The Sheikh’s Christmas Lover: Christmas With The Yared Sheikhs Book Three

by North, Leslie

  “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 professionalism. 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 f
rom 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.”

  Even in the dim lighting of the park, she could see the desire lighting up his eyes like a torch. There was no question in his words. She knew exactly where he wanted her. His hands found the dip in her waist and tugged so she straddled his lap. She landed softly, giggling, her arms encircling his neck as though she’d done it a hundred times before.

  “This is a great seat,” she whispered, the darkness blurring how close their faces really were. When he spoke, she caught the garlic tang of dinner on his breath. The heady cologne he wore that made her mind spin. That spicy sandalwood scent that was uniquely his.

  “Mm.” The tip of his nose brushed hers, lighting up every inch of her skin as if she’d touched a live current. Excitement tremored inside her; she shouldn’t shy away from this. Not when it promised to be so good. Not when the both of them so clearly needed some fun in their lives.

  And maybe that’s what it was: just a little bit of fun. Something to take the edge off. For Robel, a way to finally break out of that royal mold, the one that kept him trapped. And for her, the way to break up the weight of responsibility and worry. Something to make her lighthearted and happy again, even if it was just for a night.

  The decision was made inside her head before their lips touched; but then the damp heat of his mouth found hers and those lips were against her mouth, and all thoughts dissolved into a noiseless blank slate. All she could do was kiss and kiss and kiss. Their mouths moved together as though they’d been doing this for a lifetime. When his tongue pressed against her lips, she let him inside. Their tongues surged to meet in the middle, crushing together, dancing, forming a rhythm that sent tingles straight to her pussy.

  Her thighs clenched as his hot palm found the hem of her skirt. He smoothed his hand over the thin fabric; she could feel the heat of him on her skin. She shivered through a kiss, making a small noise.

  Good lord, she wanted this man. He pulled back, his breathing heavy.

  “We should stop,” he said quietly, almost uncertainly.

  “Yeah,” she said, palms pressed against his chest. Why was she agreeing? Stopping was not a good idea. Not anymore. Not with him. “But why?”

  “We should stop and go home,” he clarified. And then his meaning was clear. Continue this at home. What a lovely idea. She scooted off him, then helped him to stand. He groaned as he rose, a hand moving between his legs to adjust himself.

  The simple movement made her cheeks flush. It was too hot, seeing the evidence of how she affected him. She took his hand in hers, dragged a damp kiss over his knuckles.

  “I completely agree,” she said, then dragged her tongue along the side of his index finger. He groaned.

  “Dammit, Sondra,” he said, his voice strained. “Get my crutches. We need to go now.”

  9

  The wine made it easy not to think about the consequences. What tomorrow might feel like. Why this was a bad idea. Why the two of them would never work.

  She thought about those things enough during her waking hours; this respite was needed. A chance to just fall backwards into the lap of lust and fun and letting go.

  They both needed it. So badly.

  Sondra’s restraint hinged on Robel. The fact that he used crutches meant that they weren’t a tangled mess of lips and roaming hands on the way to her bedroom; no, they were just two googly-eyed lovers undressing each other with their eyes.

  In a way, it was more fun this way. She could imagine what lay ahead, what might be waiting for her beneath those pants.

  Back at the room, Sondra dismissed the nanny who had been watching over Nessa, then checked on the baby. Sleeping peacefully. She returned to the main bedroom, where Robel had propped his crutches against the wall. He was undoing his watch, his sultry gaze trained on her.

  Nervousness hit her, swift like an uppercut. She stalled, then headed for the far corner of the room.

  “Do you want some tea?” she asked.

  “No.” He tossed his watch onto the night stand. “I want you.”

  A shiver raced up her spine. She couldn’t argue with that. She spun on her heel and went over to him. He sat back on the bed, tugging at her wrists. She stumbled forward between his legs. Her arms went around his neck automatically.

  She pressed her forehead to his forehead and drew a deep breath. She could get used to this. Robel felt secure, safe in a way she didn’t remember feeling before. She tilted her head up to look at him.

  “I want to savor every second of this,” he murmured, running his thumb along her jawline. “You’re too beautiful not to.”

  She rolled her lips inward. Somehow, it was still hard for her to believe that he was into her. It wasn’t the fact that he was handsome—she’d had plenty of handsome lovers in her life—but the fact that he was a sheikh. A prince. Royalty. These were new waters for her. And she was finally ready to wade in.

  “Yeah. We should go slow,” she whispered, dragging her lips along his jawline. “So we don’t forget a single thing.”

  He laughed throatily. “I won’t forget a single thing.
Trust me.”

  His words served as the final password that unlocked their lovemaking. Their lips met, slow but sensual kisses emerging. Sondra’s pussy pulsed with anticipation, and his hands roamed over her arms, up her sides, down the front of her shirt. He tugged at the fabric, loosening it from the waist of her pants, then tugged it up and over her head. He tossed it aside, his gaze gobbling her up.

  “This.” He ran his fingers down the silken strap of her bra, dancing lightly over her the full cups of her breasts. Her head tilted back, a slight sigh escaping her. She knew what he meant. She’d been wanting this just as long as he had.

  He issued a low growl as his thumbs tweaked each nipple through the fabric of her bra. Then he tugged the cups down, allowing her breasts to spill free. She gasped, eyes jerking open as he took each nipple between his lips in turn.

  “Ohhhh, Robel,” she whispered, her hands finding his black, neatly trimmed hair. He made a small noise as he licked and lavished attention on each breast. One of his hands drifted down the side of her body, over the expanse of her hip. Then he was gathering the loose fabric of her skirt in one hand, tugging it up so his hand could fish its way beneath.

  “This is what I think needs the most attention,” he whispered, his hand meeting her inner thigh. Her breath hitched as his fingers skimmed up, up, up toward the crease of her pussy. She nearly stopped breathing once his fingertips brushed the damp crotch of her panties.

  “Y-y-yes,” she said, voice shuddery. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, too afraid to move, in case he stopped and somehow this all turned out to be a dream. God help her, she was getting laid by a sheikh tonight. Or at the very least fingered.

  “You like that,” he murmured, more statement than question. His thumb made a lazy circle around the tight nub of her clit. Her knees shook as he teased her. He steadied her with his other hand, his dark gaze grounding her as he stared up at her. “We’re just getting started,” he said, brushing his lips against her collarbone at the same time his thumb nicked her clit.