Page 14 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

Nahla nervously tugged at the hem of her black sheath dress and stepped into the dining room. She’d chosen pearls—safe, classic. Not too flashy, not too plain. Still, the longer she stood there, the more unsure she felt. Was she overdressed? Underdressed? Dressed for battle?

Probably that last one.

Would Mikail be grumpy again tonight? She never knew which version of the man she was going to get—the aloof diplomat, the grumbling brute, or the one with the unexpectedly gentle fingers who made her heart race and her dreams scandalous.

Had she been too obvious earlier? Too hopeful?

One moment he was touching her like she was precious, the next, vanishing behind a door without a backward glance.

She’d spent the rest of the day kicking herself—and possibly plotting his demise.

Just a small, non-lethal one. A tripwire and a bag of flour, perhaps.

“Wine?”

The voice came from behind her, low and too close.

Nahla jumped, nearly knocking her pearls off her neck.

She spun around to find Mikail standing behind a bar, looking infuriatingly gorgeous and far too smug.

Was he always this silent in his approach?

Did he get some kind of royal training in sneaking up on women who were trying to emotionally stabilize?

She bristled. This was why she hated him. Hated him with the kind of fury usually reserved for broken zippers and autocorrect fails. The man was toying with her—smirking one moment, brooding the next, and now offering her wine like he hadn’t emotionally whiplashed her the day before.

She was done being his emotional Etch A Sketch.

Except she wasn’t.

Because here she was, breath hitching at the sight of his tuxedo jacket stretching over his broad shoulders. Here she was, wearing perfume and thinking about mascara.

“Hate” was such a complicated emotion.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” she said sweetly, her voice coated in polite venom.

His eyebrow twitched, and yes, there it was. A hint of amusement in the corner of his mouth. That maddening almost-smile. His lips barely moved as he responded.

“Wine, Your Highness? Or perhaps something stronger? A cocktail? Martini?”

Oh, he was mocking her. No doubt about it.

She lifted her chin. She would not let his dark, knowing gaze unnerve her. She would not melt. She would be a glacier.

And yet… was he looking at her dress? She felt it. The heat of his gaze as it lingered a second too long. Her neck warmed. Her chest tingled. Her knees considered early retirement.

“Wine would be lovely. Thank you,” she replied, her voice perfectly even. Cold steel wrapped in velvet.

He uncorked the bottle with smooth efficiency, poured a glass, and circled the bar. Nahla stood very still, willing her body not to recall how gentle those hands had been the day before. She took a step back, casual, she hoped. Not desperate.

He handed her the glass. Their fingers didn’t touch. Barely. Almost.

Her brain, of course, short-circuited anyway.

The dreams from last night came rushing back—his hands, her skin, a kiss that had never happened but had haunted her all day. No flour this time. No kitchen chaos. Just bare skin and whispered words and—

“What caused that blush?” he asked, his voice the kind of gravelly whisper that should come with a warning label.

Nahla lifted her eyes, directing a glare up at him before catching herself. “Nothing in particular,” she said, and though her words were clipped, she softened them with a smile, adding, “How was your day?”

“Boring,” he replied, his tone dry. “Did you bake anything new today?” He gestured toward a grouping of chairs and sofas, a silent invitation to sit down.

She chose a chair with the stiffest back and perched delicately on the edge, her spine straight and her shoulders tense. Getting comfortable around this man was dangerous. She couldn’t afford to relax.

“No,” she said, taking a careful sip of her wine. “I gave Heather a break today. I spent the day reading in the library.”

“I’d heard you liked to read.” Mikail settled into a seat opposite her, all long limbs and quiet control. “I ordered more books for the library.”

That froze her mid-sip. The glass hovered for a moment before she slowly lowered it to rest on her knee. “You…ordered more books?”

“Yes. Several mysteries. I thought you might enjoy them. The current collection was compiled more for scholars and bureaucrats than readers. It was full of dusty information and tedious philosophies. Reading them is like chewing bark.”

Her heart jumped at his words. Not just for the content—though that was certainly unexpected—but for the quiet effort behind them. He wasn’t a man known for gestures. He was known for commanding entire regions with a raised brow.

And yet here he was…ordering mysteries? For her?

“Did you choose them yourself?” she asked, as casually as she could manage, though her voice betrayed a hint of breathless hope. “Or did you have someone else…handle it?”

Mikail listed off ten titles without hesitation. Not a flicker of doubt. Not even a glance at his phone.

Every single one was from her mental to-be-read list.

Nahla blinked. Her mouth opened, then closed, because her heart was galloping and she wasn’t sure if this counted as romance or some kind of literary mind-reading sorcery.

“Will those work?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. “I wasn’t sure which genre you preferred, so I aimed for variety.”

She stared at the spot just below the collar of his shirt, the exact point where his top button had been left undone. A glimpse of skin. A breath of vulnerability.

“Those are perfect,” she said quietly. “They’ve been on my list for a while. Thank you. That was…incredibly thoughtful. I know I’m already disrupting your life by being here.”

There was a long pause, so long that she thought he might let the moment drop. Then his voice, low and unyielding, filled the space between them.

“You’re not putting me out.”

And then nothing else.

No sweet words. No teasing smile. No confession of affection. Just a statement, as smooth and unreadable as everything else about him.

She held her breath, waiting for something more. You’re beautiful. I’m glad you’re here. I think about you every second I’m not pretending not to think about you.

Instead, he turned to the servant. “Dinner is ready.”

Nahla exhaled slowly, hiding her disappointment behind the rim of her wine glass. She followed him to the dining room, her heels clicking lightly against the tile. He moved with quiet confidence, never looking back to see if she was following.

But then he pulled out her chair, and her chest squeezed.

She hesitated. Her body remembered the way his fingers had brushed her skin yesterday. The warmth of his touch, the quiet care of it. The last time he’d looked at her, she’d practically melted into the kitchen tiles.

She couldn’t handle that again.

But there was no polite escape, so she sat. Carefully. Elegantly. As still as possible, as if stillness might shield her from whatever he made her feel.

It didn’t.

Not even close.