A Sheikh for Christmas (All I want for Christmas is... 1)

She’d made love with Daveed Rafik, her ex-fiancé’s best friend, and she’d liked it.

Hell, she’d loved it.

Unable to suppress a grin, she carefully raised her head to peek over her shoulder at him, still asleep behind her. It should be against the law for a man to be so rumpled and still look so damned sexy. His dark hair was sticking up at odd angles around his head, the shadow of stubble on his jaw had grown significantly overnight, and he was snoring lightly. Yet even with all that, she couldn’t seem to stop staring at his full, soft lips. At the way his long dark lashes fanned out over his high, chiseled cheekbones. At the faint hint of his aftershave and shampoo still lingering in the air. The man was drop-dead, drop-your-panties gorgeous. No two ways about it. She shifted slightly beneath the arm he had slung protectively around her waist, until she was on her back. This close, she could see every muscle and sinew in his cut torso. Could see his brown nipples through the smattering of dark hair on his pecs. Nipples she knew to be exquisitely sensitive to her lips and her touch. He murmured something in his sleep and tugged her close to him and her heart gave a quiver of joy before melting into a puddle of goo. She’d come to the condo to find a place to stay. She’d never expected to find love as well.

Her thoughts snagged on that last word.

Whoa. Wait a minute. Melody frowned. She’d just gotten out of one relationship. The last thing she needed right now was another one. It wouldn’t be fair to her or to Daveed to jump into something with him on the rebound. No matter how tempting it might sound. She was confusing physical intimacy with something more. That was it. And yes, the sex had been amazing. But that didn’t mean she had to go and get her heart involved, did it? No. It did not. Keeping her emotional distance when she was so vulnerable was the smart thing to do, the wise thing to do.

And since her vow to start over again, Mel was all about doing the smart, wise thing.

Slowly, so as not to wake Daveed, she slid out from under his arm and climbed from the bed. After hitting the bathroom, she tugged on her clothes from the night before and cast one last, furtive glance back at him in the bed—he’d stretched out to cover basically the entire bed now, his long limbs covering the mattress from corner to corner, and the sheet dipping precariously low on his hips to reveal the upper curve of his muscled backside—then tiptoed out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

She’d mastered that skill while staying with him, along with making toast and eggs. One more thing she could thank Daveed for when the time came to leave. Her chest gave an unexpected squeeze at the thought of walking away from all this domestic bliss they shared in the condo, even if it was only an illusion. This, right here, was all she’d ever wanted. A safe, stable, loving home, with a good man who cared for her as much as she cared for him. And maybe it was naïve and a bit silly, but then again, so was she.

After scooping fragrant grounds into the filter and pouring water into the back of the machine, she hit the start button then walked out into the living room area to straighten up. The throw they’d used under the tree was still bunched on the floor and their clothes were scattered everywhere. Chuckling, she picked everything up and set it right, then took a seat on the sofa, staring out into the snowy New York dawn. Faint bands of lighter gray were just becoming visible between the tall skyscrapers in the distance and it wouldn’t be long before the new day began.

How would Daveed react when he woke and remembered what they’d done last night? Would he care? Would anything change between them now? Would he want more from her? More time? More attention? More… commitment?

More importantly, would she want those things from him?

Whenever she used to think about her engagement to Heath, her insides felt tied in knots from tension. There’d been so much extra baggage tied into her relationship with him—her parents’ wants and needs and expectations; her own doubts about whether things would ever work out between them; Heath’s lack of attention and care toward her.

Funny enough, though, when she considered the possibility of taking that next step with Daveed, she felt only peace. Peace and excitement. After all, Melody really liked Daveed for who he was as a person. His smokin’ hot body and the fact he was frigging royalty were just bonuses, for goodness sake. And yes, he’d said he never intended to ascend to his country’s throne, but the fact was, it was still an option for him. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine living life as a princess on some exotic Middle Eastern island, surrounded by servants and sand and untold luxury. It would make the Park Avenue mansion she’d grown up in look like trailer trash.

Then his confession to her about having an arranged marriage himself clanged inside her head. He’d never really said how he’d gotten himself out of that. Was that why he’d left Al Dar Nasrani? To get away from his responsibilities? To flee the oppression his parents tried to foist on him?

Her mind continued to analyze his reasons for leaving behind what sounded like a true paradise for a tough life in the military as the coffee maker beeped and she walked back into the kitchen. She’d just finished stirring cream and sugar into her mug when a soft knock sounded on the front door.

Melody frowned and glanced at the digital clock above the stove. It was not even six o’clock yet. Who in the world would visit at this ungodly hour? Curious, she walked over to peer out the peephole in the door, thinking maybe it was the newspaper delivery person, or perhaps Heath or Murphy had forgotten their keys. But what she saw when she looked through the oculus was a stunning Arabic woman dressed in an expensive designer suit, her long, lustrous hair so dark that it shown midnight blue highlights beneath the overhead, recessed lighting.

Frowning, Mel cracked the door open, leaving the security chain in place. “May I help you?”

The woman looked a bit surprised, her dark almond-shaped eyes widening slightly. “I’m sorry. Perhaps I have the wrong address. I was looking for the residence of Mr. Daveed Rafik.”

A strange sense of foreboding sank over Mel like a shroud as she slowly slid the security chain free and opened the door wider. “This is where he’s staying. Who are you?”

“My name is Shayma bint Amr Kahlan.” She smoothed a shaky hand down the front of her impeccable black Chanel pant suit and gave Mel a small smile. “I’m Daveed’s fiancée.”

Floored by that statement, Mel stood gaping at the woman for what seemed a small eternity. When she finally could find words, she didn’t really know what to say. Not wanting to have this conversation in the hall, however, where prying ears and cameras might capture it, Mel gestured for the woman to enter. “Please, come in.”

“Thank you.” Shayma walked inside, rolling her Vuitton luggage behind her as she looked around the condo. All Mel could t

hink was thank goodness she’d picked up their underwear before Daveed’s intended arrived. Guess that answered the question of how he’d broken off his engagement too. He hadn’t.

“And who are you?” Shayma asked, giving Mel a polite smile. She stood a good six inches taller than Melody and could’ve easily passed for a supermodel. Mel had never felt more self-conscious in her life, standing in her ex-fiancé’s kitchen in last night’s clothes, hair ratty and makeup smeared, looking totally fucked—both literally and figuratively. She ran a shaky hand through her hair, then held it out to their unexpected guest. “Melody Hascall-Ebons. I’m Daveed’s… friend.”

“Nice to meet you.” Shayma gave her hand a firm shake. If she recognized Mel’s name or had heard any of the gossip about her, the woman had the grace not to show it, thank goodness. “Is Daveed here? I know it’s early, but my flight just arrived at JFK and I was hoping to see him as soon as possible to discuss our upcoming marriage.”

Good thing Mel had set her coffee aside earlier and hadn’t been drinking it just then because she would’ve snorted it through her nose in shock. Marriage? Daveed? Upcoming? Pain and regret stabbed her square in the heart. This. This was exactly why she needed to keep her emotions firmly out of play where Daveed was concerned. He was clearly unavailable.

“Um, he’s still sleeping, I think.” Mel pointed toward the stools at the bar. “I’ve just made some fresh coffee. Would you like some?”

“Oh yes, please. Thank you.” Shayma moved like she was stalking down a runway and took a seat while Mel schlepped her way back into the kitchen to pour a second cup of coffee. “This home belongs to Daveed’s friend, Heath Goldwin, yes?”

“Yes.” Mel carried the cup over to the counter for Shayma then picked up her own again, grateful for the heat of the mug to warm her suddenly icy fingers.

“Do you know Heath as well?”