The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance (6 page)

"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.

SEVEN

The first thing I became aware of was the smell of wood smoke. I tried to stretch and realized with a surge of adrenaline that I wasn't in my bed. I opened my eyes, squinting against the morning sunlight that flooded the room.

That's right. I opened his drapes.

Memories of the night before rushed in. I sat up with a start and looked around the room. I was alone. I shivered, pulling the blanket closer around me; the fire in the hearth had died completely, leaving the room cold. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and saw that it was just after nine. I ran my hands through my hair, certain that I looked a mess. Not much to be done about that. I laid the blanket neatly over the back of the couch and went to look for Sadiq.

Everything felt different today. The hallways and rooms of the mansion no longer sparkled with that indefinable magic that had thrilled me last night.

That's wasn't magic. It was bourbon
.

The beginnings of a headache certainly agreed with the idea that I'd simply had too much to drink as Sadiq and I had passed the hours. Still, I couldn't accept that it was just alcohol that had given me those feelings. Even the anxiety I felt now couldn't make me forget how everything had shone; how for one night it had felt as though he and I were alone in the world. That world had felt like a good place, a merciful place.

I wandered through the house until I heard a faint clanging of metal against metal. I followed the sound down to the enormous kitchen Sadiq had shown me the night before. He didn't notice me come in, and I watched from the doorway as he stood at the stove, stirring something in a copper-bottomed pot. His feet, as usual were bare. His expensive jeans hung a little low on his narrow hips, and the long sleeves of his white cotton shirt were pushed up over his elbows.

"I thought you didn't cook," I said, grinning.

He looked up and smiled at me. There was a trace of wariness in his eyes that made me think he was feeling as exposed as I was in the cold light of morning.

"I found oatmeal, salt, sugar... There were instructions on the box. I thought I'd be daring."

I approached him but kept a few feet back, my arms wrapped around myself protectively.

"You didn't have to do that. I can eat at home."

His smile faltered, and he tilted his head.

"Are you all right, Annabelle?"

The way he said my name made my breath catch in my throat. He made my name beautiful. I glanced away.

"I'm okay. A little off-balance, I suppose. Last night was..." I shook my head.

"Yes, I know." He looked into the pot and resumed stirring. "Morning is always there, waiting for us. Isn't it?"

"Yeah. I hate that."

"Last night was wonderful, though." He lifted his eyes to mine, and it was hard not to touch him. "It was a gift, and I'm grateful to you for it."

I didn't trust my voice to respond, so I just nodded. I reached out my hand and touched his arm. His warm skin under my fingers sparked an immediate recollection of being in his arms in the deserted ballroom. I pulled back my hand as my face went red. The memory of his kiss consumed me.

When I was able to meet his eyes again, I saw in them a trace of the hunger that had blazed in them the night before, and I knew he understood why I couldn't speak, why I couldn't stand closer to him. I took a few steps away from him, pretending to be fascinated with an industrial stand mixer while he finished cooking our breakfast.

We ate the oatmeal in the kitchen, standing at one of the stainless steel prep stations. Despite last night's exuberance, neither of us spoke much. Our spoons moving in the ceramic bowls made scraping sounds that were strangely loud in the big, otherwise silent room.

"What will you do today?" he asked.

It was only then that I realized that it was Christmas Day. I had planned to sleep late, do some reading, and Skype with Marion. Now I wasn't sure if I was up to hearing my sister's voice, seeing her smile. She loved me. More than that, she believed in me. But she didn't know who I was, not really. She didn't know the Annabelle who forced open locks and rummaged through strangers' bedrooms. She didn't know that I lied to her almost every time that we spoke, that the job I talked to her about didn't exist.

I dropped my spoon into my bowl and stood up straighter.

"I've got to go."

His look of confusion passed quickly, smoothing into a polite smile.

"Of course."

Sadiq walked with me to the front door. Our shoes and coats were still scattered in the entry where we'd left them after building the snowman. I hid a smile as I pulled on my boots. He held my coat out for me, and even the brief closeness as I grabbed it felt electric.

"Well, goodbye, Sadiq," I said, and turned to open the door.

"Annabelle—"

I turned back, my heart beginning to beat faster.

"May I call you?"

I hesitated. Part of me was still uneasy about giving him my personal information. It was still hard to believe that he wouldn't hand me over to the police. And yet, he'd had the opportunity to turn me in more than once, and hadn't done so.

No, it wasn't fear of arrest that made me afraid of giving Sadiq my phone number. The night I'd spent with him had made me feel things I hadn't been able to feel in years. It had been exciting, even blissful at some moments, but it was terrifying, too. I wasn't ready to be that raw, open version of myself. I still carried too much guilt and shame. I still needed the walls I'd built in order to survive my own choices, but with Sadiq, those walls evaporated like mist.

"Why don't you give me your phone number?" I suggested, forcing a playful smile. "Then I can call you. I'm one of those modern girls, you know. When I meet a new guy, I like to be in control."

He nodded his agreement. Beneath his easy smile, his expression was unreadable. He found a message pad in a drawer and wrote down the number. I folded it and slipped it into the pocket of my jeans, before I remembered something that made me cover my face with my hands and laugh.

"What is it?"

"Your phone," I said. "I cut the line. I can't call you." I wanted to stop laughing; I wanted to apologize, but it was just too ridiculous.

He shook his head and chuckled.

"I had that fixed before you got here yesterday, silly. Don’t worry, when you call me, I will answer. Whether you want to go on a date, or, more likely, a ride from jail, I will answer your call."

My laughter finally subsided. I sighed.

"I'm sorry, Sadiq. I really, really am."

He was standing an arm's length from me. Now he reached across that small distance and stroked my cheek lightly, with the backs of his fingers, the same way he'd done last night in the ballroom.

"Well, I’m not."

I lifted my hand and cradled his where it rested against my cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Sadiq."

"Merry Christmas, Annabelle."

***

I drove home but as I stepped up to the front door I found I couldn't bring myself to go inside. I wasn't ready to see all my stolen possessions again. These things made my home pretty, but they also proved I wasn't the sweet girl that Sadiq saw in me. They were waiting for me inside; waiting to remind me that I was a thief and a liar. I turned my back on the house and started walking with no destination in mind.

Today was warmer than Christmas Eve had been. Still, I hugged my coat around me tightly. I stared down at the broken sidewalk and melting snow, my thoughts wandering.

It was useless to pretend that I could just turn on
It's a Wonderful Life
and be merry. The simmering discomfort of my crimes had boiled over and become unbearable. I didn't want those things in my house for a single day more.

I thought about how long it would take to return the items. Casing a house, making a plan for when the place was empty, could take weeks or months. I felt utterly miserable thinking about living with the evidence of my guilt for all that time.

Except...

I stopped short. The reason I'd burgled so many houses in the last few weeks was because so many wealthy people vacationed over the holidays. And even the ones who'd stayed in town were likely to have plans away from home today. It wasn't yet noon. If I was a little bit lucky, and if I started soon, I could very well return everything today. By this time tomorrow, I could be on my way to feeling like a good person again.