The Sheikh's Christmas Wish

by Clare Connelly

  “It’s very different to here,” Ra’if said thoughtfully, as though telling a story. “A lot of desert. Sand as far as the eyes can see, and so beautiful. The sky takes on colours at dusk that you can only imagine. The air is clear and very hot, as though if you breathe too deeply you might burn your lungs.” He winked.

  “Wow,” Jordan was impressed by the images that conjured, apparently. “What else?”

  “Yeah, what else?” Melinda murmured teasingly, her smile sending fires of flame licking through Ra’if.

  He ran his fingers in circular patterns over her jeans, but it was his words that had her entranced.

  “My childhood was very structured,” he said, choosing his words carefully. Melinda was too caught up in him to notice. “I had activities planned from morning to night.”

  “What kinds of ac… activities?” Jordan beat her to the punch by asking, stumbling a little over the big word. She sent her son a conspiratorial smile.

  “Oh, good ones,” Ra’if winked. “Horse riding. Astronomy. History, which I always loved particularly. Martial arts. Archery.”

  “What’s martial arts?”

  Melinda shot Ra’if a look of mock impatience. “A grown up sport.”

  Ra’if squeezed her leg beneath the table. “Yes. A skill that was deemed important to learn for me.” He’d transferred his attention back to Melinda. “Self-defence is important.”

  “Because your country isn’t safe?” She asked softly, pulled into his web.

  “My country is safe,” he said softly. He seemed to be weighing things up in his mind, choosing his next words carefully. “Later, we should talk.”

  It sounded ominous, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  The curiosity that was flashing through her was temporarily dissolved by the arrival of their meals.

  Conversation was light as they ate, with Jordan telling stories of some of his kindergarten friends, and entertaining them in a way that Melinda would usually have brought to a gentle stop. She wasn’t one of those parents who thought children should be seen and not heard, but nor did she think they should have the run of the dinner table.

  But a pleasant fog was engulfing her. Perhaps it was the exertion from the ice skating, or the bitterly cold night that had given way to cosy warmth inside the restaurant, but she was relaxed and happy.

  So happy.

  It was a sobering thought, one she didn’t allow to penetrate her mood. She could reflect on that later. On how this was supposed to be a casual fling. How it was meant to be a sex thing, that had turned into … what? Sharing a meal like a family? How she and Ra’if had been seeking each out in every spare moment for illicit love making? Lunch breaks, nights, it was a blur of incredibly hot memories.

  She bit down on her lip and resolutely pushed the thoughts away. It was just one night. An aberration. After this, everything could go back to normal.

  After the plates were cleared, Jordan’s eyes were heavy. He was slumped back in his chair, trying desperately to stay awake.

  “I should get him home,” Melinda said, reaching down for her handbag.

  “Yes, we will go.” He put a hand out, catching her wrist as she reached for her wallet. “Dinner is taken care of.”

  She pursed her lips. “Ra’if, I wanted to get it.”

  “I have an account here,” he said, wanting nothing more than to lean forward and kiss her pursed lips.

  Melinda expelled a sigh of frustration then nodded. “But…”

  “It was my choice to come here. Therefore my responsibility.”

  Melinda bit down on her lip, reaching for Jordan. He was so tired now that his head was nodding forward every few moments. She lifted him against her front, marvelling at how big he’d got. “Well, thank you,” she said begrudgingly. “You were right; the food was delicious.”

  The waiter approached and spoke to Ra’if in French; Ra’if responded in kind and then smiled tersely at Melinda. A frown pulled between her brows.

  “What’d that guy do to you?” She asked once they’d emerged onto the footpath.

  Ra’if sent her a curious look, reaching out and taking Jordan from her without a word. She let him, though that in and of itself should have provided pause for thought. He took Jordan from her and she allowed it as though it were the most natural thing in the world that he should cradle her son in his strong arms.

  “Here.” He nodded across the street to a black Range Rover with darkly tinted windows.

  “No Lamborghini?” She murmured with a tone of wry amusement in her voice. From the restaurant to the booked out ice skating rink and now this – yet another luxurious car, Melinda was becoming increasingly overwhelmed by the overt wealth Ra’if was displaying.

  “I thought this would be better.” He reached for the door, pulling it inwards and to Melinda’s surprise, she saw there was a car seat fitted in the back.

  “Oh,” she gasped in surprise. Ra’if placed Jordan in it gently, tightening the restraints and then stepped back.

  “Would you like to check?”

  “Yes, thanks,” though she trusted Ra’if implicitly. Nonetheless, she reached in and pulled on each strap; they were perfectly secured.

  “That’s fine.”

  He closed the door and guided her towards the rear of the car, away from little eyes that might peek open at any time.

  “You’re too generous,” she said quietly.

  “A car seat is not a difficult thing to arrange.”

  She smiled at him, but it was a smile of doubts. There was something strange between them. A question she couldn’t find words. But her mind was pushing her, telling her to ask it anyway. Ask what?

  “Ra’if?”

  He stared down at her, a muscle jerking in his cheek, his eyes glowing with an emotion she couldn’t comprehend. “We need to speak,” he said finally, the words gravelled. “But not here.”

  Melinda nodded. Her heart was racing now, but not purely from desire. There was anxiety there too.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Jordan was fast asleep by the time they reached Putney. Ra’if carried him upstairs and laid him down in bed, leaving Melinda to settle the covers over him with care.

  It was a cold night and her apartment, emptied for several hours, was icy. He crouched down beside one of the central heating units, looking at the dial.

  “The timer function’s broken,” she said quietly, when she stepped into the lounge room.

  He stood, a frown on his face. “You shouldn’t come home to an ice box.”

  “I don’t.” She was uneasy. He hated that. “Most evenings, Maria is here and she sets it going.”

  “Maria?”

  “Brent’s mum. She collects Jordan on school days.”

  He nodded. “Yes, you said that.”

  They stared at one another, eyes clashing, asking, needing, wanting. “Ra’if,” she groaned finally, taking a step closer to him. “What’s going on?”

  He nodded, not pretending to misunderstand. “When we began to see one another, we agreed this would be casual.” He came to her, putting his hands on her hips. She breathed in his fragrance and nearness, taking strength from his touch.

  “Yeah,” she nodded. “That’s what we said.”

  The response gave nothing away.

  “I thought I could do that. But the more time I spend with you, the more I feel I need to tell you …”

  “Ra’if?” She stared at him, completely off balance. “Who are you?”

  The world around them was silent. It was just him and her, and the truth he probably should have given her a lot sooner. “I am Ra’if Fayez,” he said truthfully.

  She blinked, waiting for that name to make sense. It was the first time he’d spoken his surname – strange how she’d let that slide – yet it didn’t seem completely foreign to her. There was a spark of familiarity, of recognition but her mind couldn’t quite place it. “Ra’if Fayez…?”

  He silenced her with a tense smile. “Yes. What I have not tol
d you is that in my country, I am a powerful man.”

  She was very still, her body held as though if she moved he might stop speaking.

  “I can tell that,” she said finally, thinking that it was one of the first things she’d noticed about him – his ability to command. His name was racing through her head, tearing a path in the cobwebs, begging her to remember something vital. But she couldn’t quite grasp it.

  “My brother …”

  “Zami?” She recalled him having spoken about his brother on several occasions.

  Ra’if nodded. “Zami is actually His Royal Highness Sheikh Zamir Fayez, King of Dashan.”

  His Royal Highness.

  Her eyes were enormous as she processed that revelation. Ra’if’s brother was a King?

  When she spoke, the words were strained. “Did I hear that right?”

  He nodded, his expression grim. “Yes.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “No, azeezi.”

  She stood jerkily, her mind trying – and failing – to understand what he’d just said. “That makes no sense.”

  “Doesn’t it?”

  She walked towards the Christmas tree, staring long and hard at the eclectic assortment of decorations. She thought of how they’d first met – him running with several men in tow.

  He’d dismissed them as men who worked for him, and she’d believed him.

  But were they really bodyguards? She hadn’t seen any further evidence of that… his apartment was far beyond the scope of normal luxury, but then, extreme wealth wasn’t in and of itself proof of royalty. His cars? The same could be said for that. Money didn’t equal power. Not in this sense. The man at the restaurant had been obviously deferential. She thought of Britain’s royal family and shook her head.

  “This has to be some kind of joke. There’s no media. No paparazzi following your every move…”

  “Believe me, this has not always been the case,” he said quietly.

  “It’s just not possible. I would have heard of you,” she said quietly, the words thick with her disbelief. But hadn’t she? The second he’d said her name, some flicker of familiarity had resonated sharply inside of her.

  His smile was wistful. “It was a novelty to spend time with someone who didn’t know my position. Who made me laugh and laughed with me because of our shared humour, rather than out of a desire to impress me, or ingratiate oneself for access to the world I am able to provide.”

  She lifted a hand to her face and spun away from him. She focussed on the window that afforded a view of the pub next door. Despite the cold night, the pavement was full of revellers. The smoking laws meant they needed to huddle beneath the bar heaters. She could hear their festive merriment.

  Their laughs were like stones pelting her flesh. Unwelcome and jarringly intrusive.

  “You kept this from me on purpose?” She spun, her back to the cold pane of glass. Ra’if was still standing right where he had been, his body very still. Only a very fine hint of tension seemed to pull at his eyes.

  “We agreed our relationship was not to be serious,” he said quietly, studying her for a reaction. “I felt you didn’t need to know.”

  “You felt I didn’t need to know?” She nodded but disbelief was pilfering her. “You thought I didn’t need to know that you’re a damned Prince? King?” A frown pulled at her brows, confusion making her shake her head. “What exactly are you?”

  He spoke quietly, calmly, and with the command that had been born to him. “A Sheikh.”

  “Sheikh.” She closed her eyes as the word fogged through her.

  His words were earnest, conveying a desperation that she understood. “I wanted to enjoy what we had, without this complication.”

  “Then why are you telling me now?”

  “It felt necessary.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, because it’s not particularly easy to conceal the truth of who I am. I have bodyguards, azeezi, and duties. People tend to recognise me, as that man in the restaurant tonight did.” He stared at her long and hard. “But apart from that, I wanted you to know me.”

  “I do know you. At least, I thought I did.”

  “No, you misunderstand.” He drew his brows together, concentrating on what he was trying to say. “It has become imperative for me to be honest with you.”

  “Why?” She whispered. The air in her lounge room seemed to be swirling around them, forming a vortex from which there would be no escape.

  “Because I am falling in love with you.”

  The words thudded against her.

  They were rapture and torment. They were a beacon and she held the answer. But she couldn’t wield it. She bit down on her lip, her eyes searching his. “We … said …” She shook her head, anger at his deception and betrayal usurping any other reaction to the declaration. “This is just a light-hearted, short-term …”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s Apple bobbing along his hair-roughened throat. “I know we said that. But this is no longer casual, is it?”

  “Ra’if,” she groaned, shaking her head. “I can’t do this.” Her head was swimming. Heat was flooding her central nervous system. She groaned the next words, “I meant what I said.” She ignored the stabbing pain somewhere near her heart. “I am a mum, first and foremost. I can’t cloud everything by getting serious with you.”

  “So what have we been doing then?” He murmured, walking purposefully towards her. “I don’t think I’m alone here. I don’t think I’m the only one who’s fallen in love.”

  She stared at him, completely aghast. Not because she wanted to argue with him, but because she needed to agree. She wanted to shout it back at him; to mirror the emotion he was so willingly offering her. That alone terrified her into the utter opposite.

  “This was casual. A fling. It’s all I have room for,” she heard her voice – so cold she shivered – slap away his suggestion, even when her heart and soul were pleading with her not to be so foolish.

  He nodded, his eyes searching her face. “You’re sure about that?”

  She wasn’t. She definitely wasn’t. “Absolutely.” Where did that emphatic, resounding confidence come from? Not her heart, that was for sure.

  “Fine.” He shrugged his shoulders. “This is your choice.”

  She closed her eyes for a second, pushing away the mental imagery of the future that could have been theirs, if only she were free to grab it.

  “It’s not my choice,” she hissed angrily. “You must understand that what I want is not relevant. Every decision I make has to be in Jordan’s best interests.”

  “And you think I’m not?” A muscle jerked in his cheek. He waited, his body taut.

  “Come on, Ra’if. How long are you in London for? Or do you think Jordie and I should move to Dashan? Can you see him, or me, living … I don’t even know what life is like for you. In a palace? Or wherever it is you’re from?” She sucked in a querulous breath. “None of this is real life. It’s a fantasy. A nice one, but still just a fantasy.”

  “I don’t care where I live,” he said seriously. “I have that freedom now, where I thought it would never be mine. I have learned …” He backed away carefully from what he’d been going to say. “Certain events in my life have taught me to value what really matters. That is people. Only people matter.”

  “Exactly.” Her heart hurt; her gut was twisting painfully. “And I’m looking after my people.”

  He heard the statement and examined it from every angle, trying to make sense of it. “Your people?” He said finally, his words imbued with coolness. The plural was where he came unstuck.

  Her heart wrenched. “I …” She had meant that, hadn’t she? A slip of the tongue that said so much.

  “You mean him? Brent?”

  “He’s Jordan’s father,” she said softly.

  “And you still love him.”

  “No! I’ve told you…”

  “Then why can’t you be honest about how you feel for
me?” He cut her off, moving closer, his expression confident, bordering on arrogance.

  She bit down on her lip and steadied her racing heart with a deep breath. “I always have been.” Melinda couldn’t meet his eyes. “I like you. I love sleeping with you. But I want the same thing now as I did when we first … agreed to do this.”

  “And what’s that?” His eyes narrowed in a way that his political opponents had, at one time, feared.

  “This. Casual. Sex.”

  “You actually wish to describe our relationships as ‘casual sex’?”

  She nodded, but everything was shimmering a little, like it was a mirage and she was incapable of grabbing it.

  He swore in his own language, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes!” She ground her teeth together, her mind splitting in a thousand pieces. “How can you think this would ever work? You just told me you’re … royalty. Royalty.” The word sounded so strange in her mouth. She couldn’t quite speak it and reconcile it with him. The man she’d become so intimate with. “This could never work. What you’re saying is just not possible.”

  “I’m the same man I’ve always been,” he insisted. “My title changes nothing.”

  “Maybe it doesn’t,” she said slowly, her eyes huge. “I have a son. He’s my family. I don’t have room in my life for anyone else. And you …”

  “Yes?” He insisted, when she was quiet for a moment.

  “You’re too much. You would take over everything. That’s just who you are.”

  He cast her a glance that showed, for a moment, how fearful he must have been as a ruler. He was strength and power, muscle and might. “Fine.” He walked, back straight, shoulders broad, across the room. At the door, he paused a moment, then wrenched it inwards and clicked it quietly behind him.

  Melinda watched him go with a sense of pure despair.

  He loved her?

  Had he really said that?

  For the first time in almost a fortnight, they didn’t spend the night together. Her body ached for him. All night she woke, reaching for him.

  In the morning, Jordan didn’t help matters. All he could speak about was Ra’if.