“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, hating 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 franknes
s. 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.
She skidded up to him a moment later, her sweater similarly doused. He ignored how the fabric clung to her breasts. As much as he could, at least.
“Contingency plan is ready,” he said, gripping the handles of his crutches. “We’ll move to the ballroom on the east wing. Can you start heading people that way?”
“Of course.” She flashed a grin and started to go but stopped suddenly. “And just so you know, that was my contingency plan too. You passed the test.”
He resisted the urge to squeeze her waist as she passed by, allowing himself to smile to himself once she was gone. Her voice carried over the din, calling for the children and other event helpers to follow her. While she herded a big group of people toward the back-up plan, Robel waved for Ana, whom he’d spotted wandering around with an arched brow.
“What is going on here?” she asked.
“Change of plans,” he said tersely. “This rain storm was quite unexpected, so we’re going to move everything over to the ballroom. Can you have your staff set up over there?”
“Of course. I think some of the desserts might have been rained on, but we can do our best to replace them.”
Robel thanked her and followed the trail of people heading down the hall. When he reached the ballroom, Sondra was standing on top of a chair, directing people to the appropriate places. She’d already wrangled the unfortunate circumstance into a semblance of control. He watched her for a moment, admiring the strength in her voice, the calmness she oozed despite the chaos.
In moments like these, he was reminded of the calming touch of his mother organizing past Christmases.
There wasn’t a situation that could ruffle her. He could see why his father had chosen her.
Robel crossed the threshold of the ballroom and joined the fray of reorganizing the procession.
12
The day after the musical procession mishap, Sondra walked on eggshells. Every inch of her body trembled with anticipation at seeing Robel, but she didn’t know what to say or how to say it. A large majority of her just wanted to throw herself at him, consequences be damned. Something had shifted between them during yesterday’s event. It wasn’t just the fact that he’d hoisted her against the wall, probably without using pain pills prior.
No, it was something much subtler than that. She’d caught Robel watching her inside the ballroom with something that looked like appreciation. Like maybe, despite his hard-ass, future-ruler exterior, he actually appreciated her contribution. Maybe even had come to rely on it.
He’d disappeared from the event too quickly for her to catch up with him. And like hell would she go seeking him out. Everything was confusing and amiss right now.
But of course, their noontime meet-up loomed. There were plenty of things on today’s agenda to ensure that they wouldn’t dissolve into a mess of roaming hands and lips. Not like Robel would allow that anyway. With her luck, he’d probably just grind up into her and tell her that was that.
She knocked hesitantly on his door, drawing a fortifying breath. What was wrong with some casual sex? Oh yeah, her personal life. His status as the next king. And everything in between.
“Come in.” Robel’s clipped tone made her smirk. She pushed the door open, stepping into his office. He barely glanced at her as she took her seat in front of his desk, which immediately sparked irritation. So this was how he was going to play the game—continue as he had before.
“Good morning,” she said, plopping her files onto his desk. He jolted, meeting her gaze for the briefest of seconds.
“Afternoon,” he corrected, returning to his typing on the computer.
“Whatever.” She sighed, leaning back into the chair. All bets were off now. There was nothing worth hiding anymore. “So why’d you run off so quickly last night?”
“You know I can’t run anywhere,” he muttered.
“Thought maybe you were afraid of seeing me again. You know, like I might stir your passions or something?” She lifted a brow.
He laughed, but it was humorless. “My passions have been sufficiently stirred, thank you. At this point, they need to settle down.”
“Or maybe congeal into a Jell-O mold or…something.” She snorted. “Weird metaphor.”
A grin fluttered across his lips, but it disappeared quickly. A few moments of tense silence crawled by.
“So are we just going to act like there isn’t attraction here?” she ventured, her ears burning. It was hard to be this direct about something so intimate. But at this point? Screw it. She was over the niceties and the pussy-footing. Not just with Robel, but with men altogether in her life.
He grimaced, his dark eyes raking over her. “That’s the best course of action.”
“Ah.” She leaned back in her chair again, dissatisfied with the response. “Great. This will be fun.”
Another ghost of a smile, and then Robel said, “You have a
job to do, as do I. And during this busy season, we need to remain focused. And out of the headlines, if at all possible.”
What he said made perfect sense. It was logical, sane, and smart. Only her pussy was protesting, but that would quiet down in time. At least, she hoped so.
Better to just let it go. She would thank herself later.
Instead of continuing that train of thought, Sondra opened her planner, and they got to work. The two of them launched into the next event on the docket: the living nativity scene, the one thing she’d pegged as her pride and joy. This was going the be the pièce de résistance of her time here, and it needed to be excellent. Planning progressed quickly, and by the end of their hour, Robel had already lined up volunteers to come to the palace for casting as the various characters.
But they were on a roll, and planning stretched into two hours and then three. At one point, Robel ordered coffee and cookies to be delivered. Then it was time to assign parts, which segued into a confirmation via email that the purportedly “very cooperative donkey” had been rented for the event. With Nessa on deck to act as the baby Jesus, almost all the details were complete.
All in a day’s work.
“I need a break,” Sondra finally said, checking her watch. It was a quarter to five. “Or maybe it’s just quitting time. Haven’t we achieved enough today?”
Robel consulted his own watch, then pushed up from the office chair. “Almost. But there’s one last detail to see to.”
“What’s that?” Sondra gathered up her papers, filing things back into their proper folders.
“A well-deserved snack.”
“We had cookies earlier.” Her stomach grumbled at the mention of food, but she didn’t want him to know that. Lest their passions be stirred.
“Yes, but we deserve something better than that. We worked very hard today.” He maneuvered around his desk, jerking his chin toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go.”
She didn’t protest and instead packed up her things and held the door open for him while he crutched his way through. His steps clicked and tapped softly down the spacious hall.
The Sheikh’s Christmas Lover: Christmas With The Yared Sheikhs Book Three Page 7