Page 41 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

“You’re back!” Heather called out, practically bounding into the kitchen. “I know you had a rough night, but thanks for texting me and updating me.” Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun and she was already halfway to the fridge. “What do you want for breakfast?”

Tom stepped just inside the doorway, exhaustion clinging to his shoulders.

He was still wearing his tactical gear from the overnight shift—dark circles under his hazel eyes, a hint of stubble shadowing his jaw, and his usually brisk posture a little slower, heavier.

But none of that dulled the way his eyes warmed the moment they landed on her.

He’d overseen the palace security during the celebrations of the little prince’s birth, but the guests were leaving today and they could both get back to their usual routines.

As he leaned against the doorframe, Heather pulled out ingredients, her movements efficient and fluid.

She reached for a mixing bowl, humming under her breath, utterly unaware of how mesmerizing she looked in her rumpled T-shirt and pajama shorts.

The soft rhythm of her morning routine grounded him after a night of evaluating the strengths and weaknesses of his security teams.

He watched her for a beat, the corner of his mouth tilting upward as she cracked an egg with one hand and reached for the cheese with the other.

“We’ve been living together for six months now,” he said finally, stepping forward into the bright kitchen light. His voice was low, still gravelly from lack of sleep, but carried weight.

Heather’s smile didn’t fade, but her shoulders stiffened ever so slightly. She turned her head, still focused on mixing ingredients. “That’s right. What about it?” She paused, then glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Is… something wrong?”

She moved over to the fridge and pulled out something else, then nudged the fridge door closed with her hip and turned to face him fully, bowl of fresh berries pressed against her stomach. Her brow furrowed slightly. “Do you not want to live together anymore?”

Tom’s gaze softened. His body ached from exhaustion, but in that moment, all he could focus on was her—the way her blue eyes searched his face, the way her movements stilled when she thought something might be wrong, the way her hands were already preparing to take care of him even before she’d had coffee.

He exhaled, letting the question settle between them.

Then he set down his belt and gear, and gently took the bowl out of her hands before taking her hands again.

Heather’s smile dimmed. “What’s going on?

” She bit her lip, not trying to pull her hands away, but Tom could feel the tension there.

She glanced over at the ingredients, yearning to dive back into cooking.

It was her safe spot, a way for her mind to ignore controversies and gave her control of her world.

“Do you not want to live together anymore?” With a huff, she tried again to pull away. “All you had to do was say something.”

“Heather, stop,” he warned, tightening his grip on her hands before she could walk away and crack another egg.

“You’ve been cooking nonstop for the royal family this week.

That celebration feast for Mikail and Nahla’s son was beautiful, but you don’t need to cook for me right now too.

You should sit down. We’ve both been working eighteen-hour days. ”

She paused. “Are you not hungry?”

He saw the vulnerability in her eyes and shook his head gently. “I’m starving. But I want you to rest. I can grab a granola bar, and we can both breathe for a while.” He kissed her gently. “We have to be back at the palace in a few hours. Let’s take a moment for ourselves.”

Heather’s fingers slid against the roughness of his shirt. She hesitated, then let out a long breath. “Tom, there’s something I need to tell you.”

He pulled back slightly, concern flickering in his eyes. “You know I’ve fallen in love with you, right?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

She blinked. “No. No, I didn’t know that.”

He chuckled. “You moved in without knowing how I felt?”

“Well, no. Not exactly,” she said with an impatient huff.

“You love me too,” he said, kissing her again. “Admit it.”

Her lips twitched, but she said nothing. Tom let out a slow breath. “You do. You’re just not ready to say it out loud yet.”

He glanced over at the waiting ingredients. “Is that part of your hesitation?”

Heather frowned. “Why would batter have anything to do with my feelings?”

He smiled slightly. “Heather, every time I see you, you’re cooking something. Or baking something. Even when I tell you I’m not hungry.”

A tear shimmered at the corner of her eye, and she pulled back. “Is that a bad thing?”

Tom paused, then something clicked. A memory, an understanding.

“You told me once that your parents made you cook for the whole family. When you stopped cooking for them, they kicked you out.”

Heather turned away, face tight. She placed the eggs and cheese back in the fridge without a word.

“You feel like cooking is your only value, don’t you?” he asked gently, staying behind her but not trapping her.

Her shoulders stiffened. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” He stepped forward again, his voice quieter now. “You’ve always taken care of everyone else. Even when you’re exhausted. Even when you’re upset. It’s how you show love. But I don’t want meals. I want you.”

She turned, eyes brimming with emotion. “You’ve been distant lately.”

He nodded, then gently pulled her into his arms. “Because I’ve been working around the clock, love,” he explained. “And so have you. Neither of us has had a moment to breathe.”

Heather sniffed, but couldn’t stop her arms from moving around his waist while she rested her cheek against his chest. “If you don’t want me to cook for you, just say it,” she whispered, and her arms unconsciously tightened as she waited for him to reply.

Tom’s chest constricted at her words as well as the pain in her tone. “You honestly believe that the only reason I want to come home to you is because of food?”

She said nothing only sniffed back the emotions that were roiling within her.

He rubbed his cheek against the top of her head, enjoying the way her messy bun tickled his skin.

“Heather, I love you. I love every part of you. I love walking with you through the food markets and seeing your eyes light up when you discover something new and interesting. I love watching you read, the way your lashes flutter as you resist the need to blink because you’ve reached a good point in the story.

I love listening to you rant about badly written cookbooks, going on hikes and trying to keep up with you. ”

He smiled down at her. “And I love watching you sleep.”

She blinked, pulling away slightly so that she could glare up at him. “You… watch me sleep?” There wasn’t much intensity to her glare though. His words…they were sweet!

“Yeah. Sometimes I wake up and panic that you might have left me. So, I watch until my mind accepts that you’re still with me.”

She let out a soft breath and leaned into him.

“You don’t need to earn love through service,” he told her. “I know your past taught you that, but I’m not your parents. I want you, not just your cooking. That’s just one part of what makes you extraordinary.”

She sniffled. “I do sort of panic when I can’t figure out something special to make you for dinner when I’m really tired.”

He chuckled and kissed the top of her head again. “Or when I skip breakfast before my shift.”

“Yeah,” she admitted, her voice quieter now. “That too.”

“So… you’ll work on that?”

A pause. Then, “Yeah. I’ll try.”

He smiled. “Therapy might help.”

She opened her mouth, but he pulled something from his pocket. A ring. Simple and beautiful. Her breath caught.

“Will you marry me, Heather? Not because of your perfect crusty bread. Not because you know how to make twenty kinds of salsa. But because you are thoughtful, compassionate, smart, funny, beautiful—and I want you beside me forever.”

Her answer was soft, choked with emotion. “Yes. I’d love to marry you.”