Christmas with the Yared Sheikhs: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  A few moments of silence passed by. His brain felt hazy from the endorphins flooding his body, thanks to her massage. He could hardly form words. “Well you have your fallback profession in massage,” Robel said. Her hands worked their way down over his biceps. He grabbed at her hands; he couldn’t stop it. He leaned his head back, meeting her gaze from over the top of him.

  “Robel…” she began, something hesitant in her gaze.

  “It feels amazing,” he whispered, searching the dark amber of her eyes. “But I need more.”

  She sucked in a breath. His heart hammered in his chest.

  “Kiss me.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and then her lips drifted nearer, painfully slowly as though she were a feather drifting toward the ground. His hands tightened around her wrists once the cool velvet of her lips met his. Heat surged through him, between his legs, lighting up every inch of his skin. The scent and feel of her in his grip overcame him. He wanted more, so much more.

  But she kissed hesitantly. So he deepened the kiss, pressing his tongue against her lips. Her mouth parted, and their tongues met. Electricity shivered through him.

  When she pulled back, he saw the confusion in her eyes. She straightened, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

  “Robel,” she started again, pacing along the far wall.

  This wasn’t going to end well. He went limp against the back of the chair, pinching his eyes shut.

  “Was it too much?” he broached.

  “I just think it’s time for me to go to bed,” she said, wringing her hands. She rolled her lips inward, looking everywhere but at him. “I really should sleep. You know? It’s time.”

  He heaved a sigh. That was his cue. He grabbed for his crutches and pushed to standing.

  “It’s fine,” he said, trying not to let the stinging licks of rejection reach him until he was in his own bedroom. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

  “No, no. You didn’t. I just—” she pinched the bridge of her nose, then shook her head. “It’s time for bed, is all. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes.” He clenched his teeth as he maneuvered out of her bedroom, steeling himself against the whiff of lavender on his way out the door. “Good night, Sondra.”

  7

  Sondra tossed for the billionth time that night, staring at the same dark square on the ceiling.

  What on earth is wrong with you?

  She turned onto her left side this time, hoping it might be the final shift that would allow her to sleep. But her mind raced all the same, going back to her embarrassing display in front of Robel earlier that night.

  You had a sexy sheikh in your room, practically begging to make out. And you sent him away.

  She groaned into her pillow, turning once more. It was ridiculous. Absurd. She had officially ruined any chance of anything sexy ever occurring. And why?

  Because she was scared.

  Scared shitless, in fact.

  She’d have thought that celebrating her thirtieth birthday earlier that year might have knocked some hard-won confidence into her. And it had.

  But then her sister died. And she became Nessa’s guardian. And she moved abroad. And every solid, stable thing she thought she knew about life had been completely tossed into the air.

  Now that she was clinging to this job with a tenacity she’d never needed to have before, she couldn’t fuck it up. Even if every cell of her body wanted Robel…it couldn’t happen. It just didn’t seem right.

  Her life was too messy. He was the freaking heir to the throne. None of it seemed right.

  Usually she was the girl to welcome in any stray that needed her. She seemed to attract the men who needed fixing. And in her twenties, she’d been happy to lend a nurturing hand to all those lost boys posing as men.

  But now, with Nessa in her life, all that nurturing needed to go to one place only. And she didn’t have any room to make the wrong choice. It wasn’t just herself anymore. Nessa’s entire future—and Sondra’s sister’s legacy—rested on the decisions she made.

  And what a fun burden it was to bear.

  By the time seven a.m. rolled around, Nessa stirred in her crib. Sondra had barely gotten any deep sleep, instead just lingering in dreamy half-awareness for most of the night. Another work day awaited her, and today she’d need coffee.

  But how to approach Robel?

  She dragged through her morning routine, left Nessa with the nanny, and headed quickly to the breakfast nook for a late breakfast. Nobody was there, which she was grateful for as she scooped up some biscuits and jam. She sipped a coffee on her way to her office.

  Because she was dreading it, the morning flew by. Which meant that her noon meeting with Robel was here. She took a second coffee with her as a bolster, knocking gently on his office door.

  “Come in,” he barked, muffled by the door. She pushed at it slightly, peering into his office. He stared at his laptop as he typed quickly.

  “It’s me,” she said quietly, stomach pitching to her feet as she awaited some mention of her horrible faux pas the night before.

  “I know,” he said, the hard edge gone from his voice. He still didn’t look at her, just focused on his screen. “Come sit down.”

  She sidled into his office and took a seat in front of his desk. She drummed her fingers on her notebook, trying to do anything other than think about the kiss.

  His mouth had been pure silk and heat. She could have kissed him for a full twenty-four hours. No breaths included. His gaze swept up to meet hers, and she nearly jumped, as though she’d been caught thinking about him.

  “So. What’s new today?”

  Definitely not still imagining your lips on mine. “Primarily getting together the gifts to be handed out at the St. Nicholas feast,” she said, keeping her eyes on her notebook. “They should be simple but useful, since they’ll be going to poorer families. I think gift cards might be the most useful.”

  He grunted, finally turning to face her completely. She could feel his gaze sizzling over her, which made her want to sigh and talk about the kiss after all. Maybe they just needed to talk about it in the light of day. Or maybe she should quit now, fly home, and never think about it ever again.

  “It’s a good idea,” he conceded. “But gift cards aren’t honored in the majority of Maatkaran stores. We need something that will have a greater impact.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped her notebook as she thought, flipping through the pages where she’d jotted down more ideas. “Is there any way to have a standing agreement with the general stores to honor a coupon or some sort of card presented by the families? We could let them know; promise to pay back the coupons in full. Or maybe even with a little additional. Then you’ll be supporting more than just these families. The money is going into the economy, too.”

  “I like it.” Robel crossed his arms, leaning back into his chair. His gaze still sizzled on her, so she smiled down at her page.

  “Great.” A moment of silence dragged by, and she wanted to look up at him. But she couldn’t. Not when she was committed to ignoring her attraction. And if she was going to ignore it, she couldn’t look at the source of the attraction. It was as simple as that.

  Their meeting continued, stilted yet normal enough on the surface. But Sondra felt the awkwardness down to her bones, reverberating inside her like a scream through a tunnel. Once the hour of planning and collaborating had come to a blessed end, Sondra escaped, feeling like she’d been holding her breath for too long. Weak and wobbly, she headed back to her office, unsure if what circled inside her was regret or triumph.

  But one thing was for certain. She couldn’t ignore Robel for much longer. His face demanded to be appreciated, and that gruff voice of his would snag her full focus sooner or later.

  It was just a matter of time.

  * * *

  Robel allowed one work day and two weekend days to go by before he finally broke down.

  Sondra appeared hellbent on profes
sionalism. And truthfully, he should have been too.

  But he couldn’t stop thinking about that damn kiss. Every night, he stroked himself to climax imagining what could have come after that sexy smooch in her room. Exactly what he’d resolved to not do, only days prior.

  Just like how he decided staying away from Sondra was the best course of action. So much for that.

  So he was tossing everything out the window. Pursuing Sondra wasn’t the best idea, but it wasn’t the worst, either. Why not just go for it?

  When she came around for her daily visit that Monday, he was prepared. She came in, rigid and professional as usual. Once she sat down, he interlaced his fingers while she avoided his gaze.

  “Sondra,” he said in a low voice, admiring the ruched top hugging her torso. A slit near the cleavage gave occasional tantalizing glimpses of what lay below.

  “Robel,” she said, rifling through pages.

  “We have an obligation tonight.”

  “Oh?” She lifted a brow, but not her head.

  “I’m taking you out to dinner.”

  That got her attention. She looked up at him, and their eyes met briefly. Shock hung in the air between them. She dragged her bottom teeth over her top lip.

  “What for?”

  “Let’s call it a business dinner.” Robel watched as she squirmed in her seat, enjoying the conflict splaying across her face. She wasn’t immune to this attraction. She wanted it too. She just wouldn’t let herself say yes.

  “That doesn’t sound very firm.” Her pale brown eyes met his. Sparks skated under his skin. “What else might you call it?”

  A thinly veiled date. But he couldn’t say that. She’d say no, then they’d continue in this painful cycle that served neither of them. No, he needed there to be at least some pretense.

  Besides, he had it all planned out. He’d be taking them to an exclusive, traditional restaurant, one that he could count on being quiet for his own purposes. Robel’s adventures in the public sphere tended to draw attention, but especially from tabloids. And while the letter-signing event was press that benefited the palace, his being spotted out with a woman on a dinner date would invite plenty of speculation. Casual dating wasn’t easy for someone like him, which was precisely why he never did it.

  But Sondra demanded a different approach.

  “It’s business,” he said again. “I swear.”

  She sighed, smooth a palm over her shiny blonde tresses. “Okay. I’ll arrange for the nanny then.”

  The day passed intolerably slowly, made worse by the fact that his ankle seemed to hurt more today than on any previous day. He moved more slowly than normal on his way to the royal garage. Sondra was already waiting for him, still in her smart business outfit from the day.

  “There you are,” she said, her loose, sparkly skirt moving slightly in the gentle breeze.

  “Moving slow today,” he said, wincing as he came up to the sleek sedan they’d taken last week to the letter-writing event. “But luckily, we aren’t walking there.”

  “You aren’t driving again,” Sondra said.

  “I am,” he said with a grin. He fished the keys out of his pocket. “Now let’s go.”

  She sighed dramatically, opening the back door of the sedan so he could stuff his crutches into the back seat. He shook his head.

  “Not this car,” he said. He jerked his chin toward the far end of the garage where his baby awaited. A low-to-the-ground black sports coupe. Sondra shook her head more vehemently but walked toward it all the same.

  “This is a bad idea,” she said, running a finger over the fender.

  “Is it?” He tugged open the driver’s side door, sticking his crutches behind the seats. Sondra went to the other side.

  “Definitely a bad idea,” she murmured, slipping into the passenger seat. He smiled as he eased into the driver’s side, swung his bad leg inside, and started the car. It rumbled loudly in the expansive garage.

  “So this is the car you take to business dinners?” she asked, arching a brow.

  “Exclusively,” he said, shifting into gear. The garage door lifted slowly ahead of them.

  “Who else is coming to our business dinner?” Sondra asked as he rolled out of the garage into the golden hues of the early evening.

  “Nobody,” he said, turning down the drive. He accelerated quickly, loving the jolt.

  “This isn’t a business dinner, is it?” she finally asked.

  He couldn’t keep the devilish grin off his face. “Not exactly.”

  8

  The only thing involving business during their dinner was the total lack of business talk.

  Sondra grinned up at the waiter, lifting her wine glass. “One more please,” she said in bumbling Arabic. Robel nodded encouragingly, offering his glass to the waiter as well. He filled their glasses—the third time that evening—and then left them in private.

  “I shouldn’t be having this,” Sondra whispered over the glass as she brought it to her lips. “But it’s so good. And I ate so much at dinner.”

  “This is the last one,” Robel said. They clinked glasses, which made Sondra giggle.

  “It sounds so pretty,” she cooed, then took another sip. The alcohol warmed her, tinged everything in the restaurant with seduction. Or maybe that was just the sexy man across the table from her. The one who’d been looking at her with bedroom eyes since announcing his purported “business dinner” plans.

  She’d made it her mission to keep things professional. And she’d tried—she really had.

  But at some point, the deep well of lust was going to win. And all it took was two glasses of wine to get there. Not quite drunk, but just a little buzzed.

  “Are you up for a business walk after this?” Robel looked more mischievous than she’d ever seen him.

  She snorted. “Considering how business-y this dinner was…yes. I am.”

  “Great.” He signaled for the waiter, who returned immediately. It wasn’t hard to see the benefits of dining with the sheikh. Waiters, bartenders, valets all tripped over themselves to wait on him. She’d even caught a few people discreetly taking photos during dinner. It was weird to be out with a celebrity, yet feel like she had some sort of intimate knowledge of him that nobody else possessed. Not even his family.

  They downed their last glasses quickly, and she led the way out of the restaurant, holding the door open for Robel so he could pass through. Once they hit the paved sidewalk that wound toward the city center, it hit her.

  “Robel,” she chided. “We can’t go walking when you’re on crutches.”

  “It’s not far,” he said. “And believe me, my arms are used to these things by now. And the wine helped.”

  She stifled her protests, instead letting the quiet, fragrant night air settle in. Jasmine drifted from somewhere nearby, mixed with the rich undertones of burning wood. The whoosh of cars from nearby streets balanced out the conversations and laughter they passed from people sitting out on porches, smoking hookah. She took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself.

  Maatkare was nice. Really nice. But what was nicest right now was having Robel at her side.

  “Some of these decorations are truly spectacular,” Robel said in a quiet voice, almost reverent, as they came upon a park. Street lamps lit part of the greenery, but all she could make out were enormous ornaments dangling from bushes. “We’ll have to revisit these during the day, so you can really see them.”

  “Who makes them?”

  “Families,” Robel said. “It’s one of our traditions. And look here.” He nodded ahead, where a large nativity scene filled the center of the park. Small lamps formed a circle around the display. It was understated yet powerful. Nowhere near as over the top as some of the decorations could get back home.

  “It’s beautiful,” Sondra murmured. “There aren’t a billion twinkle lights or plastic Santas. This is…nice.”

  Robel slowed and then stopped, his gaze fixated on the nativity scene. Sondra
tucked her fingers into her palms, resisting the urge to seek out his hand or touch him in some way. It was the damn wine. Loosening her up. Making her give in.

  She tore her gaze away from the nativity scene and looked around the park. The rich scent of foliage hung in the damp air. “I bet you have so many memories here.”

  “Oh, yes.” Robel laughed wistfully. “I escaped here once. It was probably the worst thing I ever did as a child.”

  “Escaped to this park? Of all places.”

  “Yes. It wasn’t the world’s best escape, but it was important.” He sighed softly, finally dragging his gaze up to hers. “When I was a boy, I always had perfect marks at school. From an early age, there was this expectation that I would always be the perfect child, with the perfect scores…add on top of that the first-born, heir to the throne, and…” he trailed off. She thought she detected emotion in his voice. “Well, one day at school I wanted to act out. I was sick of being the perfect boy. So I ran away. And this was my destination.”

  Robel looked around, which prompted her to do the same. Trying to imagine it from his eyes. What that might have felt like back then.

  “I spent the whole day feeling guilty. I barely even had fun.” He laughed again, but this time it sounded bitter. “Today’s escape is much better than that.”

  “I didn’t realize this was an escape for you,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. Maybe he was trapped in his life. Maybe she was trapped in her life.

  “As the heir to the throne, it’s hard not to feel trapped,” he said slowly. He watched her fingers on his bicep for a moment, then shifted his weight to his good foot. “Shall we sit?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said, noticing the bench nearby. He maneuvered his way toward the bench and plopped back onto it. She laid his crutches off to the side. Before she could sit down, Robel stilled her with his hand.

  “No. Sit here.”