Page 8 of Her Irresistible Sheik (Al-Sintra Family #9)

Mikail stepped into the palace dining room later than usual, the weight of security updates and infrastructure plans still pressing against his temples. He needed food. Coffee. Possibly both intravenously.

What he didn’t expect was to find Nahla already there, sitting alone at the long, linen-covered table, her profile to him.

She hadn’t noticed him yet.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the tall windows, casting golden stripes over the white linen and silver cutlery.

Her dark, wavy hair was swept into a soft knot at the base of her neck, a few rebellious strands curling near her nape.

She wore something simple—linen, he guessed—but the color made her blue eyes look almost unreal, like glass dappled with sky.

He took a step in, quietly clearing his throat.

She turned, graceful as a ballerina mid-pirouette, her posture stiffening ever so slightly when she saw him.

“Oh!” she said, immediately rising. “I didn’t realize— I’ll go.”

“You don’t have to leave.” Mikail lifted a hand in what he hoped was a neutral, vaguely welcoming gesture. “Stay. Enjoy your lunch.”

Her lips parted as if to thank him, but then she smiled—gently, apologetically—and shook her head. “I don’t want to intrude. I know my presence here is an imposition, Your Highness. I’m trying not to interrupt your daily life more than necessary.”

The formality in her voice twisted something inside him. That sweet, careful tone—both grateful and distanced—was a dagger she didn’t even know she wielded.

Ever since meeting her in person over a year ago, she’d been on his mind.

It had been a miraculous moment when Prince Saif had called in his favor, asking if they could hide Nahla here with him.

Mikail had agreed immediately, completely unaware of the challenge having this woman in his home would create.

“You’re not an interruption,” he said quietly, aware of how the words landed heavier than intended. “This is your home for now.”

That made her falter. She glanced away, her lashes lowering in a way that sent his thoughts somewhere they absolutely shouldn’t go. Her fingers brushed her plate—untouched save for a small wedge of lemon tart. She really was trying not to impose.

“I’ll take some food to the terrace,” she offered softly. “The air is nice today, and I can eat while I read.”

He wanted to tell her to stay. To ask about her book. To sit across from her and pretend that the air between them wasn’t thick with awareness. But instead, he simply nodded, tightening his jaw.

She dipped her head in gratitude, every movement poised and controlled. And yet—graceful. Like a dancer who knew the world was watching and couldn’t afford to trip.

Mikail stood in silence as she gathered her things, offered him a final polite smile, and swept out of the room with quiet dignity.

He exhaled slowly once the door closed behind her.

God, she was exquisite.

He dragged a hand down his face, shaking his head at himself. She is a guest. A guest. She’s off-limits. She wasn’t even supposed to be here—he was supposed to be helping Saif, protecting an ally’s cousin, nothing more.

But her delicate beauty was like a thorn beneath his skin. The gentle curve of her jaw, the quiet strength in her refusal to be a burden, the flicker of vulnerability when she thought no one was watching. She stirred something in him that he didn’t know how to handle.

And now she was wandering his palace, wearing his sunlight, eating lemon tart, leaving behind the scent of jasmine and trouble.

Mikail sat down, scowled at the plate the staff set in front of him, and tried very hard not to picture her sitting in this very chair, her lips curving around a smile she hadn’t yet shown him.

God help him if she ever did.