Page 17 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

Mikail stepped into the main salon and scanned the room, refusing to admit—even to himself—how much he’d been looking forward to seeing her tonight.

Last night had ended abruptly. Too abruptly. He hadn’t trusted himself to stay in the same room with Nahla and not do something idiotic, like kiss her. Or worse, beg. He wasn’t a man who begged.

Tonight, though—tonight he was prepared.

He’d worked out with his guards at dawn, lifting heavier than usual until his arms shook and his body ached.

Afterward, he’d buried himself in reports, approving proposals, vetoing idiotic plans, and issuing terse commands that made his staff scatter before lunch.

His mind was clear. His self-control was firmly reinstalled.

Or so he thought—until he realized Nahla wasn’t in the salon waiting for him.

For fifteen minutes, he paced like a caged beast, ignoring the scotch sweating in his hand. When he could no longer tolerate the silence, he snapped, “Where the hell is she?”

The nearest guard didn’t flinch. He tapped his earpiece and spoke in low, professional tones. A moment later, he reported, “The princess has been taking photos around the palace today. She returned to her suite a few hours ago and has remained there.”

That did not improve Mikail’s mood.

He downed the scotch in one swallow and strode from the salon. Fine. If she wanted to hide in her suite, she could explain it to him . Preferably with fewer smiles for palace staff and a more rational respect for schedules.

And if he saw even a hint of a sparkle to those beautiful blue eyes… he was going to—well, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Kissing her was out of the question. That way madness lay. She was a guest. Not a temptation. Not a fantasy. Not the woman he dreamed about.

Damn it, why had he assigned her quarters so far from his?

When he reached her door, he paused, knocking with more force than necessary. He waited. Knocked again. The absurd instinct to storm inside wrestled with his usual decorum.

Then a faint “Come in!” sounded from the other side.

He opened the door and stepped inside—and stopped short.

The room was dark, lit only by a soft glow from three monitors on the far side of the suite.

A pair of cameras rested on the desk, their lenses uncapped.

Cords trailed along the floor, snaking toward power strips and a tablet.

The middle monitor displayed a photograph—no, the mural he’d commissioned several years ago.

The one in the north hall. But she’d captured it from a new angle. One he didn’t know existed.

He approached slowly, quietly, drawn by the glowing screens. Nahla sat in front of them, her long hair piled into a loose twist, a pencil tucked behind her ear. She hadn’t noticed him yet, too immersed in her work.

On the screen, the mural shifted. She tweaked the image—softening shadows, adjusting contrast, subtly reframing the focal point.

The central angel came to life under her hands, the light drawing the viewer’s eye to the delicate curve of a wing—or was it the erotic bend of a flower petal the angel appeared to be caressing?

Mikail’s mouth went dry.

He recognized that mural, sure. He walked by it daily.

But through her lens, it was transformed.

Through light and shading, the images had changed into something intimate and emotional and strangely sensual.

What had once been architectural decoration now whispered of longing, violence, and the blurred line between mercy and desire.

He stood there too long, mesmerized. His body wanted to step closer. His mind scrambled to assign meaning.

She switched images. The next photo revealed two dueling swordsmen caught mid-blade swing, their muscles tensed, sweat glistening. But the angle made it feel like something more than battle. Something personal. Something ancient.

And again, she began editing.

It wasn’t just art. It was storytelling. Literature, psychology, and science wrapped into one moment. She wasn’t simply beautifying the palace. She was reinterpreting it.

He must have shifted or breathed too loudly, because Nahla suddenly turned.

She startled when she saw him, her wide blue eyes locking on his. “Oh no!” she gasped, looking at the time, then leaping from her chair. “I completely lost track of time!”

“Just… give me a moment. I’ll get ready for dinner and we can…!” She spun back to her workstation, hands flying over her keyboard, scrambling to shut everything down.

“Don’t,” he said.

She froze, half-bent over her keyboard, then looked back at him over her shoulder. “Don’t?”

He stepped closer. “Don’t close it all up. I’ve never seen what happens after the shutter clicks. What comes next. I’d like to…understand it.”

Her expression softened, her mouth tugging into a slow, uncertain smile. And there it was—that sparkle, teasing him like a well-placed blade. He wanted to kiss her. His body tightened with instant, unwelcome lust.

But it wasn’t just the sparkle. It was her entire presence. Her passion, her messy ponytail, the way her jeans hugged her hips. Even the way she blinked up at him, surprised and pleased, made his chest feel too full.

“Of course,” she said shyly, then gestured to the second chair. “Come sit.”

He didn’t move at first. Part of him wanted to pace, to put some distance between himself and the delicious scent of whatever shampoo she used. The rest of him—the impatient, primal part—was already crossing the room.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a servant hovering near the entryway. Without breaking eye contact with Nahla, he said, “Dinner will be here. Bring it when it’s ready.”

The servant nodded and disappeared through a side door, as quiet and invisible as palace staff always were.

Mikail lowered himself into the chair beside Nahla, close enough to feel the warmth radiating off her skin. She launched back into her work, explaining the color balancing tools, the way she built contrast, the light curves she adjusted to guide a viewer’s attention through the image.

He barely heard a word.

She moved her hand across the touchpad, zooming in and out, her voice rising with excitement as she walked him through her choices. The more she spoke, the more animated she became—completely immersed, utterly at ease.

And completely unaware of how seductive she looked in her element.

An hour passed in what felt like ten minutes.

Eventually, she turned to face him, her expression a mix of hesitation and hope.

“Would you…” She paused, chewing on her lower lip. “Would you let me take your picture?”