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

“I didn’t say I love her.” The word cut like glass as they left his throat, sounding hollow and false, even to his own ears. Still, he wouldn’t be rushed into anything, pushed into a decision before he was ready. “And she’s not a slut. She’s smart and funny and kind and she’s hit a bit of bad luck, that’s all.”

“Right. I see.” There went the tapping of her toe again and Daveed used all of his willpower not to roll his eyes. Shayma had been a nice girl, a good friend and a fun playmate when he’d been growing up in Al Dar Nasrani, but when she’d turned into such a vexing, confusing, completely confounding woman, he didn’t know. “Fine, then.”

She walked over and grabbed the handle of her expensive wheeled suitcase and headed for the door. “This is not over. I did not travel halfway around the world to give up so easily what is mine. I have a suite at the Plaza Hotel. I need a shower and a nap after my long flight.” She gave him a derisive glance up and down. “From your shabby appearance, we both need to clean up a bit and gather ourselves. We will discuss this again later when we are both more rational.”

With that, she swept out of the condo with all the regal grace of a future queen, her head held high and her posture perfect. Daveed exhaled loudly and slumped against the counter in the kitchen, wondering when in the fuck his life had gotten so out of control.

His phone buzzed from its charger in the corner and he grabbed it, thankful for the distraction. Onscreen flashed a text from Heath.

New lead on Aileen. Meet at my hotel. Half an hour.

Good. Work always centered him and he needed all the help he could get right now. Daveed chugged down the rest of his coffee then headed back to his bedroom to shower and change. As he passed Melody’s door in the hall, he stopped. He’d heard her sobs echoing earlier, and it had taken all his willpower not to charge into the room and gather her in his arms, comfort her and tell her that somehow, some way they’d figure this out and it would be okay. Now, he raised his hand and rested it against the cool wood, as if he might feel her warmth through the door. No such luck. Only silence greeted him. For a moment, he rested his forehead against his hand and closed his eyes. Each time he licked his lips he could still taste her there. His skin was still covered in her scent. And her sweet cries of ecstasy as she’d come apart in his arms lingered in his head. He wanted her, maybe more than he’d ever wanted another woman in his life. But he honestly couldn’t say he loved her because he really didn’t know what love was. His parents hadn’t been in love. Neither had his brothers and their wives. People in Al Dar Nasrani married for money, for power, for protection. Love usually didn’t factor into it.

Now, love seemed to be the most important thing in the world and he had no idea how to recognize it, let alone nurture and grow it with another person. But for Melody he would try. As soon as he got back from his meeting with the guys.

He headed to his bedroom, more determined than ever to get things in his life back on track. First with Aileen’s case, then with Melody.

8

Restless and bored, Mel found herself wandering the streets of Manhattan later that morning. The day was overcast, with only occasional hazy sunshine and the constant gray threat of more snow on the way. She walked through Central Park and over the Gapstow bridge then out onto Fifth Avenue. All the stores had their holiday window displays and she strolled past them, remembering seeing them as a child with her parents. A pang of melancholy pinched her heart before she shoved it aside. Yes, she missed her family. No, she wouldn’t be giving in to their demands and getting back together with Heath. Especially after making love with Daveed.

A car honked nearby and Mel looked up to discover that she’d somehow walked over to the entrance of the Plaza Hotel without realizing it. Sighing, she stared up at the iconic Beaux-Arts architecture. Shayma had mentioned she was staying here before she’d left the condo earlier. Mel had stayed here too, more times than she could count. For some reason she couldn’t quite explain, she headed into the lobby and smiled at the towering Christmas tree set up near the marble staircase in the lobby. As she looked around at all the decorations, a doorman came up to her and bowed slightly.

“Ms. Hascall-Ebons. Wonderful to see you again.” He tipped his hat to her. “How may I help you today?”

“Oh, I…” Unsure what to say, she blurted out the first thing that popped into her head. “I’m here to see a friend who’s staying in one of the suites.”

“Ah.” The doorman led her over to the elegant reception area and hailed the concierge on duty. “Ms. Hascall-Ebons is here to see a friend. Please make sure she’s taken care of.”

Heat prickling her cheeks, Mel thanked the man then turned to face the snooty looking guy behind the counter. Honestly, in her current situation, she couldn’t afford a paper napkin in this place. But they didn’t need to know that. Besides, she sort of did want to see Shayma. After all, she was the only other woman who would know how to deal with Daveed following his hasty retreat this morning.

“Your friend’s name, please?” The concierge asked, not looking at her, his fingers poised on the keyboard in front of him.

“Um, Shayma.” Mel struggled to remember the woman’s long name. “Shayma bint Amr Kahlan. She’s visiting from Al Dar Nasrani.”

Fast click-clacks issued as the guy typed in the name then picked up the phone receiver beside him. “Yes. I’ll just call and let her know you have arrived.”

Eyes wide, Mel swallowed hard. “No! Wait, please. It’s kind of a surprise. If you call, you’ll ruin it.” She looked around, searching for a way to convince him to let her upstairs without advance warning. If Shayma knew she was coming, she might refuse to see her at all. Given the circumstances, Mel couldn’t say she blamed her. But for whatever reason, she felt a kinship with the woman and she wanted to talk to her more. Get her opinion of the situation with Daveed. Her gaze locked on a plaque on the far wall, glowing bronze beneath the recessed lighting. She wasn’t one to throw around her family’s name to get what she wanted, but desperate times called for desperate measures. “My father would not be happy to know his daughter’s plans were ruined. He sits on the board of directors for this hotel. It would be a shame to lose a job so close to the holidays.” A low blow, but an empty threat. She’d never go that far, even if she were speaking to her father at that point. Still, Snooty Guy didn’t know that. She prayed it would give her enough leverage to get upstairs unannounced. “May I have an elevator key card, please?”

The concierge blinked at her several times, not moving, and her hopes nosedived. Then, lips and jaw tight, he reached over and grabbed a black plastic card and ran the magnetic strip through a reader before handing it to her. “One hour. After that the card will expire. Suite 2004.”

“Thank you.” She grinned wide, genuine this time, and snatched the card before heading to the golden elevators across the way. The air smelled of fresh pine and cinnamon and quiet, tasteful carols drifted from the overhead sound system. The entire space was cast in a golden glow from the twinkle lights festooning the marble archways and pillars and for the first time since this whole debacle started, she felt like her old self again. Changed, yes. But maybe st

ronger for it nonetheless.

The elevator doors dinged and Mel stepped onboard, sliding her card into the slot beside the twentieth-floor button then leaning back against the mirrored wall as the car sped upward. Exactly what she planned to say to Shayma when she arrived at the suite was still a mystery, but she’d think of something. She always did.

Minutes later she stood outside the white double doors of Shayma’s suite, smoothing a hand down the front of her pink wool coat. She knocked once, her hand shaking slightly, then waited.

No answer.

Had the concierge gone behind her back and called ahead anyway? She swallowed hard and raised her hand to try again just as the lock inside the suite clicked and the door swung open.

Shayma stood there looking at Mel with wary eyes. She’d changed too, from her more formal travel suit earlier to black pants and a cheery green and red holiday sweater with a fuzzy angora white heart on the front. Mel recognized it from the previous year’s runway shows in Milan.

“What do you want?” Shayma asked, not moving to allow Mel inside, but not totally blocking her way either. Her tone was soft, edged with suspicion. “If you’ve come to gloat over your relationship with Daveed, you can save your energy. I’m tired and I’m not in the mood.”

“Actually, I was kind of hoping we could talk,” Mel said, her small smile trembling. “Men can be such dicks sometimes, right?”