His Hired Bride, Page 25

"I can’t believe this! You weren't kidding!"

  "Why would I kid about this?"

  "It's a ballroom, Sadiq. You have an honest-to-God ballroom. In your house."

  I took a few steps toward the center of the polished marble floor, wobbling just a little. With each drink Sadiq had poured for me, the bourbon had gone down a little smoother. I tilted my head back and stared at the massive crystal chandelier that hung overhead. The electric lights at the center made spots appear in front of my eyes. I was only half sure this was really happening.

  "It's just a big room, Annabelle." Sadiq stood waiting in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he regarded me with amusement.

  "It is not!” I pointed my finger at him seriously. “It's a room that you fill with fancy dresses, tuxedos, an orchestra... It's a fairytale room. You have a fairytale house and you don't even know it."

  He shook his head.

  "Formal balls are not as fun in real life as they are in cartoons, little thief. At a real ball, everyone stands around and speaks very carefully. The drinks are horribly weak, and the laughter is fake."

  "I'd come to your ball and laugh for real," I said, closing my eyes and picturing it. I attempted a one-person waltz, turning in spinning steps around the floor.

  "I know that you would," he said. His words didn't slur the least bit. Despite matching me drink for drink, he gave no sign of intoxication. I, on the other hand, knew I would be leaving his house in a cab tonight.

  I stopped dancing when the dizziness became too intense. We stood at opposite sides of the room, staring at each other across the empty space.

  How strange this night had become.

  Earlier, as we shared our fireside Thai food and bourbon, we'd started trading stories of our respective holiday traditions. I told Sadiq about the almond cookies my mother had baked with Marion and me every year to set out for Santa. The recipe had been my grandmother's, and we only had the cookies at Christmas.

  "We should totally make them now," I said, struggling to my feet.

  "With what?" he laughed. "We hardly managed tea, remember?"

  "Oh, right." I sat back down on the couch. "Well, you tell me one of yours. What does a sort-of-Muslim family traveling in America do on Christmas?"

  "My mother hung stockings for us," he said. "That tradition doesn't just exist in the West, you know. Many people hang stockings or put out shoes to be filled with treats."

  "What did you get in your stocking? My mother always put in an orange, down in the toe."

  "Hmm, I'm not sure I remember," he said. "Chocolate, I think. And...yes, hazelnuts!" His face brightened at the memory. "My father loved hazelnuts and always stole them from us."

  "What about your presents?" I asked. "I mean, I'm sure yours were better than mine. I bet you got ponies and stuff, but did you have to wait until Christmas to open them?"

  "Yes and no," he said. "The first Christmas my parents ever tried to celebrate, years before I was born, was in Peru, where they were traveling for business. It's traditional there to wait until midnight on Christmas Eve, then eat a feast. That's how they did it for us.

  It was great fun as a child, being allowed to stay awake so late. We even opened gifts once—no, not ponies—played games, put on music..." He went quiet, his mind far away. When he looked back at me, his eyes were shining. "I've not thought about that in a very long time."

  "They were good days," I said, putting my hand over his.

  "The best days," he agreed.

  I held up my glass, and he touched his to it; a silent toast to those remembered times. We drank, and I thought about how strange it is, to treasure such painful things.

  The mood was suddenly somber, and I tried to lighten it by suggesting we partake in another tradition.

  "How about we play charades?" I asked, hiccupping. "I was always the best at it. They could always guess mine."

  "Charades?" His brow furrowed.

  "Come on. You don't have charades back home?"

  "I don't think so. But, anyway, this is home for me now, not Almarain."

  The way his voice hardened when he named the country made me more determined to get him laughing with me again.

  "Well, if you go back and visit, you should teach them. Everyone should know how to play charades."

  "I don't."

  I was in the middle of taking a sip when he answered me, so I could only shake my head to indicate how unacceptable his ignorance was. I handed him my glass and held up a finger—one minute—as I swallowed and climbed unsteadily to my feet.

  "Okay, not everyone gets a lesson in charades from the Christensen family champion. I'll have you know that I once got them to correctly guess 'Everything's coming up roses.'"

  He stared at me blankly.

  "Okay, fine," I said, "I guarantee you'll be extremely impressed by that after I teach you the game."

  "I'm sure I will," he said, the beginnings of a smile forming on his lips.

  "Okay, so, first, you show how many words the answer is..."

  I drunkenly explained how the game was played, and when I thought he was clear on the rules, I started to act out a charade for him to guess. Being new to the game, it took a long time for Sadiq to figure out my clues.

  Finally, understanding dawned on his face.

  "Breaking and entering?" His eyebrows rose in mock disapproval.

  I touched my nose, nodded, and collapsed backward onto the couch, giggling.

  "See? I am the master!"

  The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. He was gorgeous in the firelight. It was hard to think about him here, alone in this room, night after night. Something in him was so joyful and alive, but I wondered how much longer it would be if he stayed here with only his books for company, and only a bottle for comfort.

  "You're like someone in a story," I said, realizing as I did how ridiculous I must sound.

  "Hmm?"

  "You're like someone... I don't know. Trapped in a castle. Under a spell. You can't be real, Sadiq. This place can't be real. I feel like if I go looking for a bathroom I'm going to end up in a ballroom."

  His expression changed slightly, and my mouth dropped open.

  "No…" I said.

  "I'm afraid so."

  "Seriously? You have a ballroom?"

  "Just a small one. All the old estate homes have them." He waved his hand dismissively and drained his glass.

  "Wow," I said. "Well, I guess that settles it, doesn't it?"

  "Settles what?"

  "I never got through your window last night. I lost my balance, fell off the trellis, knocked my head, and now I'm in some kind of Disney-inspired coma dream." I gave him a little salute with my drinking glass, and tipped it back, finishing it. I set the glass down on an end table.

  "I'd offer you another, but that might be unwise, unless you wish to spend Christmas terribly ill."

  "No, no..." I said, watching the fire. "I want...I want..." I turned to him and our eyes met. His seemed to grow darker.

  "What do you want, little thief?" He rested his hand against the floor and leaned closer to me.

  "I want to see the ballroom."

  He led me through the dark mansion, down two hallways and up a flight of stairs. The room was as dusty and neglected as he'd warned me it would be. There were covers over most of the furniture. When Sadiq switched on the breaker for the lights, two bulbs in the chandelier buzzed and popped, going dark.

  There was light enough, though, to see him as he strode toward me now. All teasing was gone from his face. The gaze he fixed on me was one of desire, and intention.

  I lay my hand over my heart, feeling it race. I felt... I couldn't name it. Was it fear? Desire? Or something else? It occurred to me that I hadn't truly felt anything in years. I had the thought, and then I didn't care that this was crazy or dangerous. I didn't care that I hardly knew him. I felt alive inside, and I knew I'd do anything to feel this way for a little longer. I kept my ey
es on his, not moving, even when he was in arms' reach.

  He didn't hesitate before he put his right hand on my hip. It was a large hand, and a strong one. He slid it around my hip and to the small of my back. Spreading his fingers wide, he pressed me close to him. His chest was hard against mine. He held me against him and with his other hand found mine. He lifted my hand in his, holding it lightly.

  There was a question in his eyes when they met mine. I looked at him uncertainly, and then I thought I understood. I put the hand he wasn't holding on his shoulder and stood up straighter. He gave a small nod and smiled.

  Then we were moving. I wasn't much of a dancer. A friend had taught me a little, but that was years ago. Now, though, as I moved across the empty ballroom in Sadiq's arms, I remembered something she'd said: "Dancing with a strong partner feels like flying."

  Yes, flying.

  There was no music, and he kept the steps simple for my sake, but he made me feel as graceful as any leading lady gliding across a movie screen.

  He started to spin me and I stumbled, but he just caught me against him, holding me against his chest with arms like steel as we turned together. Then suddenly he stopped, and I saw that look of intention in his eyes again, along with another look, something that was almost like pain. I pressed my body against his as he lowered me slowly. My feet had just touched the floor when a clock began to chime.

  He smiled and lifted his hand, brushing my cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers.

  "Midnight," he said. "Merry Christmas, Annabelle." And he brought his lips down to mine.

  His kiss was everything I'd never known I was looking for. It was sweet and sure, strong, but almost teasing. I pressed up on my toes to reach him better, and his fingers dug into my back in response. A helpless sound escaped my throat as I clung to him.

  All analysis and confusion about my feelings for him dissolved into plain truth: with every cell in my body, I wanted him.

  "Sadiq," I breathed when his lips left mine. He held my face in his hands, breathing hard.

  "Annabelle... ya amar..."

  I stretched up, trying to kiss him again, but he pulled back. He wrapped his arms around me and drew a deep breath. A moment later, he looked down at me.

  "You almost make me forget myself, little thief."

  He released me from his arms and stepped back. I frowned.

  "What’s wrong, Sadiq?"

  He shook his head slowly.

  "I poured your drinks myself. If I were to have you tonight...” He looked away, his jaw clenched. “That’s not the man I am."

  I nodded, torn between embarrassment and lust.

  "Will you let me make you comfortable here tonight?" he asked. "I can take you home in the morning."

  "Yes, thank you," I said, realizing how exhausted I was as I stifled a yawn.

  I followed him down the hallway to a large bedroom.

  "You can sleep here," he said. "The bathroom is just through that door. You'll find everything you need in there." He smiled ruefully and turned to leave.

  "Stay with me," I blurted out, grabbing his hand.

  He turned back to face me, frowning.

  "Annabelle, I don’t think I should share your bed tonight."

  I don't see the problem, I thought, frustrated, but I pushed the words away. It wasn't fair to press him on this. It was just my own luck that I'd managed to find the last honorable man in Seattle.

  But I couldn't be alone tonight. The rush of feeling that had come over me earlier was still there, like a fire in my breast. I felt as though I'd opened a door, one I'd kept shut tightly for too long. There was no telling what might come out of that closed-off place inside me, and I wasn't ready to face whatever it was on my own. Tonight was too tender, too lovely.

  "Let's just sit a while longer," I said. "We can go back to the study, by the fire where it's warm."

  He hesitated.

  "If things get too hot and heavy, we can always play charades until it passes," I said.

  He laughed.

  "All right, then," he agreed. "We'll meet the dawn together."

  Sadiq grabbed a pillow to take along with us. I took his hand as he led me from the guest bedroom back to the study.

  The fire was burning lower now. Sadiq stoked it, waking the last of the flames from the shrinking logs. He pulled the fireplace screen closed before coming to join me on the couch.

  "So we don't burn up in each other's arms," he explained, shoving the pillow behind his back as he reclined against the arm of the couch.

  "We wouldn't want that," I said softly.

  I stretched out in front of him, leaning back against his chest. I covered us in the blanket he'd given me earlier. His arms circled around me. I felt small and safe, and a little like I was someone else. That was okay, though. It would be my gift to myself this Christmas. I would let this man hold me and not ruin it with too much thinking.

  I drifted somewhere between sleep and waking. Sadiq was quiet but I knew he wasn’t asleep; his fingertips stroked my arm lightly. I didn't want to fall asleep, not yet. Tonight was a perfect, balmy place, an enchanted bubble in time that cradled me as sweetly as this man's arms did. Once I slept, tonight would be gone, and tomorrow… Well, tomorrow could be anything.

  "Sadiq?" I asked, yawning.

  "Yes?" He sounded tired, too.

  "Tell me a story?"

  I wouldn't have blamed him for laughing, but he didn't. Nor did he answer right away. When he did speak, he sounded thoughtful.

  "I'm not sure I can."

  "Don't know any good ones?"

  "Oh no, I know a good one. I'm not sure it will be the same in English, though."

  "Then don't tell me in English."

  Another pause, then he began to speak. The unfamiliar syllables flowed over me like music. I closed my eyes and listened as he spoke. In my mind, I tried to invent a story to go along with the words I couldn’t understand.

  I imagined the tale he told me was about a boy who was born so beautiful that the moon fell in love with him and wanted to keep him for herself. The boy didn't want to live on the moon, so he had to flee his homeland and hide away in a castle in a strange land.

  But what happens when a girl from the village discovers the beautiful boy? Does she hide with him forever in the castle? Do they flee together and find a land so full of sunlight that the moon cannot reach them? Or maybe she fights the moon; maybe the village girl is so fierce in her love that the moon herself flees, and leaves the lovers in peace.

  I shifted onto my side. Sadiq caught the edge of the blanket as I moved, keeping me covered and warm. My ear lay against his chest now. When he continued the story, I could hear the rumble of his words within him.

  I fell asleep before the story was finished. In my dreams, I stood with Sadiq on a beach as white as milk. It was night, and the waves crashed with a sound like voices as he kissed me beneath a moonless sky.

  The Sheikh’s First Christmas is available now.

  Also from Holly Rayner:

  Sold To The Sheikh: His Indecent Proposal

  He wants me, he needs me. I never thought I could be in this position; propositioned to be a surrogate to his child, the likely heir of his fortune and family's legacy. And he'll pay me! Enough to put off my money worries for the rest of my life...

  The question is, do I want to do it? He's Rami Al-Hassan, a billionaire Sheikh of The Principality of Al-Andalus, and he certainly isn't accustomed to being turned down.

  I never could have imagined doing something like this before now, but looking into that gorgeously chiseled face, and those sparkling, enigmatic eyes, I can see something behind the ostentatious exterior. Something like love...

  Can I find it within myself to accept the Sheikh's indecent proposal? Can I sell my body to the Sheikh? Can I really carry his child?

  The Sheikh’s First Christmas

  Annabelle Christensen has a busy Christmas planned, but not in the way you might expect.
She's a thief; a professional burglar, who robs the palatial mansions of the rich and famous to put her sister through college and carve out a less than wholesome life for herself. However, this Christmas, she's going to get caught, and nothing will ever be the same again...

  Sheikh Sadiq Al'Adash is used to spending his Christmases locked away in lonely isolation, unwilling to let the cheer of Christmas into his life. So when his house is invaded by Annabelle, he's torn between defending his miserly traditions, and letting a rare ray of Christmas-time cheer shine upon him...

  After a botched burglary attempt, Annabelle is caught locked inside the Sheikh's panic room. She knows her time is up. What she doesn't know is that her Christmas tale is just beginning...

  Can Annabelle find in the Sheikh a way to turn her life around? Can Sheikh Sadiq finally face his own holiday-time demons, and discover a new-found love of Christmas? And can the two of them foster a love from the unlikeliest of meetings, that will change their lives forever?