Page 27 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

Is Ali sick again?

My heart beats faster with concern. I had thought he was completely in the clear, but if he is, then why is his father summoning me again?

I type a quick reply, confirming that I will be there as soon as possible, all the while trying to not worry too much about Ali.

Less than an hour later, I step through the grand entrance of Faiz’s palace, my medical bag clutched a little too tightly. Myfantasy from this morning tickles the edges of my consciousness, and even though it doesn’t make sense, I’m actually worried Faiz has turned into a mind reader overnight and will be able to know I’ve been thinking inappropriate thoughts about him.

“Dr. Hague.” Ahmed, the head of security, nods at me. “His Highness awaits you in the drawing room.”

“Thank you.” I flash him a quick smile then hurry toward the drawing room, struck by the realization that I now know where every room is in this palace.

It’s Ali I think of as I walk, picturing his round face and hoping that his health hasn’t taken a turn for the worse. I haven’t been told what the matter is, only that there’s a need for a checkup. It isn’t like Faiz to be vague about his son’s condition, which makes me worry all the more.

But when I enter the sunlit drawing room, it’s not Ali who sits looking slightly uncomfortable on the edge of a sofa, but Faiz himself. He meets my eyes with a sheepish look that’s far from his usual stoic façade.

“Faiz?” There’s a question in my name for him, my professional mask slipping into personal worry. “What’s wrong? Is Ali…”

“Ali’s fine,” he says quickly, almost defensively. “It’s me. I’ve been feeling… off. Since last night.”

The relief that Ali is well is quickly overshadowed by this new concern. Faiz is strong, a man who looks like he could carry the weight of the world on his shoulders — and often does, both literally and figuratively. To see him admit vulnerability feels like witnessing a private moment I shouldn’t be privy to.

“Let me take a look at you, then.” I approach, my fingers working deftly to unzip my bag and pull out my stethoscope.

Without a word, Faiz stands and pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, revealing a torso that’s every bit as sculpted as any masterpiece gracing the walls of his palace. My breath catches, and the room suddenly seems several degrees warmer. I nearly fumble the stethoscope, catching it at the last second before it can clatter to the floor.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, mistaking my shock for discomfort. “I thought it would make things easier.”

“Of course,” I manage to say, steadying my hand as I place the cold metal against the warm skin of his back. “Deep breaths for me, please.”

He complies, and the sound of his lungs fills my ears — clear and strong. Too intimate, I think as I move the stethoscope over his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart. A heart that, despite all logic, I fear might have the power to disrupt the rhythm of mine.

“Everything sounds normal,” I tell him after a thorough examination, forcing my voice to remain even. “What have your symptoms been?”

“A cough.”

I ask him a few more questions, but it doesn’t take long to figure out what the culprit likely is.

“It might be indigestion,” I tell him. “A few dietary adjustments should settle your cough. I’ll send you a list of foods to avoid. And try not to eat right before bed.”

“Understood,” he says, the corner of his mouth tipping upward in a half-smile that sends a flutter through my chest. “Will you be at my parents’ residence this evening? They’re hosting a family dinner.”

I pause, my heart skipping a beat. The thought of seeing him again, outside the confines of doctor and patient, sends a thrill down my spine. Our eyes lock, and there’s a spark, undeniable and electric.

“Perhaps,” I reply, my voice laced with a playfulness I hadn’t intended, but can’t seem to hold back. “You might see me there.”

His parents did invite me to dinner tonight, but distracted as I’ve been with Ali and Faiz, I’d nearly forgotten all about it. If Faiz hadn’t mentioned it, I probably wouldn’t have gone at all.

He studies me for a moment longer than necessary, his brown eyes searching mine. It feels like we’re skirting the edge of something unspoken, daring each other to plunge into the depths.

“Then I’ll look forward to it,” he says with warmth.

I swallow hard, feeling like my heart is beating its way into the base of my throat.Is he flirting with me?

Or am I going crazy?

No. He’s definitely flirting. He’s not a man given to frivolous conversation or unnecessary words. Every word he utters holds weight.

A moment stretches between us, fraught with the unsaid. My fingers tremble, the stethoscope still hanging heavy in my hand. My gaze, inescapably, drops to his bare chest, and my pulse quickens.

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