Christmas with the Yared Sheikhs: The Complete Series

by North, Leslie

  His mind immediately leapt to Sondra. Becoming the mother of his children. Becoming the next queen of Maatkare. He rolled onto his back, studying the dark ceiling of the bedroom. Was this perpetually his downfall? As the crown prince of Maatkare, he couldn’t even hook up with a woman without imagining her the next queen of his country.

  He draped his arm over his eyes for a moment, relishing the warm darkness he found, trying to seek out some kernel of wisdom in the sudden cyclone of doubts. He and Sondra weren’t a good fit. For perhaps many reasons, but most of all because tradition required someone of Maatkaran descent.

  It had always been that way, would always be that way. Maatkaran royalty married Maatkarans. And no matter how promising this love entanglement felt, she was American. The time for talk about queendom would never arrive.

  Nessa cooing at his side brought him back to the present. He mustered a smile, his gaze washing over the little girl. She was cute—cute enough to make him wonder almost immediately what his and Sondra’s child might look like.

  This woman…he snagged Sondra’s pale brown eyes. Warmth washed through him, and he reached out for her hand, running his thumb over her wrist. He admired her work ethic, her creativity, her steadiness even when he threw his hardest, most intimidating tactics her way. Even in the face of all that, she could still ask him how he was feeling. And in his world, the simple act of caring was revolutionary. This woman was a breath of fresh air in a period of his personal life he hadn’t realized was stagnant.

  But that’s all she should be. A breath of fresh air. Not a gust, not a hurricane, not even a strong wind storm. Just a breath to cleanse him, and then he could continue along his way.

  Robel smiled down at Nessa and Sondra for a few moments until the logical side of him began whispering for him to leave. He combed through excuses before he found one that stuck: simply time to start the day. Even though part of him wanted to stay in this bed until the next daybreak, he knew that was a childish desire.

  There was no use prolonging their special time together, because it had to end now.

  Robel rolled out of bed, dressing slowly while Sondra looked between him and Nessa. He hobbled over to her stiffly, pressed a kiss to her forehead, and promised to see her later that day.

  And every step that led him away from Sondra reiterated his new goal: Don’t let this happen again.

  * * *

  Two days passed before Sondra realized she’d been ghosted.

  It wasn’t even a physical ghosting. She saw Robel every day for their noontime meeting. But that was it. He’d emotionally ghosted, and that was somehow worst of all.

  He’d been inside her forty-eight hours ago, and now she couldn’t even get him to look her in the eye.

  It bothered her so much she could barely stand it. And hell if she’d let him know.

  She didn’t want this stuck-up, staunch traditionalist to know that his pulling away from her hurt. Even when it had no right to. They had nothing between them; they were nothing. So why should she care?

  Except she did care. A lot. It didn’t help matters that part of her was still fangirling from their sexy late night in her bedroom. A late night he didn’t seem inclined to repeat. What was wrong with him?

  Or maybe more accurately…what was wrong with her?

  Sondra harrumphed and sighed the entire day as she prepared for the musical procession event that evening. She’d gone out of her way to let Robel take the lead on this one during their meetings. And for what? For him to still be cold with her. Three gorgeous, satisfying, mouth-watering orgasms were not enough to take away the sting of his behavioral about-face.

  She spent far longer than she wanted to admit having conversations with him in her head. Demanding what the hell his problem was. Why he would just change like that. What exactly was his aim, when it would have been far easier to just not wine and dine her altogether.

  When four o’clock rolled around, Sondra strolled around the palace gardens, overseeing the setup of the traditional band and the catering area. Everything was on time. The late afternoon sky was darker than normal, and rain threatened at the edges of the brightness. She smiled up at the clouds, squeezing her eyes shut as she popped out a quick event-planning prayer: Sun please stay, rain go away, let this be the very best day.

  Over at the arched entrance leading into the palace halls, Robel showed up on his crutches, looking dour. Relief and annoyance washed through her equally. She was so damn attracted to this man—yet she hated just how much she wanted him. Especially when he was acting like this. She raised a hand to wave, and when his gaze found hers, a strange mix of reactions crossed his face. Something similar to what had washed through her own body.

  So maybe they were both on the same page.

  She couldn’t help her careening mind as she headed his way. A one-night stand between temporary colleagues—that should be enough. She had Nessa now, and no room for more in her life. Plus “more” was out of the question. She lived in America, and he was the prince of his own damn country. Even in her wildest dreams, princes didn’t pick regular ol’ single moms from the Midwest.

  “Hey.” She did her best impression of breezy, busy woman. “Caterers just got here, and I heard the kitchen prep is going well. I think things are on track so far.”

  Robel didn’t greet her, just swept his stony gaze over the palace gardens. “Have the children arrived yet for the procession?”

  “Not for another half hour,” Sondra said, checking her watch, then out at the gardens as a strange silence settled between them. It was somewhere between bloated and awkward. Like a million things could have been said. She fought not to look at him. If he wanted to play this game, then she’d play it as well. After enough awkward moments dragged by, she finally said, “Looks like it’s going to rain.”

  Robel scoffed, shifting his weight on the crutches. “No. The weather report is clear.”

  She clucked her tongue, clutching her clipboard to her chest. “Sure looks otherwise.”

  “Your three weeks of Maatkaran weather experience aren’t the best guide,” Robel said in a clipped tone.

  Sondra huffed, throwing her hands down to her sides. She was sick of this. The tension. The weird mood. He was worse than a middle schooler. She sent Robel a sharp look. “Are you mad at me?”

  Robel’s brow formed a hard line. “Why would you think that?”

  Her nostrils flared, and she leaned in. “Because you’ve barely spoken to me since the other night.”

  Robel’s face hardened, a mask of impassiveness sliding into place. Whatever game he was playing, he was committed. “That’s nonsense. We’ve spoken plenty.”

  Some of her anger dissipated, melting right into speechlessness. She knew better than to argue when it came to pointing out men’s strange behavior. Most men, when they wanted to ghost, had expert ways of rationalizing all odd behavior. So it wasn’t even worth it. But still, she couldn’t keep herself from slinging at least one barb.

  “Then why is there such a stick up your ass? I thought getting laid was supposed to relax a person.”

  Robel’s eyes narrowed, but they burned with an intensity that actually delighted Sondra as opposed to scaring her. He grabbed for her wrist, seemingly intent on storming off with her in tow. Then his jaw clenched, and he dropped it, looking around.

  “Come here,” he said in a firm voice. He hauled himself through the arched entryway, moving quickly down the hallway until he hung a right into a hidden alcove. Sondra followed him into the dim enclosure. His jaw worked back and forth as he studied her.

  “I don’t know what you want me to do,” he finally said.

  “How about you just treat me like I’m not yesterday’s lunch?” she said. “That would be a start. We work together, and will for a few more weeks. So it would be best if this wasn’t awkward constantly.”

  “We shouldn’t have done anything, then,” he said.

  “Well you only have yourself to blame,” she said, hatin
g the tiny fissures opening up in her heart. Here it was. Another rejection. Another failure. Another dalliance that would never blossom into anything.

  And for how staunch and serious Robel was, she’d actually liked him. A little too much for her taste.

  “I wasn’t the one who set this in motion,” she added. “Let me remind you—you’re the one who said you wanted to push me up against the wall. Don’t act like this isn’t one hundred percent your fault.”

  “One hundred percent?” There was a strange undertone to his voice, one that made her catty response wither on her tongue. The gleam in his eye. Yeah, there was something else brewing under his words. “What is that phrase you Americans always say? Something about tango.”

  She huffed. “It takes two to tango. And you’re right. I thought I wanted to dance. I thought you wanted to, too.”

  Robel’s nostrils flared as he shifted his weight, jerking the crutches from underneath his armpits. He rested them against the stone wall, then turned to her, his square frame filling up the doorway. His eyes blazed with awareness, and she watched as he stepped forward in slow motion, backing her up against the wall. The cool of the stone made it through the thin weave of her sweater as he pressed his palms to the wall on either side of her head.

  “I do want to dance,” he said, his voice low and forceful. He was only inches away from her, the heat of him reminding her of their dreamy night in her bed. She forced herself not to wilt under his penetrating, dominant energy. “More than you know.”

  He hooked his hands under the cheeks of her ass, and with a firm grip, hoisted her against the wall. She gasped, clamping a hand over her mouth before it turned into something louder, or more embarrassing. He filled the space between her legs perfectly, resolutely. It was both provocation and reprimand at the same time.

  “This. Right here.” His breath was hot on her chin, lips hovering so close it made her belly clench with need. “This can’t happen, and we both know it. So why pursue it?”

  Her mouth went dry. She was so incredibly turned on, and the meaning behind his sexy-edged words doused the attraction only slightly. God, this man lit her up, even when she didn’t want him to. He could have hoisted her against the wall and told her the event was cancelled, and her panties still might have gotten moist as a result.

  “I guess I should be glad, then,” she finally forced out, words barely scraping their way out of her parched mouth. “A man who finally thinks with the right head.”

  A smile twitched at his lips. “Most of the time.” Something dark washed over him, and she swore his hips flexed against her. “But maybe not all of the time.”

  She inhaled sharply as his breath caressed her exposed clavicle. This was torture, pure and simple. But if he had her hiked up against the wall while espousing the virtues of not pursuing anything…she could guess at the conflict in his head.

  Damn near the same as what was going on inside her head, too.

  “A slip every once in awhile is excusable,” she said, her skin prickling with anticipation. Waiting for the soft brush of those full lips. He didn’t kiss her though. Perhaps on purpose. “Pursuing things doesn’t have to be so serious. It could just be…fun, you know?”

  He chuckled softly, but it sounded sad. He released her suddenly, and she jolted back to the ground. He kept her pinned to the wall, fingertips trailing up the sides of her arms.

  “I have to be careful with fun,” he said. He ran his thumb along her jawline, his gaze almost reverent. Like he was trying to memorize all the details of this moment. “I can’t have it nearly as often as I’d like. Which doesn’t bode well for us.”

  Robel turned then, moving toward his crutches jerkily. He grabbed for them, hoisting himself back on, and exited stage left before she could find any words to respond with.

  He’d left cool air in his place. Vast, empty, lonely. Or maybe it had been there all along—and his presence was simply the first to make her feel whole.

  Whatever it was, his message was clear.

  This wasn’t going anywhere.

  And even though the attraction might be strong, everything else around them demanded this love affair end immediately.

  11

  The fast pace of the musical procession event was a much-needed distraction for Robel. His linen pants were unforgiving when it came to hiding a hard-on, so he had to wage a mental battle as he rejoined the party preparation so that he didn’t make a fool of himself.

  Why did you do that? The question circled lazily in the back of his mind, no matter what he thought about or said. Eventually, Sondra rejoined him, and he did his best to avoid her gaze. Those pale brown eyes would send his cock seeking her warmth again. And now he had to be firmer than ever in his resolution.

  Pushing her up against the wall—exactly as he’d been craving—helped no one. All it did was make a murky situation even murkier. He frowned as Sondra bent over, exposing the lush arc of her ass cheeks beneath her black skirt. Damn. He couldn’t jerk his gaze away. This woman was dangerous. She was turning him into someone else. A man who couldn’t control his base impulses.

  That wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself. No, his future was steady, calm, and serious. He was the heir to the throne, for God’s sake. And Maatkare deserved a ruler who could judiciously use the correct head, all of the time.

  Growing up, he’d seen the toll that being the ruler took on his father. Stressful late nights, anxiety-fraught mornings. Throughout his life, his mother had been the calming, guiding force. The perfect complement to the burdens of kinghood. Maatkare’s favorite queen.

  But now? Just in the three months his mother had been away for treatment in Switzerland, he saw the subtle ways in which things were crumbling in his father’s life. Worry and anxiety had replaced—or rather, consumed—the areas that his mother had always kept healthy and whole inside his father’s body.

  He needed to be prepared. Which meant not choosing someone who would yank his attention off the matters at hand every time he looked at her.

  Slowly the buffet tables were assembled, filled with juicy dates and flatbread and a wide—if strange—assortment of vegan items prepared by the new chef, Ana. He oversaw the assembly of the band, while Sondra tended to the boisterous group of white-robed children. He smiled at her from across the gardens—couldn’t help himself, really—even though she wasn’t looking at him. Her blonde hair had slipped from behind her ear, a glittering grin lighting up her face as she wrangled the kids into a straight line. Dark heads bopped around, all the children’s eyes on her.

  She commanded attention wherever she went. And it wasn’t just because of that voluptuous figure. She had a maternal touch to her beauty—something that beckoned, made things softer, easier to bear. The sharp tongue she carried along with her was the final, delectable layer on top.

  Her softness was made better by her fierceness. Like how she didn’t mind standing up to him when he was clearly being distant. He liked her frankness. He liked her.

  While the band played a few test notes on flutes and bass, the storms knit together in a dark ridge. He squinted up at the sky. The weather report hadn’t called for a storm. Not by a long shot. One fat raindrop hit him on the nose. He grimaced, wiping it away.

  Perfect.

  The convening eventgoers seemed to notice the storm at the same time he did. A ripple of worry shuddered through the assembling people, little gasps followed by tense murmurs. Sondra found his gaze from across the gardens, a smirk on her face that said I told you so.

  He peered up at the sky, trying to judge just how bad the storm might get. If it was a quick cloud burst, they could take cover inside and continue as planned after a short delay. But if this was a surprise rainstorm…

  Sondra appeared at his side. “Okay, Mr. I Want To Be In Charge Of This One. Tell me your next step.”

  He heaved a sigh. “I say we give it a few minutes. We can see if it passes.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

 
; He worked his jaw back and forth, trying to pluck the best response out of thin air. “We’ll move it somewhere else.”

  “And where would that be?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you quizzing me?”

  “I already know the answers to these questions. I just want to see if you do.”

  Her smug smile prompted him to grin. He tamped it down, though. This was serious, and this was no time to joke around. “I get it. You’re the professional event planner. I’m just the lowly prince.”

  “Oh, please.” She swatted his arm, but he detected a faint smile lingering on her face. “Just get your shit together. That’s all I want.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled. But before he could even think about his next decision, the flute player from the band ran up to him.

  “Sir,” the flautist said, bowing quickly. “We’re having an emergency. Please come.”

  Robel followed him to where the band had set up, finding the members in a state of tension. The flautist pointed to the skin drums and bells on wooden frames.

  “Everything has completely unraveled,” he said, voice cracking. “The drums are irreparable. We’ve been fighting with them for twenty minutes.”

  “What?” Robel hobbled closer, straining to see the issue. But more raindrops on the back of his neck made him rear back and peer accusingly at the sky.

  Moments later, a full downpour drenched them. Rain hissed through the sky as Sondra corralled the children into the nearest hallway. The kitchen staff rushed to rescue the food, and everyone else fled as quickly as possible. Robel gritted his teeth.

  “Bring this all inside,” he shouted over the din of the rainfall. “And play with whatever instruments you can.” He hobbled up the steps into the palace breezeway, his dark tunic soaked on the shoulders. Within moments, everyone had taken cover. The damaged instruments were the least of his worries now.

  “Sondra!” He found her nearby, already wending her way through the crowds toward him. The hall was full of chatter and anticipation. Almost seventy people wondering what the hell to do next.