Christmas with the Yared Sheikhs: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  He didn’t need this woman on top of all the rest.

  “I don’t care what my father has brought you here to do.” He stormed past her, heading for a rather garish sparkling strand of light. “This is my house too. I can take things down if I want.”

  “Don’t you take that down,” she warned, rushing after him.

  He paused, gripping the strand between thumb and forefinger. “Oh yeah?” He looked back at her, the golden hue of the twinkle lights illuminating her with a soft, heavenly glow. Teasing her was fun. Maybe a little too fun. The way she looked when she got angry was as hot as it was enticing. Yes, he definitely wanted to push more of her buttons.

  “Then what will you give me to stop?” he asked, smirking.

  She huffed, crossing her arms. “Excuse me?”

  “Let’s make a deal.” He toyed with the strand, making sure she saw the tension in the cord as he played with it. “I won’t pull this down as long as you make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  She snorted, cocking her head. “Oh. Like one of the richest sheikhs in the world needs something from me.”

  Her retort rippled through him, egging him on. “Maybe I do. Go on. I know you can think of it.”

  “Hmmm.” She made a big display of thinking, tapping her index finger against her chin. “I know! How about I personally put all of these decorations in your bedroom? Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to wrap your pillow in holly.”

  He stifled a laugh. She was good. “You do that, and I’ll see to it that you’re fired.”

  Her eyes widened. “Was that a threat?”

  “Make me an offer, decorator.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “That’s not my name.”

  A low hum escaped his lips. “But it’s what you do. Now what’s it gonna be?”

  2

  Maia narrowed her eyes. This guy was eager to get under her skin, that much was certain. But she couldn’t figure out his game.

  Yonas Yared. The youngest Yared brother, the touted playboy, the one she’d seen plenty of times buried in his smart phone, too engrossed to notice her or even look up.

  Sure, she thought he was hot. That was a given. All three of the brothers were attractive, but Yonas had caught her eye from day one. He looked athletic, like he might run or bike or punch bags for fun. She’d fantasized on more than one occasion about what his activity of choice might be. It was hard not to, when he was a dark-skinned Adonis skulking through the halls of this elegant palace.

  But he was distracted and listless and too focused on fun. Or so said his father, Sheikh Yared. It seemed the whole family had opinions about Yonas, which no one had hesitated to share when she started the job here in Maatkare. Sheikh Yared had even gone as far to ask if Maia could keep an eye on him. Like that was a natural extension of her job description. On top of being a single mother in a foreign country.

  Maia had respectfully diverted the conversation to her true task—making sure the palace was royally decorated for each and every big event on the docket, from the end of November through the middle of January—but now that Yonas was in front of her, taunting her with her very own livelihood, she began to understand.

  Maybe Yonas did need help. Maybe she could be the one to give it, too.

  The man was magnetic, with cinnamon skin and eyes so dark they were nearly black. His lips quirked up, begging a response from her.

  “Why don’t you just tell me what you want from me?” She crossed her arms, cocking a hip. Pure mischief shivered across his face.

  “Fine.” His eyes narrowed. “I want a kiss.”

  A laugh burst out of her. “Absolutely ridiculous. We’re not ten, Yonas. If you want to kiss me, there are other ways aside from ruining my hard work. You could even get me drunk, for god’s sake. But bargaining?”

  “So the decorator doesn’t like to have fun.”

  His words resonated like a challenge, touching a nerve he couldn’t have known about. He’d probably never even noticed her before; there was no way he could know how serious and focused her existence was. It was work, son, work, son. She hadn’t had a vacation in years. And probably wouldn’t for more to come.

  “I have fun,” she shot back, but the conviction was missing from her voice. This guy had taken a lucky shot in the dark—or maybe he could smell the seriousness on her.

  “Then prove it.”

  She tapped her foot, rolling through all the scenarios in her head. She didn’t want him to rip the decorations down…but if he did, it wouldn’t be her fault. She could let him do it and then gladly rat him out to his father.

  But part of her was screaming inside. Just do it. Kiss him. Because when else might she get a chance? With someone like him, with looks like his?

  This might very well be the highlight of her entire trip to Maatkare.

  “Fine,” she said, straightening. “But you should know, this is incredibly asinine.”

  “Don’t care,” Yonas murmured, and then he leaned forward.

  She saw his mouth coming for her, that sultry pucker that she’d noticed across the grand hallways of the palace too many times to count. And now it was headed for her lips. She drew a sharp breath and braced herself. The heat of his mouth connected with hers, his lips impossibly soft. There was an authority in the kiss that she hadn’t expected, a firmness that sent tingles down her spine. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she gripped his bicep without even meaning to.

  Yonas pulled back slightly, and the loss of his heat made her panic. She jerked him toward her, bringing their lips smashing together. He smiled through another kiss while her senses burned.

  She shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. She shouldn’t be enjoying it at all.

  Yonas made a small grunt that made her knees wobble. Game over. She titled her head back, welcoming the kiss as it deepened. His tongue pressed against her lips, and she opened her mouth, welcoming him in. As he kissed her, she saw herself from above: stunned and rooted, kissed into submitting to her base desires.

  At this rate, he could tell her to take her clothes off and bend over, consequences be damned.

  Heat zipped under her skin, both a reaction and a warning. Yonas wrapped an arm around her waist, bringing her solidly against him. The heat of his body seeped into her, making the last thread of her common sense fizzle and pop. Something pressed between her legs; dear lord, it was his bulge. His erection. That hard, probably-lovely, gorgeous—

  Rrrrrip.

  She gasped, jerking away to find the source of the noise. Yonas had tugged the strand of lights from the wall, causing an enormous section of plaster to dislodge from the wall. Dust floated down through the golden hue of the lights. Yonas’s mouth rounded.

  “What did you do that for?” She shoved his shoulder—hard. He stumbled backwards, his lips slightly swollen from their kiss. “Now look what you did!”

  “Uh,” he began.

  “This is probably just a joke to you, huh?” She stormed over to where she’d left her pile of things: her phone, the masking tape, the small crate of decorations she’d begun removing in advance of tomorrow’s full take-down. “Now I have to add ‘fixing up your mess’ to my list of things to do tomorrow.”

  “Listen,” he said, but the tone of his voice irritated her even more. She knew what came after those words. Listen, it’s not that big of a deal. Listen, you’re overreacting. Listen, lighten up. Like every man who’d ever spoken in that tone before.

  She was so sick of men. She hated that he’d managed to lower her defenses long enough to sneak a kiss in.

  “Nope.” She snatched up her things, embarrassment scorching through her alongside the memory of that kiss.

  It had been hot—hotter than hot. But she needed to forget all about it, those lips, whatever inkling of attraction she might have harbored for the past week and a half. She stomped down the hallway, leaving Yonas gape-mouthed in the foyer.

  Kissing this man had been a mistake—and the last thing she needed in Maatkare was a royal mess.
r />   3

  Yonas rolled over with a groan, groping blindly for his cellphone on the night stand. His father was calling—made evident by the funeral-dirge ringtone moaning annoyingly in the early morning light. He cracked open an eye, inviting a warning throb of his head.

  Hangover. He pinched his eyes shut, his hand finally connecting with the phone.

  Yonas cleared his throat before swiping his phone on, trying to make himself sound awake. Productive. Alive. “Yes, Father?”

  “Yonas.” The familiar grumbly drawl of his name sent clarity zipping through him. Already Yonas could hear some disappointment on the horizon. He pushed to sitting, rubbing at an eye. “The American decorator has come to me with a complaint about you. Do you know anything about this?”

  His father loved to quiz him before starting the lambasting. It was part psychological tactic, part ruler mentality. Yonas sighed. He could still taste vodka on his tongue.

  “Yes. It was an accident. I wanted to help her tear down, really, but—”

  “I won’t have you meddling in my plans for this year’s holidays!” His father’s booming voice was a warning that made Yonas snap his mouth shut. “You know how different this year is, and if you interfere any further with this woman or any of the other new hires, then I will see to it that you don’t participate at all.”

  That would be ideal. Yonas kept his mouth shut. His phone vibrated with an incoming text message so he switched it to speaker phone so he could read the new text.

  “I want you to personally oversee the successful completion of our new decorator’s tasks for the rest of the season,” his father went on. Yonas opened his messages. His friend Roli had written him.

  “Sorry, bro, the weekend in Dubai won’t be happening. Found out we’re heading to Indo for my aunt’s party. Let’s try in a few weeks.”

  Another cancelled weekend plan. Disappointment crashed through him just as his father said, “Are you listening?”

  “Yes, Father.” Yonas gritted his teeth.

  “You help the decorator, and you apologize to her personally. You are a sheikh. You should act like one.”

  Yonas tugged at the front of his hair, discontent rumbling through him. He was hungover, tired, irritated by cancelled plans, and now being chastised like a five-year-old. “Yes, Father.”

  Another notification lit up his screen. It was from Shaia—his love interest of the moment. They’d never met in person, but he was more than excited to meet her after exchanging some scintillating photos.

  “Hey, are you around?” Shaia wrote in their chat app.

  Yonas stared at her words, ready to respond but feeling the sting of his father’s words. “I promise you don’t have to worry.” In his head, he added, because with any luck at all, I’ll be out of Maatkare.

  “Very good. I’ll see you at lunch.”

  His father hung up, and Yonas let a few moments of silence go by before he swiped back to the chat with Shaia. Like letting the storm cloud pass. His father wasn’t wrong, but Yonas hated the familiar song and dance of his father’s disappointment. Yet it wasn’t enough to convince Yonas to change anything either.

  He was the youngest of the three boys, but more than that, he’d been pegged early on with his immutable traits that he couldn’t shake no matter what: the screw-up. The playboy. The irresponsible one.

  It was easier to escape to the outside world where his family’s judgments didn’t weight on him like a shackle. Where he could be the confident, fun, put-together royal prince that everyone oohed and aahed over, like they’d admired Noel and Robel for Yonas’s entire life.

  Dots appeared in the chat screen as Shaia typed. Then her message popped up. “So I’m not sure about you coming here.”

  He groaned and flopped back onto the bed. Here it was. The mother of all letdowns. He and Shaia had been talking for weeks. She wasn’t great to talk to, but she was interesting enough. Huge boobs. Tiny waist. The standard glossy black hair that attracted any man in his age bracket. He needed the arm candy, the distraction. And now, he was back to square one.

  “What happened?” he typed to her.

  “I’ve got some things going on last minute,” she wrote in Arabic. “Can we do next weekend?”

  This was the third time she’d rescheduled. She was stringing him along, and he was done with it. He frowned, typing out a fast response. “Just let me know whenever you find the time for a sheikh of Maatkare.”

  He tossed his phone, more than ready to step away from it for a few hours. He scowled as he headed for the bathroom, running through the standard routine of hangover hygiene: scrubbing the sour taste of alcohol off his tongue with his toothbrush, gripping the edge of the countertop as he assessed his face, shaking his head with disappointment.

  Twenty-five. A sheikh. Moderately good looking. A full six pack. This was supposed to be the best time of his life. Yet he couldn’t even get a booty call to work out.

  And now he had to go help make the palace look even uglier at the side of that American.

  He got dressed quickly, his mind making lazy paths between alternatives to weekend getaways and what this American decorator might have in store for him. Maybe he’d apologize and that would be that. Or maybe she’d put him to work on something truly frightful. Like one of those rainbow LED Christmas trees he’d seen once while visiting New York City.

  He didn’t even know her name, but through the fog of his drunkenness last night, he was pretty sure he remembered what she looked like. Shiny brown hair, glasses…and that kiss. He paused as he pulled a tunic over his head, the memory of that kiss rolling down his spine. He’d forgotten. And holy hell—what a kiss that had been.

  Maybe finding the decorator again wouldn’t be so bad. Not if he could coax another kiss out of the mix.

  Yonas tugged on some khaki linen pants and rolled up the sleeves of his black tunic. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth down the wild pieces, and then set out to find the decorator.

  He headed for the foyer where he’d run into her last night. The majority of the decorations had been removed already, a vast difference from the night before. He slowed his steps as he heard the soft undertones of music, something electronic sounding. He rounded a corner, finding a ladder propped against the wall. Bits of plaster on the ground had been pushed into a neat pile near the wall.

  And there she was. The decorator. Up on the ladder, reaching for something.

  Yonas cleared his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He knew how to play the remorseful part. He waited for her to notice him.

  She didn’t. Maybe it was the music. He went over to the Bluetooth speaker and snapped it off. The decorator gasped, twisting around to look down.

  She scoffed when she saw him. “Oh. Great. It’s you again. Can you turn that back on?”

  “I wanted to talk to you.” He watched her carefully, drinking her in with sober eyes. Her voice was husky, held an edge like a smoker. Except she looked to be about his age, maybe mid-twenties, her hair braided back into short pigtails. She looked every inch the westerner in overalls and a tank top. She squinted down at him.

  “Well I don’t want to talk to you. So you can turn the music back on, thanks.”

  Yonas bit at his upper lip. He hadn’t expected her to put up resistance. “I’m sorry for how I behaved last night.”

  Silence filled the space between them. She twisted down to look at him again, her features softer.

  “Oh. Well…that’s nice.”

  He blinked. “Nice?”

  She sniffed, turning back to her work. “Didn’t expect you to apologize is all. Did your daddy make you?”

  He lobbed a sigh. He’d be upset if only she weren’t right. “We spoke. And he reminded me that I was in the wrong. I’d like to help you complete your work. If you’ll allow it.”

  More tense silence emerged. She grabbed for a star hanging from the wall sconce.

  “Has your father demanded it?”

  Yonas
clenched his teeth and looked away down the hallway. “Perhaps.”

  “Then that sounds like an obligation if I’ve ever heard one.” She sent a sarcastic smile down to him before climbing down the ladder. She hopped onto the floor, her shoes thudding on the marble. Her perfume reached him—amber and something husky. Like her voice.

  He inhaled sharply when she looked up at him, rubbing a palm on her overalls. He remembered those eyes—this gaze had seared through even his drunk fog the night before.

  But he’d forgotten how pretty she was. Soft lines, a heart-shaped face, tan skin that urged him to see more. She looked glossy, like an off-duty lingerie model.

  “Or maybe you really want to help?”

  Her question brought him back to the moment. His fingers twitched with the urge to close the space between them.

  “I do,” he said. And there was some truth buried in there. He wanted to be near her, at least.

  “Great.” She shoved the stars she’d collected while up on the ladder into his hands. “Let’s get started.”

  4

  Maia was aware of every step Yonas took in her wake. He was somehow hotter in the light of day, or maybe his late morning stupor made him seem less cocky. More tolerable.

  “Put those over there.” She pointed at a pile of Tupperware containers and things that awaited organization. As he dropped off the stars, she crossed her arms, sizing him up. It was hard not to think of his soft lips when she looked at him. “Hey, Yonas?”

  “Yes?”

  “What’s my name?”

  He looked up at her, guilt flashing only momentarily. “Uh…The Decorator?”

  She frowned, shaking her head. Rich guys were too egocentric for their own good. And this one could kiss and ruin, without even bothering to learn her name. It was a joke to him. It probably always would be.

  “Real funny.” She headed for the container farthest away from him and knelt down to organize. “I actually don’t need your help anymore. You’re dismissed. Goodbye.”