The Sheikh's Christmas Wish Page 3

  It was an interesting confession; one that softened every single piece of him. He gave up on pretending that he didn’t want to get to know her better and moved further down the sofa, so that he could put a hand on her shoulder.

  “You care because you’re attracted to me.”

  The second he made the statement she jerked her head, her eyes clashing with his in a fierce battle of the wills.

  “As I am to you,” he continued softly. “I have been watching you, thinking I am the worst kind of saviour because you have been through a trauma and yet all I want is to ask you out.”

  Her breath snagged in her throat. She stared at him, her mind turning slowly to mush. “You do?”

  “Yes.” He brought his face closer, his eyes skimming hers, studying them for a reflection of the tempest of emotions that was making him forget all of the reasons he had for staying away.

  “I …” She swallowed, her lips pressing together as she attempted to bring moisture to her mouth and sanity to her mind. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “No.” His smile was lopsided. “Nor do I.” He dropped his head closer, so that his lips were only a whisper from hers. “But I want to do it anyway.”

  “Do what?” She shifted a little in her seat. Closer, not further away.

  His stomach churned. His gut felt as though he had a bag of cement pressing down on it. The air around them seemed to be sparkling not just with anticipation but with a kind of magic. “This.” It was hardly a kiss. A connection of their lips for the briefest of moments, but something cataclysmic shifted inside of Melinda. Everything seemed to zip into place; her body sung.

  Her hands were pressed to his chest, her fingers tangled in his shirt. Her eyes were wide with wonderment and her heart was racing. He smelled like sweat and citrus. He was warm. She inhaled him, and wanted more. More. More.

  “I can’t … It’s … my life is complicated,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “Who’s isn’t?”

  Her breath snagged in her mouth. She hadn’t expected such a sensible rejoinder. “I don’t do one night stands.” Her eyes scanned his face. “If you think I’m going to just invite you to stay or whatever…”

  “I wouldn’t stay even if you did invite me.” He leaned forward so he could whisper in her ear. “I want you to respect me in the morning.” His grin, when he lifted back, was as devilish as it was disarming.

  But Melinda couldn’t return his smile. This was dangerous, unchartered ground. It had been a long time since she’d been with a guy. She’d never been with anyone other than Brent, and that had been a total, unmitigated disaster. “Your cocoa’s getting cold.”

  He fought the temptation to make a snappy remark. She was panicked, and he didn’t want to pressure her. He moved away just enough to reach for his hot chocolate, but he kept his knees pressed to hers.

  “Are you free tomorrow night?”

  She blinked, shaking her head slowly. “I have Jordan,” she said simply.

  “I could come here.”

  “No, that’s too confusing for him,” she said quietly. “He’s old enough now to want to know his dad. To be sad that his dad isn’t here.” She bit down on her lower lip. “And I don’t want him getting upset by the idea of his mother seeing someone else. Not that we would …I mean … I can’t … do you see why I don’t do this?”

  Her sweetness took his breath away. “You don’t date?”

  “Oh, no. Not really. I mean, I don’t really have much spare time, you know, and Jordan’s my focus.” She lifted her eyes to his face, her expression mutinous and loaded with a silent challenge. “And I get the impression you date rather a lot. I don’t think we’d really move at the same speed.”

  He dipped his head, her words hitting a sore point. “I used to … date … a lot, yes.” It was probably the wrong word, but out of respect for Melinda he didn’t replace it with a cruder version that would be closer to the truth. “But I haven’t been like that for a couple of years now. I guess I’m all grown up.”

  Why did that fill her with a tingly sense of relief?

  “Yeah, well, I still don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “Does that mean you’re not tempted?”

  Her smile was distracted. “It’s precisely because I am tempted that I think I should resist.”

  “Give me one night to change your mind.” He leaned forward, his lips once again tantalisingly close. “We will go at your speed, on your terms. You’re in charge.”

  Of Ra’if? The idea held a stunning degree of appeal, simply because he seemed like a man who would not easily surrender control. That he was willing to do so to see her again made her tummy flop.

  “Jordan usually goes to bed around seven. Come over at eight tomorrow. I’ll make dinner.”

  “No.” His eyes sparked with hers. “I will bring dinner.”

  She laughed. “Is that your idea of letting me be in control?”

  “It’s my idea of a date,” he corrected. “I will arrange the details. You just be here at eight o’clock and leave everything else to me.”

  * * *

  “You intend to see her again?” Marook kept his eyes focussed on the papers in front of him, but Ra’if had known the servant a long time. More a friend or father figure than simply a palace employee, Ra’if was under no illusions as to why Marook had been placed in Ra’if’s detail.

  “Tonight, for dinner.”

  Marook was quiet for a moment, before lifting his dark, steady gaze to Ra’if’s face. “Dinner?”

  Ra’if compressed his lips, fighting the urge to respond harshly. He understood Marook’s concerns, though they were unwarranted. “Yes. You know, it is a meal that comes at the end of the day? There is food, sometimes wine, a little conversation…”

  “You do not need to mock me,” Marook said quietly.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, old friend,” Ra’if murmured. “I mock your concern, not you.”

  “My concern is …”

  “Well-founded,” Ra’if cut him off, more sharply than he’d intended. “At least, it used to be. But that time of my life is in the past. The distant past. I am no longer that man.”

  “Forgive me, Your Highness, but I had the displeasure of seeing you in more compromising positions than I will ever forget.”

  Ra’if nodded, crossing the room and taking the seat opposite the older man. It was a sign of his great affection for the servant that he allowed this line of enquiry at all, let alone indulging it in a conversation. “And in the last two years?” He said with quiet insistence.

  “There have been no serious women in the last two years.”

  “There have been no women at all, serious or otherwise,” Ra’if corrected, marvelling at that fact. There was a time in his life when it had not been unusual to have several lovers in a week. Occasionally, two in one night.

  “So what is this one about? Why does she interest you?”

  Ra’if’s lips twitched with a smile he couldn’t suppress. “I couldn’t say,” he murmured finally. “Only that she does.”

  “You care for her?”

  Ra’if was very quiet. “I just met her. I don’t know her well enough to care.” Yet he did. If he thought he would never see her again, he knew he would rail against it.

  “You have duties …”

  “I am aware of my duties,” Ra’if interrupted. “She will not interfere.”

  “And what if she is a threat to your safety?”

  “You think I can’t handle myself around a woman the size of a Lmeni?” He joked, referring to a mythical desert fairy rumoured to be no taller than three feet.

  “She is no Lmeni,” Marook said. “She is an English woman. A single mother who works in a lowly administrative job.”

  Ra’if’s eyebrows lifted; his gaze was ice-cold as it locked to Marook’s face. “And you know this how?”

  Marook’s expression offered no apology. “Following the mugging, I looked into her connection
s. To be sure…”

  “Yes, well,” Ra’if said with a shake of his. “She wouldn’t like that.”

  “Her preferences are of no interest to me.”

  Ra’if stood, and he was pure ruler. Confident, arrogant, authoritative. “My preferences, however, are. Leave it be, Marook. She is harmless. Someone I want to get to know. Allow me to do so without the restraints of royalty. She does not know I am a Sheikh, and I would like to leave it that way, for now.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  She straightened her fitted sweater over the waistband of her jeans. It was the third outfit she’d tried on and none of them did a thing to improve her gnawing sense of anxiety. Nothing would ease that, she knew, except for getting it over with.

  Why had she agreed to this?

  What had possessed her?

  She didn’t date for a reason. And that Reason was snoring softly in the room next door. She tiptoed to his door and spied in. One arm was thrown up above his head, the other spread wide across the bed. His favourite teddy, Mr Brown, was curled in the crook of his arm.

  A smile shifted across her features. He was so like Brent. With the exception of those cheek dimples – that were squarely from her – he was the spitting image of his father.

  Brent.

  Another day of trying to find him had led nowhere. He’d disappeared off the face of the earth. All she could hope was that he was okay. When she let her mind wander to what might be happening, she was filled with a bone-deep grief. Jordan deserved a chance to know his father, but not as he was now. As the man he had been once. Smart, driven, funny.

  The knock at the door startled Melinda out of her reverie. She swept through the apartment, checking it for child-debris one last time before wrenching the door inwards.

  And immediately taking a step backwards, into her apartment.

  She’d thought of him all day but she hadn’t really thought of him. Of what he looked like, to be precise. So that, faced with his masculine magnetism now, she was totally knocked off balance. Her eyes clashed with his and her heart raced so loudly she was sure he’d be able to hear it.

  “You’re wearing a suit.” A frown line formed between her eyes.

  He grinned, nodding. “Yes. I came from work.”

  “Right.” Her mouth was dry. She swallowed in a failed attempt to moisten it. The suit was dark. Jet black, and his shirt was a crisp white. He wore no neck tie; and the buttons that might have been done up to his throat had been loosened, the top two were undone altogether to reveal a thick column of neck and a sprinkling of coarse dark hair.

  She stared at the tanned expanse of skin, her mind turning to mush.

  “I’m happy to eat out here, but we might be more comfortable inside,” he teased after another wordless moment had sparked between them.

  Her cheeks flushed as she nodded and moved further into her flat.

  He followed, pushing the door shut behind him. It was then that she realised, belatedly, his hands were full.

  “Oh. Let me help with something.”

  He pulled a hand from behind his back and extended a bunch of flowers. Melinda gasped when she saw that he held holly and ivy in a large bunch, with a golden ribbon tied around the stems to keep the arrangement together.

  “It’s very festive,” she murmured, her heart turned over at the gesture.

  “Something told me you’d like that,” he responded with a wink.

  She laughed, a little of the tension leaving her body. It was an incredible relief. She moved into the kitchen, pulling a vase out of the cupboard and filling it with water. She slid the arrangement into it and stood back to admire her handiwork. Ra’if was right there, so that she bumped into his chest. She spun around, a nervous smile on her face.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  “You’re beautiful. Thank you. For agreeing to this.”

  Her eyes were enormous and she felt it again. Magic. It seemed to dance in the air, running tangles around them. Melinda had never believed in love at first sight. She had every reason in the world to be cynical! But if she’d thought about it she would have seen that that’s just what she was experiencing.

  It was like being driven off the edge of a cliff. She had no control, no volition, she was simply falling – at speed.

  “How was your day?” Her voice was a smudge in the night. She was distracted by his proximity. He’d shaved, but he had a five o’clock shadow that added flecks of dark to his chiselled jawline.

  “Frustrating. I felt time hardly moved.”

  Her stomach twisted and she stepped backwards, fighting the feeling of magic, trying to pull herself back onto dry land. “Some days are like that,” she murmured, reaching into the fridge and grabbing a bottle of sparkling water out. “Drink?”

  He lifted his grocery bags. “You sit down, Miss … Do you know, I don’t even know your surname?”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks flamed pink. “It’s Higgins.”

  He smiled, as though there was a secret in the name. “Melinda Higgins.”

  A tingle ran down her spine. “And you?”

  Did she imagine the way his eyes momentarily darkened before his beautiful smile glowed at her once more? “I am starving,” he said in a hushed tone.

  It was a mark of how utterly spellbound she was by the man that she didn’t hear silent alarm bells. She had him in her apartment, near her child, and she was letting herself be put off with answers that told her nothing.

  “Then we should eat.” She moved towards the kitchen but he caught her wrist as she went. She pulled abruptly to a stop, bouncing into his chest. Her gaze jerked to his as feelings and a burgeoning sense of awareness made her body throb all over, especially low down in her abdomen.

  His eyes held hers for a long moment and somehow she just knew that he was fighting his own needs and cravings; that his body was urging him forward even when common sense was holding him still. She darted her tongue out and licked her lower lip, tracing the outline, her body weakened by the closeness to him.

  He expelled a soft breath, then lifted a hand and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She breathed in his scent and fluttered her eyes closed. It was a small moment; barely a fissure in the layers of time, but it shifted something between them. Something urgent and undeniable was there in the room, like a boulder at the top of a dam. The water was pushing at it, every second was building pressure, and eventually the rock would drop away, tugged to its fate by the current of need.

  Their need.

  “I …” Her smile was clumsy. What had she been going to say?

  “You are nervous?” His accent was thicker. Darker. Spicier. And so seductive it was toe curling.

  She shook her head slowly from side to side. “I’m excited,” she corrected, her spirit of honesty impressing him.

  As soon as she’d said it, she wished she could pull the words back. “I just mean … It’s … I’m …”

  “Relax,” he murmured, dropping his hand to her hip and bringing his whole body closer to hers. Close enough that she could feel all his hard angles and planes through his clothes.

  Her gut clenched.

  Desire, unmistakable, was flooding her central nervous system.

  “This is just dinner,” he said, his lips hovering so close to hers it was taking every ounce of her willpower not to lift onto her tiptoes and taste his mouth, as she had briefly the night before.

  Her smile almost stopped his heart. “It doesn’t feel like it.” She stepped backwards out of a need for self-preservation. Because she’d spoken the truth. A sensuality she had thought non-existent was surging through her. She’d dreamed of him the night before and thought of him all day. It was as though they’d known each other all their lives. She had wondered at the strange sense of familiarity; it was wholly new.

  “Who are you?”

  His expression was serious, and she wondered if he was struggling to bring himself under control in the same way she was. “Your knight in shining armour
.”

  He winked. Everything sizzled.

  Melinda shook her head slowly, her smile widening. “I think we need to take it down about ten notches.” She walked a little unsteadily across the room and turned her speaker on, selecting an upbeat jazz album to dispel some of the strands of desire that were clogging her mind.

  Ra’if watched as he lifted the grocery bags onto the bench, removing takeaway containers one by one and deftly arranging them in a line. Melinda was beautiful, absolutely, but that wasn’t what he found so attractive. She was … addictive. There was a quiet dignity to her, and a sense of humour and life that enlivened him.

  “Tell me about your son,” he invited, opening cupboard doors until he found the bowls.

  Melinda walked closer, her expression one of total love. “Jordan. He’s a character.” She rested her cheek in her palm, propping her elbow on the bench as he worked. “He’s very smart, and very sensitive. He hasn’t always been the easiest kid, but we’re a team, him and I. I guess that’s made it more manageable.”

  He nodded. “Do you have any help with him?”

  “He’s at pre-school now and his granny – my ex’s mother – comes over during the days to mind him, so I can work. She lives just over the common, in Barnes. My parents …” Her voice tapered off, her eyes wide. “Sorry. I’m not in the habit of giving my life story to people I’ve just met.”

  “Have we just met?” He prompted teasingly, spooning various flavours into the bowls. “And I asked. What were you going to say about your parents?”

  “Right.” She cleared her throat. “They haven’t been in my life since we – since I,” she corrected automatically, “found out I was pregnant.”

  It took a lot of effort not to react visibly. “I see.” Except he didn’t. “Why is that?”

  She pulled a face, leaning forward to see more easily. “This looks amazing. Thank you for bringing dinner.”

  He met her eyes, silently prompting her to return to the subject they’d been discussing. A blush spread along her cheekbones.

  “I don’t like to talk about it.” And yet with Ra’if, she felt the words tumbling out of her mouth. “I guess because it’s hard to describe. To say they didn’t approve is an understatement. They’re very religious. Strictly religious. The fact that Brent and I were sleeping together was bad enough. But that I’d got pregnant?” She shook her head. “They wanted me to have an abortion. And then to go away to a girls’ boarding school in America, where I would be taught self-respect and other appropriate virtues.” She rolled her eyes, a gesture Ra’if found instantly endearing. “It’s not like I was, you know, making my way through all the guys at school or anything. Brent and I were deeply in love.”