The Sheikh's Christmas Wish

by Clare Connelly

  It was better than anything he could have described.

  He moved slowly at first, feeling for her pleasure centres, watching her, waiting to see what drove her wild, and then he exploited those weaknesses, tormenting her until Melinda was a quivering mess beneath him. He felt her muscles convulse; she was close to an orgasm. And hell, it had been so long to Ra’if that his once-legendary control was slipping.

  He waited until she’d tipped over into the abyss and was moaning indecipherably and then he thrust once more, hard and deep, and fell after her, his body wracked with the depth of sensation, his mind not comprehending anything beyond this most perfect moment.

  The room was silent but for their rasped exhalations.

  Only hours later, staring out the window at work, her body still tingling, her mind fogged by pleasure and a sense of disbelief at what they’d done, did she realise she still didn’t know his full name.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Do you like ice skating?” Ra’if’s voice set her pulse throbbing.

  She paused, midway through pouring warm milk over Jordan’s cereal. “As much as the next person,” she said noncommittally, her phone pressed between her ear and her shoulder. “Why?”

  “Why don’t we go tonight? The three of us?”

  Her eyes flew to Jordan, who was watching cartoons in the lounge room. It had been over a week since she’d slept with Ra’if. They’d been keeping things to nights only, and it was working brilliantly. He’d sneak in sometime after nine, when Jordan was asleep and the flat was quiet, and he’d sneak out again hours later.

  She lived for those few, snatched, secret hours.

  “I know it’s not what we agreed,” he filled the silence. “But I like spending time with you.”

  “I feel the same.” She turned her back on Jordan, propping her hip against the dishwasher. It beeped and she startled. “I want to keep Jordan out of this though.”

  Ra’if expelled a frustrated sigh. Hadn’t he said the same thing? Didn’t it make complete sense? “He doesn’t need to know what’s going on between us. Surely you have friends you see socially?”

  “I …” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if you have any friends?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s getting complicated.”

  The silence arced between them. “Have you heard from Brent?”

  She didn’t bother to pretend she’d misunderstood. “He has nothing to do with why I don’t think this is a good idea,” Melinda promised softly.

  “Doesn’t he?”

  “You know how I feel, on both counts.” She cleared her throat, looking over her shoulder. “I don’t want him getting attached to you, Ra’if.”

  “I’ll be charmless,” he said with a grin.

  “Yeah, right.” She swallowed. But the truth was, Jordan wasn’t the only one who was seduced by the image of playing happy families. The idea of doing something with Jordan and Ra’if did something really weird to her heart; like it was bursting out of her chest.

  “Okay. Just ice skating.”

  She could hear him smiling down the phone. “I’ll pick you up.”

  “No!” She lowered her voice, sending Jordan a reassuring smile. “We’ll meet you there. Text me the details.”

  “I am looking forward to it, azeezi.”

  He disconnected the call and she squeezed her eyes shut, then gave Jordan his cereal. “Honey? I’ll be right back.” She slipped upstairs and knocked on Tara’s door. She opened it instantly.

  “Mel? What is it, babes?”

  “Have I done something terrible? Something I’ll regret?”

  Tara pulled a face. “Unlikely, but come in and tell me more.”

  “I can’t. Jordan’s having breakfast; I’ve just got a second.” She relayed the conversation with Ra’if as quickly as she could, and Tara listened, nodding sympathetically.

  “So what’s your worry?”

  “What if Jordan really likes him? I know this thing with Ra’if isn’t going to last forever. It’s just meant to be a bit of fun.”

  “Oh?” Tara’s grin was smug.

  “I mean it,” Melinda said urgently. “He doesn’t live here. And I don’t want to get into anything serious. We both agreed from the outset. But…”

  “You’re willing to have your heart broken but not your son’s?”

  She didn’t bother to dispute that her heart was on the line. “Yeah.”

  “Then you have to make sure Jordan doesn’t misunderstand. Ra’if is just a friend. When you and he hang out around Jordan, there can’t be anything that crosses those lines.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “Good crazy,” Tara promised.

  But Melinda wasn’t so sure. She spent all day going back and forth on the subject. She worried she’d made a serious error in judgement as the tube hurtled them through London, until they arrived at South Kensington and made their way through the underground tunnel that led to the Natural History Museum. Jordan talked the whole way.

  He loved history, and the walls inside the tunnels gave him plenty of fodder. She half-listened, half-fretted, until they emerged above ground. The Natural History Museum stood shoulder to shoulder with the pock-marked side of the Victoria & Albert Museum. The night tasted cold. She breathed it in, giving herself a minute to enjoy the sparkling buildings, edged in fairy lights, the trees that glowed golden with the same magical lighting, and the sound of festive energy that resonated in the air.

  “Look!” Jordan pointed to the ice and Melinda followed his gaze, a frown marring her features for a moment. The usually thriving attraction was completely bare. Disappointment swelled in her gut. Was it possible they’d arranged to come on a night when the ice rink was closed?

  “Come on. Let’s go have a closer look.”

  There was a merry go round in the foreground. They walked past it, the music almost sinister, with the horses and their glass eyes groaning slowly in their never-ending circles.

  “Mama? Is it closed?”

  She paused, her eyes scanning the rink. The lights were on. The music was playing, and there were some random uniformed staff members in the corners. “No, I don’t think it is.”

  Her frown deepened as they went closer, and she finally saw him.

  Ra’if.

  Her stomach flipped over, then back again. Her heart throbbed. “There’s mama’s friend,” she murmured, lifting the hand of Jordan’s she held to point down the path.

  Jordan’s frown matched her own. “He’s big.”

  She laughed. “Well, he’s a grown up. You’ll be big like him one day.”

  Jordan appeared to take this in, nodding slowly.

  “Hi,” Melinda murmured when they were close enough to be heard. “You picked a quiet night for us to visit.”

  He laughed. “Something like that.”

  “Ra’if?” She thought of his car and his apartment, the clothes he wore, and shook her head. “Did you book the whole place out?”

  He shook his head, to delay the conversation for a moment. “You must be Jordan.” He crouched down, his manner surprisingly relaxed.

  “Yeah. Jordan Higgins.” He seemed to think this wasn’t, perhaps, a sufficient introduction and added, for good measure, “I’m five. Soon I’ll be six. And then ten.”

  Ra’if kept a straight face with effort. “I see. Well? Can you skate?”

  Jordan’s eyes drifted to the ice. “I probably can. I haven’t in a long time. Have I, mama?”

  “Nope. You were two last time I brought you here.”

  “Two? That’s a baby.”

  “Well, yes,” she grinned. “But they had a special class just for little kids. You liked it then. I think you will now.”

  “I think it will hurt if I fall.”

  “Perhaps, but we’ll help you.” He stood up, his eyes locking to Melinda’s with a heat that made her body flash with goose bumps. “Ready?”

  What had she been thinking
? This was going to be a disaster!

  Except that it wasn’t. The second they stepped onto the ice, Jordan braced with a small fibreglass penguin to balance him, Melinda remembered how much she’d enjoyed this kind of thing, once upon a time.

  “Ready to eat my dust?” She winked at Ra’if, kicking out a little.

  He arched a brow, nodding to encourage her. Melinda didn’t need the prompt though. There’d been an ice rink in her town growing up, and all of her friends had held their birthday parties there. It had been the only form of entertainment on weekends. It all came flooding back to her now as she tore around the outside edge of the ring, even attempting a few figures of eight at each end.

  Ra’if watched, his heart heavy in the midst of his pleasure.

  Because he was watching a woman he knew he didn’t want to walk away from.

  A woman he owed the truth to.

  A woman who would leave him when she learned it.

  * * *

  “Okay. Who’s hungry?” Ra’if handed his skates to a man behind the counter and Melinda caught sight of someone. Someone dressed in black who reminded her of the first night she’d met Ra’if. She frowned, peering closer, but the man was gone and she thought perhaps she’d imagined it.

  “It’s late,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “I’m starving,” Jordan cut in, reaching up and pulling on Melinda’s coat hem.

  “I am too,” Ra’if grinned at the little boy and Melinda had the distinct impression she was being ganged up on.

  “We said we’d just go ice-skating,” she said through gritted teeth, ignoring Jordan’s persistent pulling at her coat.

  “But I’m hungry!” The little boy cried plaintively.

  “And it is a long way back to your home,” Ra’if pointed out with perfect logic.

  Melinda sent him a look of muted annoyance. “Why do I feel like this is a set up?”

  He grinned at Jordan. “It’s not. We were just saying how nice it would be to eat something after all that exercise.”

  “Yeah, mama. We want to eat something. Eat something, eat something.” He turned the request into a sing song and Melinda laughed.

  “Okay, but for the record, I don’t like collusion unless I’m involved.” She reached down and dislodged Jordan’s fingers from her jacket, weaving hers through his. “There’s a Pret just around the corner …”

  Ra’if pulled a face. “A sandwich?”

  “They do soup as well.”

  He grimaced. “Not much better, in my opinion.”

  “Okay, mister, what’s your suggestion?”

  He arched a brow. “I’m glad you asked. I know a place. Come with me.” He put a hand in the small of her back, just for the briefest moment, and heat spread through her. Heat and delight.

  The streets were busy. South Kensington was a beautiful part of London; Melinda had always loved it for the European feelings in the wide streets and grand buildings. It was filled, as they walked, with other couples and families, out for dinner, or heading home after a spot of Christmas shopping.

  They turned off the main road down a side street and then paused outside a little restaurant. There were plant pots by the door and a golden light glowed happily over the street, inviting them in.

  “I don’t know, Ra’if,” Melinda scanned the menu, shocked by the prices. “Jordan’s not really a fine dining candidate.”

  “It’s fine,” he murmured, overriding her objections. “This place does amazing food. You’ll love it.”

  “You’ve obviously never eaten out with a five year old before.”

  He laughed. “Actually, no. Not since I was a kid.” He put a hand on hers briefly. “Relax.”

  She compressed her lips and nodded, putting the eye-watering expense out of her mind. But if he thought she was going to let him get the tab then he had another thing coming.

  The restaurant was busy and Melinda hoped that there might not be a table for them.

  “Can I help you, sir?” Did she imagine the hint of recognition in the waiter’s face? No. He looked at Ra’if as though he knew him.

  “Three.” Ra’if spoke without much civility so Melinda softened it with a smile. Jordan, beside her, was moving from foot to foot and already she was terrified he’d knock something or someone over.

  “Certainly, sir. This way, please.” He bowed, which Melinda found odd to the extreme. Then again, this was probably the fanciest restaurant she’d ever been in. Maybe that was normal here.

  He held Ra’if’s chair for him, earning a stern look from Ra’if, who stepped back and allowed Melinda to take it. Her cheeks pinkened by the bizarre turn of events, she settled herself. Ra’if aided Jordan into his seat, surprising Melinda by immediately settling a napkin onto his lap and moving the crystal wine glass out of reach.

  “You don’t have to have experience with kids to know that’s a recipe for disaster.”

  She nodded, but the fun was at risk of evaporating. She frowned at the menu, and then looked beseechingly at Ra’if. She was completely out of her comfort zone.

  He didn’t seem bothered, but he understood. He leaned closer to her. “The menu is mostly in French. Would you like me to translate?”

  “You speak French?” She asked softly. Jordan was busy tracing lines on the table cloth with his index finger.

  “Oui. Growing up, we were expected to be fluent in several languages. French was one of them.”

  She tilted her head to one side. “Were your parents diplomats?”

  “In a sense,” he said carefully. “They believed it important to be able to hold conversations with many people, regardless of shared cultures and philosophies. If we all spoke more of one another’s languages, perhaps war wouldn’t be on the news every day.”

  She felt her heart turn over in her breast. “You speak like …” Like what? A politician? No. There was nothing rehearsed about the way Ra’if spoke. “Like you know a lot about it,” she finished lamely, her smile lopsided. She refocussed her attention on the menu. Worryingly, this menu didn’t even have the prices listed, unlike the board outside.

  “What do you feel like eating?” He murmured, his hand brushing her leg beneath the table.

  She startled and then forced herself to relax. She was being edgy for no real reason. It was just the strangeness of the situation. That was all. She pulled a face and shut the menu. “You choose.”

  Ra’if’s frown was brief. “Steak? Chips? Chicken? Fish?”

  “Sounds good.” She forced a smile. “What about you, Jordie?”

  “Pasta.”

  Ra’if laughed. “I see your son has none of your ambivalence.”

  She grinned, her heart turning over in her chest. “Apparently not.”

  He lowered his voice, catching only Melinda’s hearing. “I had fun this evening.”

  “I did too.” She watched as Jordan put his elbows on the table and braced his little face, his eyes scanning the hustling crowds beyond the window. “Jordan loved it.”

  “He’s very athletic.”

  “Yeah, I think he might be.” Her smile was tight. Brent had been. Cricket, tennis, golf, rugby, football, he’d excelled at all of them.

  Ra’if seemed to understand where her mind had wandered to. “Not from you?”

  She laughed quietly. “You should see me try to catch a ball.”

  “You skate beautifully.”

  “We went on holiday to this resort a few years in a row. They had an ice skating rink. I used to love it.” She shifted a little in her seat, unable to resist reaching beneath the table and taking his hand in hers.

  His eyes widened at the unexpected gesture. Ra’if had been pretty sure he’d stuffed everything up by bringing her to a restaurant like this. He’d forgotten, for a moment, the yawning gulf in their circumstances. She was a single mum who ate at fast food restaurants when she went out, and this was one of the most exclusive places in London. He stroked her fingers, glad she was thawing.

  “You d
o too.”

  “I do too, what?” He didn’t follow.

  “You skate well,” She squeezed his hand in the anonymity given by the tablecloth.

  “Oh.” He shrugged. “I too had access to a rink as a boy.”

  “Did you?” She leaned closer, crossing her legs beneath the table. Her knee brushed his and he felt himself jerk with desire. “In the desert?”

  He tilted his head forward. “Well, not in the desert itself. It was inside.”

  She laughed quietly and was about to ask him another question when the waiter reappeared. Melinda noticed that he barely made eye contact with Ra’if. It was interesting, and intriguing. Ra’if spoke in French and the sound of it made her pulse hammer hard in her chest. She’d heard him speak in his own language before, when he’d been on the phone or in bed, when they’d been making love and he’d whisper things to her that she couldn’t possibly comprehend. Things that nonetheless never failed to make her heart sing.

  Jordan had also responded to the unusual language being spoken at dinner. His little face looked at Ra’if with renewed interest and Melinda pulled her hand away, remembering why she needed to be more circumspect.

  “What did you order Jordan?” She asked, folding her hands conspicuously on the table in front of her. Ra’if looked at them with just a hint of sardonic amusement on his handsome face.

  “Pasta with plain cheddar cheese.”

  Melinda arched a brow. “That’s perfect.” She stared at him and felt as though her heart was being pulled from her body, bonding to his.

  “Was that French?” Jordan interrupted the moment and Melinda was glad. At least, she told herself she was.

  “Yes,” Ra’if said with a nod. He didn’t speak to Jordan as most people did to children. He spoke to him like he was a another adult at the table.

  “Cool.” Jordan leaned back in his chair.

  “We were just talking about where Ra’if grew up,” Melinda said, her eyes latching to Ra’if’s.

  Ra’if flicked her an amused gaze, and beneath the table, his hand reached for her knee. His touch rose a little higher, to her thigh, and his fingers were so comforting and addictive that she didn’t shift away.