched as Melinda lifted her fork and scooped some of the lamb dish onto its end. He made note of the fact she’d chosen that first, a smile on his features as she lifted it to her mouth and tasted it. Her eyes were huge when they turned to him. “It’s amazing. So, so good.”
He tipped his head in silent agreement. “I agree.”
“You said you miss it when you travel. Where’d you get this from?”
“I have a chef here.”
The sentence was an omission. A mistake. He had resolved to hold off on revealing too much about his life until they knew one another better. He had enough experience with how people reacted to the discovery that he was a man of incomparable wealth and power. And he didn’t want Melinda to know that about him; to factor it into her opinion, for better or for worse.
“My company provides one,” he fudged a little. It was close enough to the truth.
“How nice. My company got me an ergonomic keyboard last year.”
He laughed at the unexpected response. “Well, I suppose that’s err, important.”
“Actually, it’s a pain in the backside,” she confided, lifting a little more of the lamb to her lips. They were beautiful lips. Full, and shaped like a cupid’s bow, with a natural pinkness to them. “I know they’re meant to be better but it feels so awkward to use.” She winked and then settled back in her chair.
Belatedly, he opened the bottle of wine and poured two glasses, though he knew he wouldn’t touch his. Not because he didn’t drink – he did, occasionally – but because he didn’t want even a hint of alcohol to cloud his memories of this evening.
“Thank you,” Melinda murmured without lifting her glass.
“So,” he leaned forward a bit, fighting an urge to reach his hand across the table and curve his hand over hers. “Tell me about him.”
“Him?” She looked over her shoulder. Jordan’s door remained ajar, just as she’d left it.
“The father.”
“Oh.” She dropped her gaze to the curries, and now she fingered the stem of her wine glass, running her fingers up and down its glass stem, unconsciously trying to extract strength from it. “Right.” She nodded. “Brent. Brent is his name.”
Ra’if was quiet. He had spent a lot of his youth being trained to rule a country and part of that had included the requisite lessons in diplomacy. He had been taught, and instinctively known, how important it was to remain silent when someone had the air of confession. Melinda wanted to speak to him, she just needed to find the words.
Sure enough, after a moment that throbbed with emotion, she sipped her wine then placed it carefully on the table. “We met when we were just kids. I loved him straight away.” She met Ra’if’s eyes. “I suppose you think that’s stupid? Love at first sight? I know it seems like a fairy tale. But I did love him.”
He shook his head. “I have seen this for myself,” he said gently, thinking of Olivia and his brother Samir.
“He was such a good guy. Never into party
ing or drinking or anything. We just used to hang out.”
He was silent even when he wanted to prompt her.
“When I was maybe six months pregnant, he went to a party with his cousin. I didn’t go. I was huge and the pregnancy was complicated.” She swallowed, and Ra’if could see the memories were painful. He reached across, putting a hand over hers. She smiled at the gesture, and stroked her thumb distractedly over the back of his hand. “I guess it happened that night.”
“He cheated on you?” Ra’if demanded, instantly incensed.
“God, no. Would that he had!” She grimaced. “He tried some cocaine.”
Ra’if was very still. His eyes clung to her face. His heart was hammering hard in his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“I didn’t know. But I guess with some people … it’s just … really addictive. Or maybe he has that personality. I don’t know, Ra’if.” She squeezed his hand. “I felt like a complete idiot. By the time Jordan was born, Brent was unrecognisable. He couldn’t get out of bed without doing a line. It didn’t take long before he moved onto heroine, pills. Whatever he could get his hands on.”
Whatever he could get his hands on.
Ra’if knew what that was like.
“What happened?”
She swallowed. “He told me he’d sort himself out. He wanted to be with us.” She shook her head. “He wanted to be a good father.”
“But?”
“I guess he wanted to be a drug addict more,” she said thickly. Her eyes were round like saucers when she lifted her face to his. “It was a long time ago.”
“You still love him?” Ra’if prompted, wondering at the way his own body seemed to reject that idea with a visceral strength.
“No. Not for me.” She bit down on her lip. “I mean, I still love who he was. I love the boy I used to know. But it’s been five years. He’s lived on the streets for most of those.”
“You don’t see him?”
“I try. I got him into rehab last week. I thought it would be a breakthrough.”
A muscle jerked in Ra’if’s cheek. “It wasn’t.”
“No. He left. Checked himself out. I don’t know where he is now.”
He expelled a soft sigh. He was uniquely placed to empathise with her, having treaded the same path as Jordan’s father. “Which facility did you get him into?”
She grimaced. “Angel of Light? It’s just an hour away. It’s meant to be okay, and it doesn’t cost the earth because it’s part subsidised, to get kids off the streets and off drugs. There’s vocational training, counselling, all of the things that I thought would make a big difference to him.”
“He wasn’t ready,” Ra’if murmured. “That’s not your fault.”
“I know it’s not. It’s just … Jordan really wants to spend time with his father. He’s only met him a couple of times, you know? And now he’s five, he’s got this idea that he wants us to be a ‘normal’ family, like all his friends are part of.”
Ra’if nodded slowly. “And do you want that?”
She pierced him with her eyes and for the first time since meeting her he glimpsed sadness and grief in them. “No.” She shook her head. “I could never be with an addict. Even a recovered one. I’ve seen too much of drugs to know how easily then can take over. I deserve better. So does Jordan.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Her words tormented him. Long after he’d invented an excuse and abruptly left Melinda’s living tribute to Santa Clause, he’d thought of her statement, and he’d cringed. Because it proved what he should have known all along.
He was damaged goods.
Someone like Melinda would never look at him as a serious interest.
Why had he let it go as far as he had? Sure, they’d only shared a meal, but he’d led her on. He’d flirted with her when he should have known that it was all just a fantasy.
He slept poorly, his mind turning the problem over and over. It was the same the next day, and that night. For three days he thought of her with a growing impatience. He imagined her as she’d been, so beautiful and sweet, her cheeks pink, her hair loose, her eyes sparkling, and then he’d remembered her confusion when he’d abruptly stood, cleared the plates and told her that he had to send an urgent email during Dashan business hours.
She’d nodded her understanding, suggested they could see one another again and he’d just given her a tight smile. One that said ‘no’ when his mouth couldn’t find the words.
Now, on a bitterly cold December night, his body taut, his mind numb, he stared up at her apartment. His stomach had knots.
He needed to see her.
But to what end?
It was stupid, foolish and selfish to prolong this, but he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to walk away.
There was something about Melinda that made his gut ache, in a good way. In that way that meant he actually cared about her.
It was the first time he’d felt it for a woman he was sexually interested in, and he wasn’t prepared to shut this thing down yet. Even though he knew he needed to. He was an addict. A big one. Sure, he’d been sober for more than two years. He knew he’d never relapse. But she’d been burned by this addiction before, and he owed it to her to respect what she’d said.
The door to her apartment slammed shut and he startled out of his reverie, his eyes skimming over the group. Three children, small, medium and large, and a woman that took him a moment to place but he then recognised as Melinda’s upstairs neighbour, Tara.
Their eyes locked and he straightened, watchful. She said something to the children and they all held hands then stood against the apartment steps. They were talking; the sound of their happy voices reached Ra’if’s ears and he smiled.
“You’re that guy Mel was seeing, aren’t you?”
Her accent was thick. He had to listen carefully to understand her. “Yes,” he nodded finally.
“I thought so.” She shoved her gloved hands into her pockets and turned back towards the children, reassuring herself that they were all still there. “Look. I don’t know what you’re up to, but don’t you dare mess her around.”
He thought of making a joke – of pointing out that between the two of them, in a battle of strength, he would assuredly win, but it wasn’t the time.
Instead, he employed the expression that he generally found to be conciliatory. “I like her. I don’t want to mess her around.”
“Yeah? Because she told me you acted weird and disappeared into thin air.”
His smile was self-deprecating. “I did.”
“You don’t reckon that’s messing her around?”
“It is precisely because I wanted to protect her that I left.” He expelled a sigh. “I don’t know if I would be good for her. I think I’m not what she wants.”
Tara nodded. “Isn’t that Melinda’s decision?”
Just what he’d been afraid of. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He cleared his throat, and shifted his gaze back to the window.
“Right. I’ve gotta take these three to see The Gruffalo.” She turned and began to move towards the children. But as she reached them, she turned around and called back, “Remember what I said.”
It was only as she moved off that the smallest child turned to look over his shoulder. Eyes just like Melinda’s regarded him with open curiosity. His heart lurched.
Jordan.
He swivelled his gaze back to Melinda’s apartment, his mind racing.
Should he tell her the truth, even though the risk was that she would refuse to have anything more to do with him? He knew it was the right thing to do.
The honourable thing.
But when the door opened a minute later and Melinda appeared, everything but wanting her burned from his brain. She was dressed to go out, wrapped in a thick cream coat that matched her hair. She wore a bright scarf at her throat and her shoes were bright red.
He smiled and crossed the street quickly, stopping in front of her before she’d even reali
sed he was there.
“Oh!” She lifted her eyes to his face with a look of complete confusion. “Ra’if?” She visibly schooled her features into an expression of nonchalance, but it was not a great impersonation. Her features were too emotive. Her eyes still showed her hurt. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry about the other night,” he said immediately.
She pursed her lips and nodded, focussing on a point over her shoulder. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does though.” He reached down and laced his fingers through hers. “It was rude of me to leave as I did.”
“I understood.” She pulled her hand away and stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s been a long time since I’ve … I mean … I never dated. Not someone like you.” She swallowed. “You’re so sophisticated and I was going on about …”
“No.” He swore in his own language and closed the distance between them. “I should never have let you imagine that I wasn’t interested in you.”
Melinda’s heart was hammering hard against her ribs. Could he hear it? The thump thump thump thump that pounded with every single one of her silly fantasies?
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It was just dinner. I’m still very grateful to you for what you did in the alley.”
“You don’t understand.” He dug his hands into his pockets to stop from touching her again. “But I’d like to explain it to you.”
She swallowed, her eyes locked to his. “I’m on my way out.”
Jealousy launched in his gut. “I can walk you?”
The Sheikh's Christmas Wish Page 4
