The Sheikh’s Christmas Lover: Christmas With The Yared Sheikhs, #3

By Leslie North

Ah, chaos. What would any holiday be like without it? 

 

For Sondra Wilson-Woods, who craves order but has a knack for handling disorder, pulling off a traditional Maatkare Christmas is the ultimate accomplishment. Hired to make the kingdom's Advent season a success, despite the absence of their beloved matriarch, Sondra may have taken on more than she can handle—especially when the gorgeous heir to the kingdom, Robel, decides she needs his help. 

 

But despite her best efforts, each of Sondra's plans go awry, and not even Robel, with his meticulous preparation, seems capable of mapping out an event that will go off without a hitch. If Sondra can just get through this Christmas season successfully, she and her orphaned niece will at least have financial security. And if she can just resist the charms of an infuriating Robel, she can leave Maatkare with her heart intact. 

 

Robel loves order and is more than happy to help out their event planner when a broken ankle leaves him palace-bound. He firmly believes if he plans well enough, nothing can detract from the traditional Maatkare Christmas season that he demands. But as each carefully scripted event goes off the rails, Robel finds himself more and more attracted to Sondra—something that was never part of the plan. It's best to end things before it's too late, before saying good-bye is too difficult. 

Too bad Robel's strategy forgot about protecting his heart.

 

When faced with the worst Christmas morning ever, Robel realizes that it's the untraditional and unplanned moments that bring the brightest light.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Relay Publishing
• Release date: Mar 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393365372

Book preview

1

Click tap.

Click tap.

Robel gritted his teeth. Only day two of being on crutches, and the incessant noisiness of them on the palace floors was enough to drive him mad.

Click tap.

He sighed testily, leaning against one of the crutches. His armpits ached from the constant usage, but hell if he’d stop crutching around the palace. The hairline fracture in his ankle wasn’t going to stop him from being useful. From keeping this place together.

Especially now, during the Christmas season.

Click tap. Click tap. His own motivation would be the death of him. And really, that’s what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. Eager to prove to the palace just how much of a stickler to tradition he was, he’d pushed himself to overperform during one of the traditional holiday games. And here he was.

Miserable and overly motivated.

Up ahead, the door to his office was visible. Not much longer now. Soon he’d be able to sink back into his favorite chair and get to work organizing the rest of his day, week, and year. Becoming unexpectedly laid up put a serious dent in his plans, and he wasn’t one for surprises. His planner featured far more X’s and red pen than he usually liked to see.

He sighed with relief once he heard the familiar creak of his office door. Inside, everything was quiet and organized. His chair pushed in beneath the desk, facing the door squarely. His entire desk clear and polished, save the laptop closed and pushed to the far corner. The wood slats over the large back window cast shafts of sunlight onto the tiled floor.

Click tap. He huffed, tossing the crutches aside as he sank into the desk chair.

Right on time. And exactly fifteen minutes before his first appointment of the afternoon showed up: the new event planner his father had hired. An American who, in Robel’s mind, was going a bit off the rails with some of the event guest lists.

Luckily, he’d happened to see the proposed guest lists while visiting his father that morning. He’d demanded to play a greater role in the holiday event planning—if only to make sure it stuck as closely to tradition as possible. And perhaps feeling sorry for him, his father Yared had agreed.

Robel opened his laptop, skimming emails and responding to a select few. His phone vibrated at 1:43. The two-minute warning. Keys clicked as he fired off a response email.

1:46. He frowned, looking at the door. Nobody.

He looked at one more email, his skin prickling with awareness as time ticked on. He checked his phone again. 1:49.

His jaw tightened. Just as he was about to swipe open his phone and call the American himself, a knock sounded on his door.

Come in, he shouted gruffly.

The door creaked open. A blonde head poked through, hair chopped to a short bob. Robel blinked. Pale brown eyes shone over at him, a smile revealing a slight gap between front teeth.

Hello? The woman laughed daintily.

Robel blinked again. He jerked his gaze away from her, trying to reorient himself. He stared at his laptop but couldn’t read a single thing on the screen. Come in. You must be…

Sondra. The blonde stepped forward. Though her smile was dazzling, it didn’t distract him from the rest of her. She wore an off-the-shoulder sweater and a flowy skirt, but her hips and breasts pushed beneath the material enough to suggest a potential wonderland of curves beneath. He straightened his back, jerking his gaze to his phone.

Sondra. Pleasure to meet you. He pushed his palms on the top of his desk to help him stand without using his bad ankle, bowing as was common in Maatkare. I’m Robel. The eldest son of Sheikh Yared.

Nice to meet you. She clasped her hands behind her back, tilting her head as she looked around the office. So what can I help you with?

Robel’s heart raced as he eased back into his seat. What had he wanted? The sight of her had wiped everything clean.

His gaze slid back to her. Sondra. He hadn’t expected her to be this beautiful. He hadn’t expected anything, really. And now?

Part of him was glad he’d fractured his ankle. Otherwise, he might not have thought twice about the guest lists. And maybe he wouldn’t have spotted this beauty at all.

Sondra tilted her head, time ticking onward as the eldest Yared son continued to size her up.

Being called to his office was odd enough. Having no apparent agenda was even odder.

Please sit, he finally said, turning to his laptop. She plopped into the chair facing his desk. He tapped something out on his keyboard, and her mind began to wander. To her to-do lists…to the upcoming events she was pegged to plan. To the horrible warnings Robel’s twin little sisters Sesuna and Winta had lobbed at her just prior to this meeting.

He’s such a boring old man, Sesuna had complained. He’s practically two hundred years old in his head.

And he never lets us do the fun things, Winta had added.

Sondra appraised him freely as he typed. The man was handsome, that much was clear. If he was two hundred years old in his head, he was every inch a thirty-something on the outside. He had a long, aristocratic nose and a square jaw that begged to be photographed in profile. His eyes were dark—practically brown pools—and his very demeanor suggested royalty and order.

Finally, he cleared his throat, pushing his laptop aside. He laced his fingers together, leaning forward.

You need to change the guest list for the upcoming charity function.

Sondra blinked, the words almost nonsensical. Then a smile tugged at her lips. You’re kidding, right?

You plan to invite half of the orphanage in the city center.

Yes, Sondra said slowly, her brow knitting, Because Sesuna and Winta are eager for more children their age to be involved.

Leaning back into his chair, Robel released a disgusted sigh. Sesuna and Winta? You’re letting thirteen-year-olds guide your event planning?

Sondra opened her mouth to reply but then clamped it shut. He was actually upset. Or maybe he was always like this. She wasn’t entirely sure, but either way, she needed to speak carefully. Even if Robel wasn’t her official boss, he was a superior. And she needed this job, almost more than she needed air.

Her entire life depended on the money she’d make at the Yared palace.

They’re not guiding, but influencing. Sondra rolled her lips inward, contemplating the ceiling for a moment. Holidays are very important to children. I’d almost argue they’re more for them than anyone. Their ideas matter to me.

But your direction from the palace should matter more. Robel clasped his hands together, his steely gaze making her feel small. A ripple of irritation rolled through her. She decided right then and there—she didn’t like this guy. He might be hot as hell, but she already sensed his controlling, asshole vibes.

It does, she said, trying to keep the strain of irritation out of her voice. Trust me.

I’ll be taking a closer look at the event planning going forward. His chair creaked as he leaned forward, reaching for a pen. Consider me your event manager. We should exchange numbers to get started.

Sondra’s mouth parted as he reached for a pad of paper. Disbelief circled inside her, along with frustration. What on God’s green earth was this?

I’m sorry, she sputtered. But hang on a second. Event manager?

His dark eyes snapped up to hers. Yes. There can’t be any missteps like this guest list in the holiday celebrations.

She took a calming breath, smoothing her palms over her thighs. "I understand that. But I am the event manager. Because I’m the event planner. There is no other manager."

Robel’s featured tightened, like a parent getting ready to discipline. Surely you aren’t against a little collaboration.

No. She fought to contain the words she really wanted to say. You need this job. Don’t get fired on day four. She was just starting to get acclimated to the palace and its rhythms, though she’d been studying Maatkare and its traditions for over a month. Sheikh Yared had hired her during his visit to the States where he’d attended one of her very own events. He’d been so in love with the night that he hired her on the spot—and offered her a sum of money she couldn’t refuse. But you need to know that I am the planner. Not you. I respect your input and your traditions. But I won’t be steamrolled out of doing my job by anyone. Your father hired me for a reason.

Robel’s jaw twitched as he watched her, then he shoved the pad of paper her way. Write your number down.

Sondra fought a grin as she scribbled down her phone number. This felt like a victory. You’re the first guy in Maatkare to ask me for my number, she murmured without thinking. When her words caught up with her, she realized that had been a bad idea. The air shrank between them, and she offered a meek smile. That’s a big deal, you know?

Robel grunted, sliding the pad of paper toward his laptop. Sondra gnawed on the inside of her lip, trying to think of some way to lighten the mood. If this guy was gonna be lurking in her corner, then they needed to have a good working relationship. None of this angry-headmaster nonsense. They should be at least on amicable professional terms.

I heard you broke your ankle, she said. I’m sorry that happened. Just let me know if you need anything.

His eyes narrowed, almost like he was suspicious of the offer. I’m fine. But thank you.

She drummed her fingers on