The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance by Holly Rayner Page B
Authors: Holly Rayner
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are different there. It's expected that a man will provide his woman with whatever she needs. No one would look down on a woman for taking gifts this way."
I wanted to ask, then, if he thought of me that way, as his woman. To say I wasn't ready for that was an understatement.
"It's different here," I said instead. "Here, unless a woman is married to someone, or at least in a very serious relationship with them, people will look down on her for something like this. They look at her like she's cheap, like she's selling herself—and not just her body, her heart, too."
"Because she's only pretending," Sadiq said, taking a step toward me.
"Yes," I agreed.
"I've pretended nothing with you, Annabelle." His breath rose like smoke in the air between us. "Have you been pretending with me?"
"No." I looked down as he took my hand in his. "I've only told you the truth. I've told you more of the truth than anyone else. I've told you things I've never said out loud to anyone."
"Do you believe that I like you?"
"Yes."
"And do you like me? Even if only for friendship?"
I met his eyes.
"Yes, Sadiq. I like you."
I didn't know exactly what that meant, yet, but neither was he demanding to know. He was accepting the simplest part of my feelings for him, the part that didn't stir my blood and muddle my thoughts.
"I believe you, too," he said. "I understand more than you think I do. To accept a gift, that's a sign of trust. It's this way everywhere. In many places, there are rules, customs, that make it easy to know when and how you can accept a gift. Here, you don't have those rules. You have to make a choice each time, asking yourself if you really trust this person.”
"I do trust you," I said. "You know that I do. It's just that--"
"Then trust me when I say that I want you to have this for no other reason than that it pleases me. I want nothing in return, and I take no meaning from this other than a friend giving help to a friend." He lifted the keys again, holding them up between us.
I took them from him with a shaking hand and stared at where they rested in my palm, black plastic and alarm buttons, steel teeth so clean and new it seemed they'd never been used at all. They were held together on a simple fob, silver and shining. I closed my hand around them and looked up at him.
"Thank you," I said.
He reached out and tucked a piece of my hair that had slipped free from my ponytail back behind my ear.
"You're welcome."
THIRTEEN
Sadiq came to my house each day that week, as I waited for the morning of my hearing to arrive. Some days he took me out, to a restaurant or a movie. Sometimes he sat in my kitchen and drank coffee while I washed dishes and told him about Marion, my mother, or the friends I'd had in college. He listened with interest and asked questions, but not the hard ones. He didn't ask me why I didn't have friends to help me now or why my father hadn't been around during my childhood. He didn't ask me if I was going to go back to school or how much I'd told Marion about my arrest.
I'd planned to tell her everything. Sadiq had convinced me to let him buy me another phone. The expensive model he'd picked out was nothing like the old, often temperamental phone I'd left in my confiscated car, and I'd told him so. I'd also told him that I didn't need a new phone at all, not really. I could talk to Marion online until I got my stuff back.
"Really? The police left you your computer?" he'd asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.
I'd made a face at him, but hadn't protested further as he'd paid the cashier.
I'd called Marion that afternoon, but the words I'd practiced died inside me. Instead of telling her that her sister was a thief, and that her college tuition, clothes and books were all stolen, I'd made up a story about a bout of food poisoning that had kept me in bed all Christmas Day. She'd believed me easily,
I wanted to ask, then, if he thought of me that way, as his woman. To say I wasn't ready for that was an understatement.
"It's different here," I said instead. "Here, unless a woman is married to someone, or at least in a very serious relationship with them, people will look down on her for something like this. They look at her like she's cheap, like she's selling herself—and not just her body, her heart, too."
"Because she's only pretending," Sadiq said, taking a step toward me.
"Yes," I agreed.
"I've pretended nothing with you, Annabelle." His breath rose like smoke in the air between us. "Have you been pretending with me?"
"No." I looked down as he took my hand in his. "I've only told you the truth. I've told you more of the truth than anyone else. I've told you things I've never said out loud to anyone."
"Do you believe that I like you?"
"Yes."
"And do you like me? Even if only for friendship?"
I met his eyes.
"Yes, Sadiq. I like you."
I didn't know exactly what that meant, yet, but neither was he demanding to know. He was accepting the simplest part of my feelings for him, the part that didn't stir my blood and muddle my thoughts.
"I believe you, too," he said. "I understand more than you think I do. To accept a gift, that's a sign of trust. It's this way everywhere. In many places, there are rules, customs, that make it easy to know when and how you can accept a gift. Here, you don't have those rules. You have to make a choice each time, asking yourself if you really trust this person.”
"I do trust you," I said. "You know that I do. It's just that--"
"Then trust me when I say that I want you to have this for no other reason than that it pleases me. I want nothing in return, and I take no meaning from this other than a friend giving help to a friend." He lifted the keys again, holding them up between us.
I took them from him with a shaking hand and stared at where they rested in my palm, black plastic and alarm buttons, steel teeth so clean and new it seemed they'd never been used at all. They were held together on a simple fob, silver and shining. I closed my hand around them and looked up at him.
"Thank you," I said.
He reached out and tucked a piece of my hair that had slipped free from my ponytail back behind my ear.
"You're welcome."
THIRTEEN
Sadiq came to my house each day that week, as I waited for the morning of my hearing to arrive. Some days he took me out, to a restaurant or a movie. Sometimes he sat in my kitchen and drank coffee while I washed dishes and told him about Marion, my mother, or the friends I'd had in college. He listened with interest and asked questions, but not the hard ones. He didn't ask me why I didn't have friends to help me now or why my father hadn't been around during my childhood. He didn't ask me if I was going to go back to school or how much I'd told Marion about my arrest.
I'd planned to tell her everything. Sadiq had convinced me to let him buy me another phone. The expensive model he'd picked out was nothing like the old, often temperamental phone I'd left in my confiscated car, and I'd told him so. I'd also told him that I didn't need a new phone at all, not really. I could talk to Marion online until I got my stuff back.
"Really? The police left you your computer?" he'd asked, as if he didn't already know the answer.
I'd made a face at him, but hadn't protested further as he'd paid the cashier.
I'd called Marion that afternoon, but the words I'd practiced died inside me. Instead of telling her that her sister was a thief, and that her college tuition, clothes and books were all stolen, I'd made up a story about a bout of food poisoning that had kept me in bed all Christmas Day. She'd believed me easily,
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