The Sheikh's Christmas Wish

by Clare Connelly

  But Ra’if barely noticed the jewellery, nor the dress.

  He saw only Melinda. As she’d been the first night he’d met her; as she would always be to him. His love, his life, his other half.

  As he approached, she smiled at him, and there was no anxiety there. Only joy. Rightness and delight perforated his being.

  He shone from the inside out.

  At her side, he finally realised that she was not alone. Jordan stood there, his face earnest, his eyes showing some of the doubts that Ra’if might have expected Melinda to be feeling.

  It softened Ra’if and he ignored protocol, crouching down to the boy who would become his stepson. “Are you okay?”

  Jordan nodded, and cleared his throat.

  Ra’if frowned. It was hot in Dashan. Far warmer than Jordan would have been used to. “Do you need water?”

  “Dad gave me some before,” Jordan whispered, looking over his shoulder. Ra’if followed his gaze until his eyes landed on the robust figure of Brent. He had changed significantly in the nine months they’d known one another. His flesh had filled out, his skin had a healthy tan, and his hair had thickened up. Thanks to a world-class cosmetic dentist, it was hard to see that he’d ever been so close to death and self-destruction. Ra’if smiled at the man, then squeezed Jordan’s shoulder and stood.

  Melinda’s eyes were sparkling with unshed tears. “Thank you,” she murmured, and he wished, more than anything, that the damned ceremony was over and he could officially claim her as his wife. He had never wanted anything more than to tie himself to her.

  But the ceremony was long. It seemed to drag, and drag, until finally, their union was pronounced. Hours later, during the less formal celebrations, Ra’if stood. He was in the centre of the banquet table, his father to his right and Melinda to his left. The crowd was instantly silent.

  “Today I have married, but I lost my heart a year ago, when I first met Melinda Higgins. I no longer thought I had one left to lose,” he said with a small shake of his head. “But Melinda brought me back to life in every way. You are my hope and wishes, and a dream I never dared hope for.” He smiled down at her, then shifted his focus to Jordan. “Jordan, I am not your father, but you are as much as my son as any child of my flesh.” He spoke as though only talking to Jordan. “I did not hear you speak your first word. I did not see you take your first step. But I will be with you, watching you, supporting you, loving you, for every step you take from now on. We are a family.” He looked into the crowd, and found Brent’s eyes, so like Jordan’s. He stared into them. “We are family, and we support one another.”

  He expelled a slow breath and then reached down for Melinda’s hand. He squeezed it. “Today, I am the luckiest man alive. Thank you all for witnessing it. And for believing in the strength of dreams – even the impossible ones.”

  THE END

  Telling Ra’if’s story has been a real journey of love for me. I received so many requests to hear about him after he was mentioned as a side character in last year’s bestselling THE SHEIKH’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS. Following is an excerpt of that book.

  I adore being an independent author. As an indie, reviews are an incredibly powerful way to make sure my books are seen by romance readers, just like you. Please take a minute to review or rate THE SHEIKH’S CHRISTMAS WISH now that you’re done reading.

  THE SHEIKH’S CONVENIENT MISTRESS

  Clare Connelly

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.

  First published 2015

  (c) Clare Connelly

  Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com/sakkmesterke

  Contact Clare:

  http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk

  Blog: http://clarewriteslove.wordpress.com/

  Email: Clareconnelly@outlook.com

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  PROLOGUE

  Twenty three years earlier

  “Don’t cry, Zamir.” She crouched down, her body slim, her hair plaited into a perfect style that wrapped around her head. “Please don’t cry, darling one. I’ll be back soon.”

  The four year old boy with his spectacular complexion and enormous amber eyes did his best to stave off any more tears. “But you are always going, mama.”

  “I know,” she smiled wistfully and took one of his hands in hers. With her other, she reached behind him, to the far more stoic and seemingly unaffected Ra’if. Only two years older, he was cut from an entirely different cloth to his brother. Where Zamir felt all things deeply, Ra’if had always possessed an ability to hold a tight reign over his emotions.

  “Why must you?” Zamir muttered, using her grip to lift her arm around his waist so that he could sidle close to her. She smelled like jasmine and magnolia.

  “Because it is my job.”

  His jutted lip was petulance itself. “You don’t have a job. You are the Queen.”

  Cait swallowed her smile. “True, but I have duties I must carry out. There are thousands of people waiting for me in Pilati,” she explained quietly, referring to the capital city of Dashan.

  “You’ll come back tonight?”

  “Yes, I’ll come back tonight.” She joined the two brothers’ hands together and smiled to encompass them both. “Ra’if will keep you company until then. I promise to come and give you a goodnight kiss as soon as I am back.”

  Zamir sniffled miserably. “I don’t want you to go.”

  “Zami,” she laughed indulgently, standing and ruffling his thick black hair. “You always say that.”

  “And you always go,” he countered.

  “Yes. But I always come back.”

  She could have had no idea, of course, that this would be the one and only time when she wouldn’t.

  That her beautiful boys, watching her walk elegantly down the long marbled corridor of the Central Palace, would never see her again.

  If she had, she would have stayed longer. She would have hugged Zamir and Ra’if so tight, and listened to the beatings of their hearts.

  Instead, she left; not to Pilati, in the end, but to her destiny and her death.

  Zamir and Ra’if and would never be the same again.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “You are to serve me?”

  His eyes were like balls of flame and gold, amber with flecks of sunshine and starlight. In the same way a masterpiece in a gallery was framed in a manner that was worthy of it, his eyes were surrounded by the most luscious, thick curling lashes she’d ever seen.

  “To serve you?” Olivia responded, grateful that years of floating around the world meeting strangers had resulted in a confident appearance even when her heart was hammering and her pulse was racing.

  Zamir compressed his lips. It was a gesture of impatience, but it only served to highlight his dramatic bone structure and fascinating features.

  “You are from the agency?”

  Sophie nodded, her brain struggling to keep up when faced with such an outrageously distracting man. She didn’t believe in love at first sight. But lust at first sight? Yes, definitely, and she was unequivocally experiencing it. Her nipples were taut, her throat was dry, and she felt a racing of blood in her veins that was making her body hot and cold. He was staring at her with

  “Yes,” she said, finally.

  Zamir rolled one of his shirtsleeves up to just below the elbow, revealing tanned, slimly muscled forearms and drawing attention to his capable fingers. He performed the same action on the other arm then mano
euvred his rapier sharp gaze back to her face. At the moment his eyes clashed with hers, her heart gave an answering trill.

  “You have done this kind of work before?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed.

  “And you are used to carrying out unusual requests with discretion?”

  “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he took a moment to study this woman who had been sent to him. She had arrived punctually, and she was dressed impeccably, in a pair of black trousers and a pale cream sweater that fitted her curvaceous figure like a second skin. It was entirely appropriate for the desert winter of Nevada; yet Zamir instinctively disapproved.

  “Such as?” He prompted curiously. She must have only been twenty years old. Her hair was so blonde it reminded him of the sands of his land, and her eyes were wide like a fawn in spring.

  “That would be missing the point of discretion, wouldn’t it?”

  His lip twisted in a half smile; it was the closest he’d come to the expression in over a month.

  “I am not asking you to reveal identities. Only to give me an idea of what you can do for me.”

  If she had been prone to blushing, she might have felt a hint of pink creep along her cheek. But her sister Sophie was the blusher in their family. Olivia and Ava were far better at masking their feelings.

  What could she do for him? She thought back over the last four months. Since arriving in Vegas and landing the thrilling job as a celebrity concierge, what hadn’t she done? She’d organised wild parties and kept them just inside the line of legal. She’d parlayed entry for large groups into some of the hottest nightclubs in town and ensured her clients weren’t bothered by anyone they didn’t wish to be bothered by. She’d pulled together fashion shows at the last minute. She’d walked dogs. Minded babies. Toured the casinos endlessly, showing her clients with an interest in gambling the best establishments in town, including those not featured on any of the maps. She’d tipped off the paparazzi when her celebrities sought greater attention and she’d blocked the paparazzi when her clients sought privacy. She’d driven clients around from boutique to boutique, and she’d covered up – many times – for various faux pas and indiscretions.

  “I can do anything for you. Anything that’s legal, that is.”

  Another flicker of amusement. “You know who I am.”

  “Yes, sir.” She regarded him from half-shuttered eyes. He was her first royal client, and definitely her most offputtingly attractive.

  “Do you think it’s likely I am here on illegal business?” He pushed with a wry sarcasm.

  It was on the tip of Olivia’s tongue to ask just what he was doing in Vegas, but she pulled herself up. After all, curiosity was not part of her job description. And so she said nothing, but just stared at him with her huge green eyes and clear expression, waiting for him to continue.

  He was grudgingly impressed by her steadfast calmness. Unflappability was a trait he needed to be surrounded by. “I am here on a private matter. I require you to shield me from any speculation or interest.”

  “I see,” she nodded, and though there were many gaps in his request, she understood his essential, underlying requirement.

  His eyes narrowed further, and he took a step closer, as if he was trying to understand something about her that she couldn’t put into words.

  “You have a confidentiality agreement?”

  “Yes, of course. By engaging the agency, you are covered by that.”

  “Excellent.” He waved a hand towards one of the seats.

  Olivia moved with an economy of movement and settled on the edge of it.

  “I will expect complete discretion. I do not want my name to be mentioned by you. It is not only my movements that must be protected.” He paused, as though he was weighing up his words. “I will be your most demanding client.” He strode to the seat opposite but he didn’t sit down. Instead, he thrust his hands onto his hips and stared beyond her, to the sparkling view of Vegas. Olivia felt at an immediate disadvantage, and wished she hadn’t sat.

  “How can you be sure?” She said, trying to smooth the droll sarcasm from her voice and failing.

  He shifted his gaze to her. “I have been raised to expect those in my employ to work almost slavishly for me. While I appreciate this is not your culture, I expect it while I am here.”

  Olivia cracked her mouth open and made a small noise of amusement. “You’re right,” she said with a small nod. “Being slavishly devoted to anyone isn’t my caper.” She tilted her head to one side to study him thoughtfully. “But I am a perfectionist, and anticipating my clients’ needs has sort of become a matter of personal pride.”

  He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “There is a hotel room downstairs, with my staff. It is for your use.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she demurred instantly. “I have an apartment that’s very central.”

  His eyes bore into hers. “It is a pre-requisite. You will be called upon at all hours of the day. There will be high expectations and little rest. In return, you will be more handsomely remunerated than you have been in your life.”

  “My salary is excellent.”

  “Perhaps you feel that now, but the arrangement I have come to with your agency is far in excess of what you are used to receiving.”

  It was on the tip of Olivia’s tongue to ask just how he knew what her salary was when she realised that this man, this powerful Sheikh Zamir Fayez, probably knew everything about her.

  “How far in excess?” She pushed, curiosity getting the better of her.

  “I am willing to pay your agency forty thousand dollars per week.”

  “Forty … thousand …” She banked her eyes closed with a sense of bewilderment.

  He dipped his head forward. “I am in Las Vegas on a matter of extreme personal importance. It is vital that my privacy is protected at this time. You are to arrange it for me.”

  “I see.” She nodded. “How?”

  His smile now was forced. “That is your job to work out, Miss Henderson.”

  She swallowed. “Of course, sir.”

  “You will report to my valet. His name is Marook. He has worked for me since I was a teenager. I trust him implicitly.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You may contact him with any questions.”

  “And you will contact me through him?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “I will contact you directly if I require your services.”

  “Very well.” She stood, pleased to be able to bring herself closer to his eye-level. Though he was still a fair measure taller than she was, it was less of a disadvantage.

  Now that he’d dealt with the formalities of her employment, he found that he was no longer able to fight his interest in this woman. Young and glamorous, she was exactly the kind of person who would gravitate to the bright lights and fast lifestyle of a place like Vegas. She had the figure of a stripper, he thought disparagingly, with her enormous breasts and rounded bottom. Her waist was nipped in almost as if she might have been wearing a corset and her skin was tanned like she’d bathed in caramel. Her lips were full and naturally pouted, and he was certain that hers was a mouth that had offered pleasure to many men.

  He tamped down on his line of thinking. She was one of his staff now. And to a man like Zamir, who’d been raised with an army of servants from birth, that meant one thing and one thing only. She was dispensable and unimportant. Only the service she could render mattered to him.

  “In addition to ensuring my … personal matter … remains that way, I will have various requirements which I will expect you to carry out promptly and without complaint.”

  “Such as?” She prompted.

  “Nothing illegal,” he reminded her.

  She nodded, frustration fraying at the edges of her gut. “It helps me to serve you better if I know what to expect.”

  “None of us ever knows what to expect,” he responded quickly, so quickly that she suspected it was s
omething he’d heard from someone else, or perhaps something that he told himself often.

  “Very well. I’ll be prepared for everything then, shall I?” With another, less serious client, she might even have joked about donning a superhero costume. This man, though, intimidated her into a form of reverent silence.

  “That will be all. Marook will show you your accommodation.”

  She nodded, wishing her mouth were a little less dry. “Thank you, sir.”

  He allowed her to precede him, telling himself it wasn’t so that he could admire the view of her rear. She paused at the door.

  “Will Marook have an itinerary of your schedule?”

  He nodded. “Of course.”

  She could have kicked herself. The question had been ludicrous and made her seem stupid and inexperienced. Of course Marook would have a copy of the Sheikh’s movements. Just like any of her other clients, they always had a handler who maintained the details of the trip.

  She pulled the door open and slipped through it without a backwards glance. But the whole way to the elevators, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingling, as though he was watching her. Once at the polished doors, she allowed herself the luxury of angling her head back to the door. It was shut.

  He was gone.

  The elevator cruised swiftly to the next floor with Olivia in the centre of its opulent heart. The doors opened with an almost silent whoosh and she stepped out.

  Security agents were everywhere. Literally dozens littered the hallway. And though Olivia had worked with private security before, she’d never seen anything quite like this. These men were all dressed in dark black and grey military fatigues and carried large weapons. It was a confronting scene for a pacifist like Olivia.