The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance by Holly Rayner Page A
Authors: Holly Rayner
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he said, his eyes searching mine. "But you do."
"I don't deserve this," I said hoarsely. "I don't deserve for you to be so good to me."
"Since when has that ever made a difference, in matters such as these?"
Before I could answer, his lips came down to mine. He kissed me softly, without the urgency that had been between us that night in the ballroom. One of his hands cupped my jaw, the other went to my hip, bringing me nearer. If our first kiss had been like fire, this one was like rain, sweet and quenching, tender and sure. I returned his kiss with slow eagerness, drinking him in without thought or shame.
When he drew back, my eyes were wet. He smiled at me, and my cheeks flushed red.
"Of course I came for you," he said gently. He lifted his hand and touched a spot above my cheekbone, a little scratch I'd gotten when the cop had pushed me to the ground. "I hate that they hurt you."
"It's nothing. It doesn't even hurt anymore."
"Please promise me, Annabelle, that you won't do this again, not ever. If you need anything, tell me."
I looked away from him. "Sadiq, you don't—"
"Just tell me, please. I cannot keep worrying that tomorrow, or a month from now, I'll get a different call about you, and you'll be gone."
I met his eyes and saw fear there for the first time.
I don't know why you matter, but you do.
"I promise."
TWELVE
"You can't give me a car."
"Of course I can. It's mine, is it not?"
We stood together in Sadiq's enormous garage. It was a cold, echoing space, with a half dozen luxury vehicles parked in a neat row. I looked from the red Audi in front of us to the bunch of keys he held out to me.
"It's too much," I insisted. "I just can't."
He sighed and lowered his hand.
"If it makes you feel better, you can consider it a loan. Until your legal troubles are resolved."
At home in my kitchen, I'd reluctantly told Sadiq about my car, my phone, and my inaccessible bank accounts. He'd offered to loan me money, and I'd refused. I'd taken him up on his offer of lunch in hopes it would satisfy his desire to help me without doing too much to deepen the already massive debt I owed him. After a delicious meal at a restaurant I feared was much too sophisticated for my faded jeans and oversized sweater, I'd gone with him back to his house, presumably to retrieve the scarf, hat, and gloves I'd left on our snowman. After we'd arrived, though, he'd led me to his garage and showed me the car. He'd tried to downplay the gesture by telling me how he never drove the car, how he'd been thinking of selling it or donating it to charity anyhow. Whichever way he explained it, though, the idea of taking such a gift from a man I hardly knew alarmed me.
"I appreciate it. I really do, but I’ll be fine. I can take the bus, or a taxi."
"With the money you won't borrow from me?"
I ignored his comment.
"This just feels like taking advantage of you. You've already given me so much. I mean, a hundred thousand dollars! That's so much more than I could ever ask. I can't take anything else from you, Sadiq. I don't want you to think—" I broke off, embarrassed.
He narrowed his eyes at me.
"You don't want me to think what?"
I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. The temperature had dipped again, and the wind blew hard, whistling as it rushed against the building.
"I don't want you thinking that I'm some kind of... gold-digger."
"Gold-digger?" he repeated, puzzled. "I don't understand what you mean."
"It's an expression. It means a woman who just wants money and gifts from the man she's with."
"Like a prostitute?"
"Not exactly. A prostitute is honest about what she wants. A gold-digger manipulates. She deceives men, uses them."
He nodded. "Ah, yes. I think I understand what you mean."
"Don't you have women like this in Almarain?"
"Sure. But you have to understand, some things
"I don't deserve this," I said hoarsely. "I don't deserve for you to be so good to me."
"Since when has that ever made a difference, in matters such as these?"
Before I could answer, his lips came down to mine. He kissed me softly, without the urgency that had been between us that night in the ballroom. One of his hands cupped my jaw, the other went to my hip, bringing me nearer. If our first kiss had been like fire, this one was like rain, sweet and quenching, tender and sure. I returned his kiss with slow eagerness, drinking him in without thought or shame.
When he drew back, my eyes were wet. He smiled at me, and my cheeks flushed red.
"Of course I came for you," he said gently. He lifted his hand and touched a spot above my cheekbone, a little scratch I'd gotten when the cop had pushed me to the ground. "I hate that they hurt you."
"It's nothing. It doesn't even hurt anymore."
"Please promise me, Annabelle, that you won't do this again, not ever. If you need anything, tell me."
I looked away from him. "Sadiq, you don't—"
"Just tell me, please. I cannot keep worrying that tomorrow, or a month from now, I'll get a different call about you, and you'll be gone."
I met his eyes and saw fear there for the first time.
I don't know why you matter, but you do.
"I promise."
TWELVE
"You can't give me a car."
"Of course I can. It's mine, is it not?"
We stood together in Sadiq's enormous garage. It was a cold, echoing space, with a half dozen luxury vehicles parked in a neat row. I looked from the red Audi in front of us to the bunch of keys he held out to me.
"It's too much," I insisted. "I just can't."
He sighed and lowered his hand.
"If it makes you feel better, you can consider it a loan. Until your legal troubles are resolved."
At home in my kitchen, I'd reluctantly told Sadiq about my car, my phone, and my inaccessible bank accounts. He'd offered to loan me money, and I'd refused. I'd taken him up on his offer of lunch in hopes it would satisfy his desire to help me without doing too much to deepen the already massive debt I owed him. After a delicious meal at a restaurant I feared was much too sophisticated for my faded jeans and oversized sweater, I'd gone with him back to his house, presumably to retrieve the scarf, hat, and gloves I'd left on our snowman. After we'd arrived, though, he'd led me to his garage and showed me the car. He'd tried to downplay the gesture by telling me how he never drove the car, how he'd been thinking of selling it or donating it to charity anyhow. Whichever way he explained it, though, the idea of taking such a gift from a man I hardly knew alarmed me.
"I appreciate it. I really do, but I’ll be fine. I can take the bus, or a taxi."
"With the money you won't borrow from me?"
I ignored his comment.
"This just feels like taking advantage of you. You've already given me so much. I mean, a hundred thousand dollars! That's so much more than I could ever ask. I can't take anything else from you, Sadiq. I don't want you to think—" I broke off, embarrassed.
He narrowed his eyes at me.
"You don't want me to think what?"
I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. The temperature had dipped again, and the wind blew hard, whistling as it rushed against the building.
"I don't want you thinking that I'm some kind of... gold-digger."
"Gold-digger?" he repeated, puzzled. "I don't understand what you mean."
"It's an expression. It means a woman who just wants money and gifts from the man she's with."
"Like a prostitute?"
"Not exactly. A prostitute is honest about what she wants. A gold-digger manipulates. She deceives men, uses them."
He nodded. "Ah, yes. I think I understand what you mean."
"Don't you have women like this in Almarain?"
"Sure. But you have to understand, some things
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