Page 6 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

Nahla stepped into the family salon and... stopped cold.

The door eased shut behind her with a soft click, but the silence in the room felt loud . Her heels clicked lightly on the polished floor as she scanned the room—and froze again when she saw who was present.

Her father stood near the sofa, arms crossed, his jaw clenched. Zayn, her brother, leaned against the mantle, his usual easygoing expression replaced with unreadable tension. Beside him stood Uncle Joran and Uncle Raj, both radiating the stiff posture of men ready for confrontation.

And then—Laith, Rafi, and Saif.

Her three cousins stood like sentries. Laith and Rafi, the identical twins who lived here in the palace with their wives and kids, had always seemed a little intense to Nahla—especially before they'd married Andi and Carys. She didn’t know them well, but she’d always known they’d protect her in a heartbeat.

They weren’t smiling now. Their arms were folded, and both wore looks of grim resolve.

And Saif?

Her stomach dropped.

She, Saif, Rylan, and Ramzi had grown up like a pack of wild puppies—always in trouble, always laughing. Saif had always been the dependable one, the “quiet fixer” when she and Rylan got in too deep.

But today, his face looked carved from stone. His brows were drawn low over dark eyes that flicked across her like he was cataloging potential injuries. When their eyes met, his expression softened—but only slightly.

“What’s going on?” she asked warily, her gaze flicking to each familiar face. “Where are Mom and the aunts?”

No one answered.

That more than anything chilled her blood.

It wasn’t that her family didn’t have serious conversations. They were a close-knit clan. Loud dinners. Endless teasing. Her aunts always had input; her mom, Tasha, especially, never stayed quiet when something serious was happening.

But now… it was just the men.

Her throat tightened.

Something was wrong .

A creeping sense of displacement settled in her chest. She took a step back, uncertain. Maybe she’d walked into the middle of a crisis meeting. Maybe the message from her father to come "immediately" had gotten mixed up. But no… she’d read it twice. He’d wanted her here.

So why were they all standing so still? So stiff? And why did half of them look like they wanted to throw a punch?

“Nahla,” her father said, his voice deep, but not unkind. “We need to speak with you about something important.”

Her eyes darted to Zayn, but even he was silent, rubbing the back of his neck with a clenched hand. His other arm was folded tightly across his chest, his brows knit in concern.

From the sheer weight of their stares, she knew—whatever this was, she wasn’t going to like it.

Saif stepped forward. His jaw worked for a second before he spoke.

“You’re in danger,” he said, his voice low and even.

“Someone’s targeting you. But we’re going to keep you safe.

” He forced a small smile, the kind that was more about reassuring himself than her. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Nahla blinked, her mouth falling open slightly. Her heart stuttered.

Danger?

Saif stood taller than most men—broad-shouldered and calm under pressure—but right now, he looked ready to punch through a wall. She couldn't stop staring at his posture, the tight set of his shoulders, the veins visible along his forearms.

“Was today’s… situation because of me?” she whispered, the words rough in her throat. Her eyes locked on her father’s, desperate for answers.

Uncle Joran stepped forward, his voice gentle despite the steel behind it. “Honey, it wasn’t your fault. But yes… someone is after you.”

Her breath caught. Her mind reeled.

After her ?

That didn’t make sense. She wasn’t a politician. She wasn’t a general or an ambassador. She was a photographer . She took pictures of baby goats and sunflowers and—her stomach twisted—lost animals in grimy alleys.

Was this about a puppy?

Had she accidentally photographed someone’s animal and created an international incident?

Her brain latched onto the scraggly, malnourished cat she’d snuck into the stables yesterday. Was that it? Some furious aristocrat’s prized feline?

She opened her mouth to confess, to offer restitution, but her father interrupted her spiraling thoughts.

“But we have a plan,” Khal said, his voice firmer now. He stepped forward, his eyes still on her face, reading her panic like a headline.

“You’re probably not going to like it, though,” Raj muttered, his mouth pulled into a tight, angry line.

“Why don’t you come sit down, honey?” Khal added more gently, motioning to the sofa beside him. His hand patted the cushion twice, coaxing.

Nahla hesitated, then gave a slow nod. Her legs moved like they weren’t entirely hers. She felt lightheaded. Guilty. And vaguely nauseated.

The security alarm had rattled the entire palace earlier. The walls had nearly shaken with the tension afterwards and her guards hadn’t left her side since. They even stood outside the bathroom . That had to mean something was truly serious.

Ignoring the sofa, she perched on the edge of the chair nearest the fireplace, her hands clenched in her lap, her knuckles white. Her body trembled—whether from nerves or fear, she couldn’t say.

Around her, her family formed a ring of muscles and arrogance. Their shared blood was obvious in their tanned skin, their strong jaws, and nearly black hair. Her mother’s blue eyes were her only oddity—once the bane of her childhood, now the most noticeable part of her face.

Khal opened his mouth to speak again, but a new voice beat him to it.

“Has she agreed? Is she okay with the idea?”

All eyes turned toward the doorway.

Tasha stood there, fingers woven tightly together. Her shoulders were tense, and her expression taut with concern. She looked like she’d been crying—but had stopped before walking in.

Khal crossed to her in two strides and pulled her close, tucking her against his side.

“We haven’t gotten that far yet,” he murmured.

Nahla stood again, the panic surging back like a wave.

“What idea?” she demanded, voice trembling but sharp. “Someone tell me what’s going on!”

Tasha chuckled softly, though there was a tremble just beneath the surface. She walked over and took both of Nahla’s hands, her thumbs brushing gently across her daughter’s knuckles.

“We’re going to hide you away, love,” she said gently, her eyes glistening with worry. “Not forever. Just until the security team tracks down the man who breached the palace this afternoon.”

“Hide me away?” Nahla echoed, her voice quiet and sharp with disbelief. The words landed strangely in her chest—like chains, not safety. Her brows drew together. “That sounds… medieval.”

Her mind spun with possibilities. Surely her parents wouldn’t lock her in a tower or trap her in a windowless room. If they wanted her hidden, maybe they’d tuck her away in some sunlit cottage with good Wi-Fi, a pile of books, and an endless supply of mint tea.

“Yes, honey,” Tasha confirmed, squeezing her hands a little tighter. “Saif has a friend.”

“Not a friend,” Saif corrected immediately, a muscle twitching along his jaw. “Just a man who owes me a favor.”

Tasha offered her nephew a patient smile, then returned her focus to Nahla. “It’s a place where no one would ever think to look for you.”

But that only made Nahla’s pulse pound harder. Nowhere was safe—not if someone had gotten inside the palace. Her home, her sanctuary, protected by the most advanced security in the world—breached.

She tried to hide her unease, but it showed in the way she clutched her mother’s hands, her knuckles turning white. “Where is this mysterious place?” she asked warily, dread clawing at the edges of her composure.

Everyone in the room avoided her gaze.

Her heart sank.

And then a deep, gravelly voice rumbled behind her.

“With me.”

The voice scraped down her spine like sandpaper dipped in ice water.

Nahla whirled around—and stopped breathing.

There he was.

Towering. Broad. Blunt-featured and brutal-looking, the man standing in the doorway had the intimidating energy of a battle-scarred warrior, not a politician or diplomat.

His face was all hard angles and faint scars, the kind of face that had survived violence and dealt it right back.

His thick neck and boulder-like shoulders gave the impression he could tear a man apart with his bare hands.

Yet there was something magnetic about him. Dangerous, but undeniably compelling.

And she knew that face. She’d seen him before—at a summit last year. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since.

Sheik Mikail al Acantra of Tavista.

“No,” she whispered, recoiling instinctively. Her eyes locked on his, and she couldn’t look away. Heat radiated from him like a furnace. Her instincts screamed to run.

But then he took a slow step forward—and stopped.

He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t speak again. He just watched her. The faintest challenge curled in his lip, and something glinted in his eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking—and he dared her to say it out loud.

“Yes,” he whispered back, his voice deep and steady, like a promise wrapped in steel.

Then his gaze lifted past her, to the circle of her family.

“My plane is ready,” he said. “I’ll take her now.”

Saif moved in beside her, one protective hand resting on her shoulder. He looked from Nahla’s pale face to Mikail’s imposing frame. His lips parted, hesitating. “Maybe this isn’t the best idea…”

“I owe you my life,” Mikail said, his voice quiet but absolute. “I’ll protect her with everything I have until the threat is eliminated.”

Nahla turned on Saif and her voice cracked. “Wait! You’re not actually sending me away with him , are you?”

Tasha stepped in again, wrapping an arm around Nahla’s waist. “He’s the best option,” she said softly, though her grip was unyielding.

“But he’s—he’s our enemy!” Nahla snapped, wrenching herself out of her mother’s grasp. “We don’t even have diplomatic ties with Tavista!”

“All the more reason it’s the perfect hiding place,” Saif said gently, but firmly. “No one will think to look for you inside his palace.” He pulled her into a hug, his voice low against her ear. “He’ll keep you safe.”

“I can keep myself safe,” she whispered back, but the words sounded weak even to her own ears. Her voice was muffled against his shoulder, and when she stepped back, her eyes flashed defiantly. “I could go to one of my friends. Lay low for a few weeks.”

“And put them in danger?” Zayn asked from the corner of the room, arms folded, brow furrowed in frustration. “Would you really risk their lives just so you can feel like you’re in control?”

Nahla flinched. She opened her mouth—then closed it. Her throat felt tight.

“But—” she began, floundering.

“Honey,” her mother began, voice soft as velvet but threaded with steel, “this truly is the smartest choice. If that horrible man could breach our palace defenses, then he could easily reach any of your friends. None of them have the kind of protection we do here.”

Nahla’s arms were crossed so tightly across her chest, her fingernails bit into the sides of her arms. She felt her mother’s calming touch rub gently between her shoulder blades, but it didn’t ease the cold coil of dread wrapping around her spine.

“Yeah, but—” she snapped her head toward Mikail, who hadn’t budged an inch “—how is his security any better?”

“It’s not,” Zayn answered dryly before Mikail could speak. His gaze slashed toward the man like a drawn blade. “But Tavista and Lativa aren’t exactly on friendly terms right now. No one would think to look for you in his palace.”

Nahla’s mouth parted. Her voice rose with frustration. “So you’re just going to throw me to the wolves?!”

“Not wolves, dear,” her mother said with that same placid, diplomatic tone, still rubbing soothing circles along Nahla’s back. “Just a sweet, cuddly puppy.”

That earned a snort of laughter from someone—maybe Laith. But it was drowned out by the unmistakable sound of Mikail’s low, guttural growl of protest. The sound vibrated through the room like the warning of a caged beast.

Tasha’s eyes sparkled with restrained amusement. “Well. Not that cuddly, apparently.”

Nahla turned, her jaw tightening, and arched one perfectly shaped brow. “Isn’t a puppy what got me into this whole mess in the first place?”

Mikail tilted his head slightly, studying her like one would a wild, cornered animal—respectful, but clearly waiting for a sudden strike. His brow furrowed. “I don’t follow,” he admitted flatly.

Of course he didn’t.

She didn’t bother explaining. Instead, she let the silence stretch as her heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

He stood like a statue—shoulders squared, hands loose at his sides, his dark clothing stark against the ornate elegance of the palace salon. His expression gave nothing away. But his stillness? That said everything. He was holding himself back. Contained. Like he had to be.

Nahla’s breath caught.

“You will be safe from this assassin,” Mikail said, his voice low, solemn. A vow.

His words sent a chill through her—because she believed him. She had no doubt he could keep her alive.

But what she really wanted to ask was: Will I be safe from you?