Christmas Bride for the Sheikh

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m going to reward you.’

  He knelt down and his hands parted her thighs. ‘Hazin...’ Flo objected. It was all too clinical. She didn’t want flowers but, hell, a kiss would be nice.

  And then he did kiss her.

  But...there.

  He just scooted her bottom out before lowering his head and thoroughly kissing her. He could be as clinical as he liked if it meant this! He moved her calves to rest on his broad shoulders as she hung onto the edge of the chair.

  His tongue was insistent and he moaned with intent. It was so focused and thorough and Flo found that tears threatened. Her thighs were trembling but his arms clamped them down. She let go of the chair and buried her hands into his hair. His tongue grew more rapid in its intimate perusal and her bottom tried to lift as she began to climax, but he pinned her down and she tugged at his thick black hair as she met utter bliss.

  Then he stood and simply picked her up and did as she had asked.

  He took her to bed.

  It was already turned down, but he pushed the sheets further back and deposited her there.

  And she lay on her side, trying to recover and somewhat bemused as she watched him undress, for she had wanted to do that part.

  Hazin was like no other lover.

  He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks.

  She wanted to feel the muscled arms beneath the white shirt.

  Yet he denied her that pleasure.

  She wanted to tug at his belt and to feel him, yet she breathlessly watched instead.

  God, he was exquisite.

  Lean and strong and completely unabashed. He smiled over to her, an arrogant smile, and she returned it, for they were feasting on each other with their eyes.

  He went into the bedside drawer and took out a condom. She reached out to touch him but he slapped her hand back. Again she had to settle for watching and she bit on her lip as he stood and gave his long thick length a couple of deft strokes before sliding on the condom.

  It shouldn’t have been sexy, yet it absolutely was. She was burning from her roots to her toes, on fire as he climbed into bed beside her.

  And then finally, finally he kissed her.

  He rolled her onto her back and he gave her all that had been denied until now. His tongue was probing and his mouth was urgent and rough. Finally, she felt those muscled arms and the satin of his skin. He drove into her and she cried out because he was not a gentle lover, but his controlled power was the just the right kind roughness, for he stroked her deep inside and seemed to read her wants instinctively.

  Hazin spoke in Arabic, yet she somehow understood every word, for they were so hot together and so damned good.

  Worries fell like dominos.

  That row at work? Gone.

  The bastard earlier? Forgotten.

  Obsolete.

  Hazin felt the same.

  For the first time utterly attuned to another person.

  He had tasted her first peak of pleasure, but the second gripped him and the shudder and pulsing grip of her just about finished him.

  ‘Hazin,’ Flo begged, because she was utterly spent, and then, when it should have been over, he kissed her back.

  A kiss so soft and slow it tasted of the romance both had denied.

  It was like finding herself in the wrong dream.

  Scary almost to know him tender as well as urgent and passionate.

  And even scarier for Flo to reveal her other side.

  Flo opened her eyes and met his and there was a moment of utter connection. Her legs loosened their grip on him and he thrust slowly. So intimate and slow were they that she deep-kissed his neck, tasting the salt of his skin, as they locked into each other; tasting each other, and raining kisses as he took her to a place she had never been.

  It felt like the edge of something, like she had finally stumbled into the right dream as he called her name and reached his own moment of release. And when there was nothing left to give, her body found an untapped resource, for she beat to his tune, this utter giddying orgasm, that only he could evoke.

  His weight on her felt necessary and, oh, so right.

  She could lie there and not think for a moment, just enjoy the bliss of them both sated.

  He really was bliss, for there was no dark silence afterwards, just a light kiss and the warmth of his embrace.

  ‘I’m glad you were there tonight,’ Hazin said.

  So was she.

  * * *

  Flo awoke, of course, with regret.

  Please, she bargained with the powers that be, reverse this mistake and I will give up men for life.

  Then she felt the wetof his tongue and the warmth of his breath on her neck and the light dusting of his fingers on her stomach.

  And then the tearing of the condom foil lit her like a match as he pulled her against him.

  Tomorrow, she vowed as he slipped inside her.

  She would start being good tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HAZIN SHOWERED AND thought of the woman who now lay in his bed.

  He liked her being there.

  Flo made him laugh and that in itself was unusual for there had been little laughter of late.

  As a rule, Hazin offered no breakfast with bed that might encourage an overnight guest to stay longer, but he came out and dried himself with a towel and found he had not changed his mind—he wanted her here.

  ‘Do you want breakfast?’

  ‘That would be lovely,’ Flo said, and sat up as he picked up the bedside phone and ordered breakfast for two.

  She did not know how to tell Hazin that she knew who he was and wished that she had got it out of the way last night.

  Now she stood watching him dry off. There was a bruise on his chest that her mouth had made and another on his neck. He was muscled and toned and his length was rising from his thigh. He watched her watching it.

  ‘Did I miss a bit?’ he said, holding the towel out to her. She wanted to take it, to dry his glistening skin and then wet him again with her mouth. Their want and desire was so matched, and her body so willing, but she had to clear things up first.

  ‘Hazin,’ Flo said, declining the towel, and she swallowed nervously as he resumed his leisurely drying off. ‘Last night, I came—’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I mean I came to Dion’s in the hope...’ Her words were coming out wrong, Flo knew that, but she just didn’t know how best to tell him. So she simply did. ‘I knew that you’d be here.’

  The towel stopped in mid-stroke of his thigh.

  ‘Meaning?’ he said, and then gave a derisive laugh. ‘You know who I am.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Did you get your photo of me?’

  ‘Hazin!’

  ‘Or are you off to sell your story now?’

  ‘Please listen—’

  ‘No, you listen.’ He pulled on his clothes with some difficulty for the angry words had fired him, and as he attempted to tuck himself in, words hissed out through his teeth. ‘Do what you want. I don’t care...’

  ‘I’m a friend of Maggie’s.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The woman you met on the yacht...’

  ‘You mean the one who bribed me?’

  ‘No.’ Flo knelt up on the bed, shaking her head, and then she pulled the sheet up to cover her for everything had vanished in a heartbeat—the intimacy, the carefree nakedness, the laughter, all that they had so recently found swept away by her careless words.

  ‘Hazin...’ She took a breath, and though her mouth was open she did not know what to say.

  Clearly Maggie had stayed away last night for a reason. Perhaps she had changed h
er mind about telling Ilyas that she was carrying his child?

  And now certainly wasn’t the time or place to tell Hazin!

  ‘Get out,’ he said, and his voice whipped the tense air.

  ‘Hazin, what happened last night had nothing to do with Maggie. I didn’t come to the bar intending to sleep with you.’

  He was too used to this, Hazin thought as he marched through to the lounge and retrieved her underwear and dress that they had so happily disposed of last night. He walked back to the bedroom and tossed them to her on the bed.

  ‘Get out!’ he said again.

  But then he changed his mind, for he could not wait however long it would take her to dress for Flo to be gone. ‘Actually, I’m going to go,’ he told her. ‘I want you out of here by the time I get back. If you’re not, I’ll ask Security to have you removed.’

  She knew how effective his security was.

  He grabbed his wallet and phone and pocketed his keys.

  ‘Stay for breakfast at least,’ he sneered. ‘You certainly earned it.’

  * * *

  Hazin kicked at the kerb as he walked down the street.

  It was grey, raining and cold.

  His phone kept ringing and he was in no mood to talk to anyone. It couldn’t be Flo because they hadn’t exchanged numbers yet pulled it out to check.

  It was Ilyas.

  Ilyas was persistent and Hazin was in just the mood for a row.

  ‘What the hell happened to you last night?’ Hazin shouted by way of greeting when he took the call.

  ‘We need to speak.’

  ‘Well, had you turned up as arranged we would have.’

  ‘Hazin, this is important.’

  * * *

  They met at a café and drank strong coffee.

  Hazin could feel his brother’s eyes sweep over his neck and the bite mark Flo had left. ‘I don’t need another lecture.’

  ‘I’m not here to lecture you,’ Ilyas said.

  ‘And I don’t need to be reminded that the yachts and jets will be pulled. I can afford to pay for my own.’

  Hazin was not idle.

  After Petra’s death he had returned to England with the intention to further his education and attend university, as had always been his aim. He hadn’t been able to focus, though, so had started to dabble in property.

  Whatever Hazin dabbled in did well.

  He did not need Royal privilege to survive; in fact, without it Hazin thrived. Yes, he had been given an amazing start but he had a good eye and even if he had been born to a beggar he still would have done well.

  His parents knew it and loathed that fact.

  ‘Hazin,’ Ilyas said, ‘I have already told you that I am not here to lecture you. I have something important to tell you—yesterday I spoke with our father in front of the Palace elders and I told him that things are changing—’

  ‘They will never change.’ Hazin dismissed the notion. ‘Not while he is King.’

  ‘I have told him that there are to be no decisions made without my approval and that there is to be a transition of power to me.’

  Now Hazin looked up. ‘He would never agree to that.’

  ‘I gave him no choice but to agree. I made it clear that if he refused then I am prepared to take it to the people,’ Ilyas said. ‘Would I have your support?’

  ‘You don’t need it.’

  ‘I want it, though.’

  Hazin looked at his brother.

  A stranger.

  He wanted to believe change could happen, yet could not really see it taking place. Yet there was a stir of relief within Hazin that his brother would be stepping up, an intrinsic trust that Ilyas would get things right, yet he did not know where that feeling came from for they had been raised apart. ‘You have my support.’

  ‘I want you beside me.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Hazin shook his head. He would support his brother in his ventures but he would not be returning home.

  ‘Hazin, there has been a lot of damage done by him. If things are to be put right it’s going to take a lot of work to win back people’s trust. You returning to Zayrinia would speak volumes.’

  ‘You expect me to upend my life on the premise that things may change?’

  ‘They shall change. And there is something else I am here to tell you,’ Ilyas said. ‘I am going to marry in two weeks’ time.’

  ‘So much for change.’ Hazin shrugged and took a drink of his coffee. Ilyas had always refused to marry, insisting the harem more than sufficed. ‘You simply gave in to him.’

  It had infuriated their father that Ilyas had refused to marry. He had long wanted to select a bride for his son and for there to be a Royal wedding.

  At the age of eighteen Hazin had received his exam results. He had worked incredibly hard and the results had been outstanding.

  His father hadn’t even commented.

  Instead of attending university in England, as had been Hazin’s dream, finally he’d found something he could do that might please his father the King.

  There was going to be a Royal wedding—Hazin’s.

  Petra had been chosen as his bride and they had first met at the wedding itself.

  Both had been eighteen and Hazin could well remember looking out from the balcony at the cheering crowds and wondering what the hell he had done, while trying to hide it from his bride.

  Ilyas dragged him from his introspection. ‘You remember Maggie?’

  Hazin frowned at the sound of that name again.

  He hadn’t seen her in six months. Even then, all they had shared was a conversation and that alone had caused so much trouble.

  Yet in the space of an hour he had heard her name twice.

  Once from Flo, now from his brother.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Last night I asked Maggie to marry me.’

  Hazin suddenly felt caught.

  Nothing at all had happened between Maggie and himself. It had been a set-up and the cameras watching had hoped something would.

  It hadn’t.

  But Hazin had asked the Palace to pay the ransom demand because of the conversation that had taken place between them. Thankfully, though, their voices had not been recorded and so no one other than Maggie knew what had been said.

  He had spoken openly, perhaps far too openly, but he had felt safe in the knowledge he would never see Maggie again.

  Yet now he was being told she was to marry his brother!

  Had she told Ilyas what he had said?

  ‘Maggie is pregnant,’ Ilyas told him. ‘The baby is due in three months.’

  ‘So while you were nailing me to the wall for something Maggie and I didn’t do, all the time you were—’

  ‘Hazin,’ Ilyas interrupted, ‘I had Maggie brought to the desert to find out what was going on, because I assumed she was blackmailing you. She wasn’t. We fell in love.’

  And that silenced Hazin, for it was something he’d never thought he would hear from Ilyas’s mouth.

  His brother had always seemed cold and aloof and yet he was sitting in a café, telling him there would be changes in the Palace and that he had fallen in love.

  And, yes, Maggie had spoken.

  The content of the conversation had been private. Words had been said to a stranger with confidence they would never meet again.

  Instead, Ilyas relayed what he had said that day.

  ‘Maggie told me you said on the yacht that you hoped to be disinherited.’

  ‘Well, she shouldn’t have repeated what was clearly a private conversation,’

  ‘It remains just between us. I shall not be taking what was said to the elders.’

  Oh, Ilyas was so controlled and formal, Hazin tho
ught, and shot him a look as he spoke on.

  ‘I understand too that you don’t want to speak at Petra’s anniversary...’

  ‘Maggie’s been busy!’ Hazin sneered.

  ‘I had to drag the conversation from her.’

  Hazin felt as if his most private thoughts were being raked over by a stranger.

  ‘I know this must be difficult for you,’ Ilyas attempted. ‘You must miss Petra—’

  He knew nothing.

  Ilyas, who had always been so distant, suddenly reaching out did not sit right with Hazin.

  ‘We don’t talk, Ilyas. We never have, unless it was you telling me to raise my game. You know nothing of my life yet ten years after Petra’s death you sit here and tell me you know how I feel?’ Hazin shook his head. ‘Too late.’

  ‘No.’ Ilyas said. ‘I want—’

  ‘You can keep wanting, then,’ Hazin said. ‘But I have no desire to come back home, and certainly not for a wedding.’

  The last one he had been to had been his own.

  They had all assumed he had been blinded with grief since Petra’s death and that was why he had gone off the rails.

  They didn’t know him at all and it was too late now to try.

  ‘Why didn’t you show up last night?’ Hazin asked.

  He saw Ilyas’s slight eyebrow rise at the odd question, given the rather vital news, but Hazin was starting to realise what might have occurred.

  ‘I went to see Maggie,’ he said. ‘She was actually on her way to try and meet you, so you could have me contact her.’

  Hazin pressed his fingers into his forehead and closed his eyes. He could see now what had happened. Worse, he could see himself tossing Flo her clothes and shouting at her to get out.

  He had to get back and try to explain somehow, and now had no desire to play catch-up with his brother.

  ‘Good luck with the wedding,’ Hazin said, and stood.

  Ilyas did not try to dissuade him from leaving. They may not have been close, but he knew his younger brother would take time later to think it through.

  And Hazin would.

  Right now there was somewhere else he needed to be.

  He walked briskly back to the hotel and took the elevator up to his floor. He pulled out his card and swiped the door open.