The Sheikh’s Christmas Fling: Christmas With The Yared Sheikhs Book One Read online

  Once the bedroom door clicked shut behind them, Ana drew a shaky breath.

  “You okay?” Charlie kept pace beside her. “You’re practically running.”

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” Leaving her baby never got easier. The plus side to this arrangement was she didn’t have a half-hour commute between daycare and job. If anything happened, Ana could just run to the north wing of the palace. “Let’s just conquer this staff and show the palace we’re the best cooks in the world.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Charlie smirked as they scuffed down the glossy, tiled hallway. An archway up ahead led into an exposed hall lined with rose bushes and a sculpture garden. Already she was loving all the different facets and personalities of the palace.

  They walked quickly through the halls, arriving at the palace kitchen five minutes before the evening dinner prep was slated to begin. This was going to be a trial run of sorts—a typical Maatkaran dinner, outside of the holiday schedule of feasts. Just a chance for Ana and Charlie to meet the crew and start learning to work together.

  It seemed easy enough, but Ana knew this was the real indicator of how the rest of this job would go. If she didn’t click with the staff, then probably nothing else would come together easily.

  The kitchen blared bright and boisterous. Pots clanked, steamy water ran, and ten cooks bustled around the kitchen in various states of preparation. Ana blinked against the lights, reorienting herself to the space that she’d only started to learn hours ago.

  “Here we go,” Ana muttered to herself as she straightened her shoulders. A few of the cooks noticed her, and uncertain glances passed between them. She strutted through the aisles, making her way around the kitchen, repeating to herself, You belong here. This is your kitchen.

  Being a professional female chef was one thing in this industry. Being a professional female chef in a foreign country was something altogether more difficult.

  “Hello, everyone.” The rest of the cooks turned at the sound of her voice, just as the kitchen door swung open behind her. She turned to see Noel let himself into the kitchen, something entirely too pleased in his shadowy eyes. Great. So he’d be here for the entire thing. Her unwanted spectator.

  “I’d like to introduce myself,” she continued. One by one, the cooks assembled around her. A dark-lidded man with tightly cropped black hair clasped his hands over his apron in front.

  “Excuse me, miss,” he said in thickly accented English. “I’m Segal, the head cook. Not all of us speak English. Could you please try Arabic?”

  Panic flashed through her. She hadn’t counted on a language barrier in the kitchen. Somehow, she’d assumed English would be the operating language in Maatkare. In every other international kitchen, English had been the go-to.

  “Unfortunately, my Arabic isn’t quite where it should be.” She tapped a finger against the work station, wracking her brain for a solution. “Unless…” Suddenly, she remembered the official second language of the country: French. “Nous pouvons utiliser le français pour communiquer?”

  Nods rippled through the small group of men. Segal’s face fell slightly, though Noel looked pleasantly surprised. He kept to the perimeter of the kitchen as Ana launched into introductions. She and Charlie were both functionally fluent in French—in the kitchen, at least. Vocabulary words for other arenas of life tended to escape her, but she could make it work in a Maatkaran pinch.

  Noel’s gaze sizzled on her as she spoke, and she tried not to mess up, not even once. It suddenly felt like everything was riding on this. She had to win over the cooks. She had to impress the middle son. And she had to not screw this up, so she and her daughter could have a chance at a better future.

  It became readily apparent that the kitchen staff operated more like a family than a group of employees. Everyone seemed to defer to Segal. Whenever she posed a question, eyes turned toward him. Only he spoke. And once she laid out the plan for dinner—hummus prepped with coconut oil instead of olive oil, layering in roasted red peppers and garlic—a dark cloud shivered through the cooks.

  “Give it a try,” she encouraged in French. “The hummus will pair nicely with the tabbouleh, where we’ll be bringing in lots of freshly chopped nuts. For the main dish, I plan to accent with curry and a dash of wasabi.”

  More silence from the cooks. Charlie shifted at her side.

  “Well, let’s get started, shall we?” Ana clapped her hands together, offering an encouraging smile. Anything to reinforce the signal: she was in charge here, despite their personal preferences on how the hummus should be made.

  It was time to get to work, to bury herself in food prep so that she could win over the mouths of the palace.

  As for the owner of that titillating set of eyes, she wasn’t sure she could win over his mouth. Even though part of her was desperate to.

  4

  Noel struggled not to think for the rest of the night about the feisty brunette inhabiting his family’s palace. He’d watched her navigate dinner preparations last night with a grace laced with fierceness that had even him willing to do what she desired of him. There was something in her blue eyes that felt like a sharp whip. It wasn’t entirely bad, either.

  Even after a cold shower, thoughts of the chef haunted him. Wondering what she was like in her free time. What sort of panties she wore. Whether or not she would love it when he dipped his head between her legs the first chance he got. He was up by five a.m. the next morning, per his usual routine. Early to bed, early to rise. And every day started with a run, no matter what.

  He laced up his tennis shoes in his darkened bedroom, the movements so routine and embedded that he could go blind and still make it out of his bedroom without issue. He shut the bedroom door softly behind him, careful in the early morning quiet of the palace. Like even an errant cough might disturb the sleeping inhabitants. It was impossible—the palace was solidly built and basically sound proof—but part of his routine.

  “Wow. Didn’t think I’d run into you.”

  The voice startled him out of his thoughts. He jolted to a stop, unsure if the vision of Ana before him was real or part of a lingering fantasy. She was dressed to run, as well. The first sign that this was probably a dream. He cleared his throat, looking around for other signals that he might be asleep. The sudden appearance of friends from uni that he hadn’t seen in years, an unexpected hedge maze materializing out of thin air, and the like.

  Nothing of the sort—just the regular palace at daybreak.

  “Ana. Good morning. What are you doing up?”

  She shrugged. Her short pony tail swished behind her. A sports bra peeked out from underneath a baggy t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, jagged and threadbare. “Just about to go for a run. Time change has me a little screwed up, I guess. But I normally like to wake up early.”

  He clenched his fists, fighting the urge to shout the suggestion that they run together. This was the perfect chance. He counted to three. “Are you on your way out or in?”

  “Out. I don’t know where to go really.”

  “I’m about to head out for my morning run as well.” He cocked his lips into a grin. “Want to join?”

  She shrugged. “Sounds great. Maybe you can show me the best path?”

  He jerked his head toward the end of the hallway and led her that way. Usually when he ran into other living beings at this hour, he resented them for interrupting his personal time. With Ana, he didn’t feel that way. Part of him was grateful for the interruption. Having her at his side filled the halls with a warmth that he hadn’t realized was missing.

  “How long is your run normally?” She kept up with his brisk pace, surveying the hall with the same steely eyes that had surveyed the kitchen yesterday. “I need to be back within an hour.”

  “We’ll take the shorter path then. There are a few options.” He led them through a wrought iron archway toward a wide stairway laid with stones. The western edge of the palace property sprawled around them, and they had a high vantage po
int to see it all. The winding, twisting series of gardens bursting with greenery; a brick-laid patio area where his mother used to host a Tuesday tea with her best friends; the lawns that seemed to roll and dip away for miles, so far that he couldn’t even see the southern edge of the perimeter wall.

  The first rays of sunrise crested the horizon, casting a burnt edge to the dawn. He pointed toward the start of a narrow, paved path. “We’ll start here. This wraps around the palace property, and there’s a few side paths you can take to extend it.”

  “Great. Are you warmed up?”

  He shook his head, pressing his palms against the stone wall. He used it as leverage to stretch his calves and thighs. She sighed as she did the same. It was hard to look away from her lean, tightly packed figure. Her shirt hung away from her body, obscuring the lines and slopes that he was hungry to see more of. He stole furtive glances of her ass as she switched legs.

  Finally she spoke up. “How long have you been running?”

  “My whole life.” He took a deep breath as he bent his knee behind him, catching his foot at the ankle. “I used to compete. I’d like to once more someday. What about you?”

  “Running since birth, basically.” She cracked a grin, tightening her pony tail. “You ready?”

  “Let’s do it.” He led the way down the path, launching a slow jog. She kept pace with him, the glimpses of her at his periphery yanking at his attention. He was eager to watch her, absorb all the fine details of this chef at his side.

  “Tell me. What really brings you to Maatkare?”

  He could sense her bristle at his side. “This job. What else would bring me here?”

  “It’s so far away from your home. I just wondered why a woman like you would go so far away.” He was needling. Plain and simple.

  “A woman like me?” She laughed. “I don’t know what kind of woman that is.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping you’ll tell me.” Maybe she’d take the hint now. He wanted to know.

  She cast him a sidelong look. “This type of woman used to own a restaurant. It failed. Not from my own doing, though. So I brought my daughter halfway across the world because this is a new opportunity that was too good to refuse.”

  Daughter. The word resonated strangely inside him. It almost didn’t make sense. “I’m sorry?”

  She laughed curtly. “What part should I repeat?”

  “You said…you have a daughter?” He tried to keep the shock out of his voice. This woman had a side he knew nothing about. “So you came here with your spouse.”

  “Negative.”

  He frowned a little, watching but not really seeing the twinkling drops of dew on the rolling grassy hills. She’s a single mother. You shouldn’t be going anywhere near her. “He’s your colleague, then.”

  “Yes.” There was a strange lilt to her voice. He looked over at her, caught her watching him. Maybe she could sense the interest behind his questions. The way he’d been stuck on her since laying eyes on her.

  “Charlie and I have worked together for years. He’s like my brother. From another mother.” She paused. “Am I terribly progressive for the palace? Single mom. Bringing a man with me who isn’t my spouse. Leading a kitchen.”

  He sent her a disapproving look. “Maatkare isn’t backwards. We’re perfectly fine with women.”

  She snorted. “Just wanted to make sure.”

  “As long as they stay inside, bearing children and cooking meals nonstop.”

  She slowed a bit, shock moving across her face. He kept up his jog while turning to face her, the grin breaking through.

  “I’m kidding! Come on, Ana.”

  She caught up with him, slapping him on his arm. The brief contact sent a jolt through his body. She shouldn’t send electricity skating through him. Now more than ever, he should just look away and forget about her.

  “Don’t give me a heart attack,” she chided. But he caught the grin on her face. Knew that his joke had hit her just as he’d intended.

  “Like the heart attack you almost gave Segal yesterday when you ground up the wasabi into the stew?”

  She gave a curt laugh. “That was a moment for the scrapbook.”

  “We like things done a certain way here,” Noel began.

  “Yeah. But I wasn’t hired to do them that way.”

  Sweat prickled at his forehead. The sun was making a slow, glorious climb upwards, bathing her in a goddess hue. “Sure. But you should know that tradition is of the utmost importance in my country. All year round, but especially at this time of the year.”

  “I’ve done my research.” Her voice came out in labored puffs. But he couldn’t tell if it was the run or the subject matter. “I know what the traditions are, how to honor them. You think I’d show up here without knowing a damn thing about this place?”

  Their steps fell softly for a few beats. “I’m sure you’ve researched well. But you don’t know our country.”

  “Well, it’s on the to-do list, I promise.”

  He frowned. That wasn’t good enough. “Let me show you.”

  The suggestion popped out of his mouth too easily. Her eyebrows shot upward. He was nearly as shocked as she was.

  “Okay. What do you have in mind? Tour guides?”

  “Let’s go to the market.” A plan was piecing itself together with each step. “I can show you where to find the best spices, at the best price. None of this edible gold stuff.”

  She huffed. “That was a brainstorming session, I’ll have you know.”

  “Fine. But this is an important way for you to stay true to the heart of Maatkare…while implementing your own touch.”

  His words hung in the still morning air between them for a long while. Their breaths and the twittering of distant birds were the only sounds to break the silence.

  Finally, she said, “Yeah. Maybe that’s a good idea.”

  5

  “Excusez-moi.”

  Ana flattened herself to a dirty brick wall as a man lumbered by in a rickety wagon, clutching Linh to her chest.

  “That was too close for comfort,” she muttered once the wagon passed by. Noel sent her a sympathetic look.

  “Welcome to the city center.” He led the way with his hands clasped behind his back. Dressed in smart black slacks and a simple pale gray button-up, he looked every inch the casual businessman.

  Yet his countrymen around him were far more traditionally dressed. Plenty of elderly men flitted around in flowing taupe robes. Many women wore simple scarves around their neck, much like Priscilla the nanny had.

  In fact, Noel looked every inch the Western man. A strange aspect to a man who adhered so strictly to traditions.

  “It’s quite bustling,” Ana said, hoisting Linh up on her hip. The girl looked around placidly, distracted by the clamor around them. The hot sun beat down on them, dust flaring up from the path as a smaller wagon drove way. “Are wagons still a primary mode of transport?”

  “For the center, yes.” Noel sidestepped a small group of racing children. “The roads are too narrow for cars to enter. When I was younger, I thought it was so backwards. But really, it helps maintain the feel of olden times. The charm of the past.”

  Ana nodded. Shouts in Arabic mingled with feminine laughter. This place was so alive and vibrant it nearly hurt.

  LA never felt like this. It was alive and vibrant, but in a way that made her feel bad for the ozone layer and wish that half the population would move away. Here, at least, she could see the roots of this culture. It was full, but not overcrowded. Not in a way that made her lungs ache and her claustrophobia kick in.

  ”Way different from LA,” she said with a laugh. And it was true. It was way different from most other cities she’d lived in.

  Ragdar, the capital of Maatkare, was all dusty roads and ancient buildings that had been built upon then rebuilt. Noel pointed to what looked like a cathedral as they walked by. Slate steps led up to an impressively wide set of wooden doors.

  “Thi
s was originally built in 1300. Then, when we were briefly conquered by the Ottomans, it was repurposed as a mosque. Hence the curved dome on top. Then in 1750, we reclaimed our independence and Christianity as our state religion. It’s remained that way ever since.”

  “Fascinating.” She nearly stumbled over an uneven stone in the path. “Linh, baby, do you see that church? Isn’t it pretty?”

  Linh craned her neck to look up at the church, then she got distracted as a donkey brayed nearby. “Horse! Horse!” She pointed eagerly.

  Noel chuckled as Ana explained. “Honey, that’s a donkey. I don’t think you’ve ever seen one before. They look kind of like a horse, but they’re a lot meaner. Or at least, the children’s books make it seem that way.”

  “Trust me, they are.” Noel had a strange smile on his face. He didn’t look her way much as they walked, and his lack of attention on her was somehow frustrating. She wanted him to notice her. She hadn’t worn the bra with an underwire for nothing.

  “Did your palace have donkeys when you were growing up?”

  “Oh yes. Everything. Donkeys, horses, cows, pigs. We even hosted a giraffe at one time.”

  “What did you have, a zoo in there?” She’d meant it as a joke, but then again, he was royalty. He nodded. Didn’t surprise her.

  “It didn’t last long. My mother wasn’t—isn’t—one for dirty animals.”

  She gnawed at the inside of her cheek as she contemplated how to ask more about that situation. Nobody talked about Mrs. Yared. All she knew was that she was supposed to fill the queen’s shoes in the kitchen, but nobody said why the shoes were empty to begin with.

  “So she hasn’t…passed?”

  “No. Oh, Lord no.” Noel squinted into the horizon. “She’s just…missing Christmas this year.”

  She was about to ask more, but Linh wriggled fiercely in her arms, pointing at something. Ana let her slide to her feet but kept a firm grip on her hand.

  “Stay close to mommy,” she said. “What do you see, baby?”

  Linh pointed urgently. “Woon! Woon! I want woon!”