The Sheikh's First Christmas - A Warm and Cozy Christmas Romance (9 page)

ELEVEN

It was nearly noon when I awoke the next day. I stretched out in bed, feeling sore all over. A panicked run through the woods and a struggle with the police will do that to you, I thought. I sat up in bed and tried to think.

My preliminary hearing was in a week. I didn't have a lawyer, or even a phone to call one with. I needed to talk to Marion and explain what had happened. The prospect made my heart sink, but I already knew she was going to find out about me, whether I wanted her to or not. I told myself that she loved me, and that she'd forgive me. I hoped it was true.

I went to my closet to get dressed, and found it half empty. They'd taken the stolen items along with most of the clothes I'd purchased in the past few years. Jeans and a sweater would do for today, but nothing remained in the closet that would be appropriate for my court date next week.

I'd been told at the police station that my bank accounts would be frozen pending my trial. They didn't want me spending stolen money, and I couldn't blame them. But knowing I'd created this mess myself didn't make it feel any better.

I headed to the kitchen and made coffee and toast. As I ate, I tried to form a plan, but I didn't get far. I couldn't get another phone, or even hire a taxi. I was out of jail, but essentially a prisoner in my home. I still had Sadiq's phone number, but quickly rejected the idea of calling him. He'd done enough for me. I didn't want him to feel as though I were using him. I didn't want to be that to him; some useless girl always in trouble. I wanted him to see me as strong, the way he had last night.

Despite my determination to resolve my issues myself, I was more than relieved when, an hour later, just as I was washing the dishes, a black Jaguar pulled into my driveway. I turned off the water and dried my hands, watching from the window over the sink as Sadiq got out of the car. He'd driven himself today, and he'd opted for khakis and a blazer instead of the formal suit he'd worn to the police station the night before. He didn't appear to notice me watching him from the window as he walked to my front door and knocked.

I remembered as I opened it that I'd intended to work on scraping off the police notice before I'd gone to bed.

Oh, well. I'll have lots of time to work on that while I'm trapped at home this week.

"Hello," I said, opening the door.

"Good afternoon," Sadiq said.

"Would you like to come in?"

I poured him a cup of coffee, and he drank it at the square, linoleum-topped table that had been sat in the kitchen for as long as I could remember. I didn't imagine the police had any concerns that I might have stolen it—I'd had to have been robbing houses since the early seventies in order to have picked that one up new.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"Really well, actually." I sat down across from him. "I don't think I've ever been so tired."

"I can imagine. From the looks of you last night, it seems you gave the police quite a chase." He shook his head, but he sounded amused.

"Not exactly. I tried to get to my car, but they caught up with me."

"You looked as though you'd wrestled a bear in the mud."

"Well, I guess the police don't appreciate it when you make them run. The one that arrested me pushed me down to put the cuffs on. So really, I got to play in the snow twice in two days." I laughed dryly.

Sadiq didn’t laugh. He sat very still, appearing to examine the rim of his mug as he spoke.

"But you're so tiny; it seems unnecessary for them to have treated you like that."

"It wasn't exactly excessive force, Sadiq. They didn't know who I was, or that I wasn't going to fight them. Once the cuffs were on, they were fine." I smiled, trying to reassure him.

He was quiet for a moment.

"You could have been killed, Annabelle."

My smile disappeared.

"Yeah, I know."

We sat together in silence for a minute or two, then I got up and poured another cup of coffee.

"By the way, I wanted to say thank you, for last night," I said, my back turned to him. "And I’m sorry I forgot to say it before. I was so glad to get out of that place, you see. I don't know how I'll ever repay you." I turned to face him, leaning against the counter and holding the hot mug in both my hands.

He shook his head, and waved his hand in dismissal.

"Oh, don't concern yourself with that. It's trivial."

"Sadiq, it's not trivial. I—"

"Of course I came for you." He cut me off, his voice hard. "Of course I didn’t leave you in that place. You don't need to thank me for that. I’d be insulted if you thought I'd have done otherwise."

My eyes went wide.

"I didn't mean to insult you," I said, confused.

He sighed and set his cup aside. He rose to his feet and came over to where I stood, looking down at my cup. With the gentle touch of his fingertips, he lifted my chin so that I was looking at him.

"I don't know why you matter so much to me," 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 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."