Page 36 of The Sheikh's Secret Heir

We stop at a fountain, the trickling water mirroring the ebb and flow of our conversation. In the quiet, Faiz turns to face me, his eyes searching mine.

“Tara, there’s something I need to tell you.” His voice is low, almost hesitant. “From the first day we met, two years ago, Iwas drawn to you. Your strength, your grace — I found myself wanting to know you beyond the professional façade.”

I’m caught off guard, my heart racing at his confession. It’s one thing to sense an attraction; another to have it laid bare beneath the moonlight.

“Faiz, I—” The words catch in my throat, a tangle of emotions knotting together.

“I’ve kept people at a distance because of Ali.” He steps closer, his presence enveloping. “But with you, it’s different. I trust you, Tara.”

“Your secret,” I promise, the words barely above a cracked whisper, “is safe with me.”

His gaze holds mine, and I see the flicker of fear shadowed by hope. My heart flutters against my chest, a caged bird yearning for the freedom his words imply.

“Faiz,” I whisper, our breaths mingling in the space that no longer separates us.

He closes the gap, his fingers brushing my cheek with a tenderness I’ve never felt coming from him. The world narrows down to the two of us, to the moment his lips find mine. It’s a soft touch at first, a question asked with a gentle pressure. I answer without hesitation, deepening the kiss, affirming the truth we’ve both danced around for far too long.

Our kiss is a revelation, a shedding of reservations, a dive into waters both deep and unknown. I taste the honesty of his confession, the sweetness of hidden desires finally brought to light. There’s a hunger there, too, a yearning that mirrors my own — a connection unexplored yet undeniably present.

Eventually, reluctantly, we part, breathless. Faiz’s eyes search mine, seeking reassurance, perhaps even permission. I nod, the motion more felt than seen, and his hand finds mine, an anchor in the uncertainty.

“Come with me,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the rhythm of my pulse thrumming in my ears.

I let him lead me through the dimly lit corridors of the palace, past twelve-foot tapestries and gleaming marble, deeper into his world — and into the vulnerability of our burgeoning intimacy. We reach the door to his bedroom, a threshold that feels monumental, charged with the potential of what lies beyond.

Suddenly, he shakes his head. “I’m sorry — I shouldn’t have… Let’s go back to the gardens?—”

“No.” I press my finger to his lips, my gaze locked onto his. “I don’t want to be anywhere but in here… with you.”

His throat rolls with a slow swallow. He’s nervous — a look I’m not used to seeing on him. There’s more there, too, though. I feel it in the air between us, an invisible tether bringing us together. What’s been growing between us can only be denied for so long, and now that we’ve jumped off the cliff, I have no intention of taking things slow. I want to dive headfirst into whatever comes next for the two of us.

“Yes,” I breathe out. It’s a leap of faith, a trust in the connection that has simmered beneath the surface for two years, a trust in the man who stands before me, raw and open.

His hands roam over me, igniting a fire that has been banked for too long. With each layer of clothing that falls away, it feels like shedding old fears, discarding them like garments on the floor.When we come together, it’s with a passion that’s all-consuming, a merging of souls as much as bodies.

We fall into bed, a tangle of limbs and whispered endearments. The outside world ceases to exist as we explore each other, learning the landscape of skin and sighs. Every touch is an affirmation, every kiss a seal on the vow we’ve silently made — to hold this secret, this moment, this unexpected connection, as closely as we hold each other now.

CHAPTER 19

FAIZ

The warmth of the morning sun spills across the bed, but it’s Tara’s heat that envelops me, her body curled into mine. I blink awake, my chest filled with a kind of happiness that’s both exhilarating and terrifying in its intensity. Last night wasn’t a dream. She’s here, in my bed, her head resting on my pillow, her soft breaths a soothing rhythm against my skin.

“Good morning,” she whispers without opening her eyes, her lips curving up in a smile that speaks directly to my heart. I tighten my hold on her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. We linger like this, time blurring as we exchange lazy kisses, delicate touches tracing the lines of our newfound connection.

Eventually, the call of the day beckons us downstairs. The kitchen, usually just a functional space, becomes the stage for an intimate dance between us. I want to do something normal for her, something utterly American and un-royal — pancakes and bacon. I have her take a seat while I look up a recipe then mix up the batter and pour it onto the hot griddle, determined to show off a skill I don’t actually possess.

“Watch this,” I say with feigned confidence, slipping the spatula beneath the first pancake.

My attempt at flipping it ends in a half-folded mess, a splatter of batter decorating the stovetop. Tara laughs, and her happiness is enough to make all my embarrassment melt away.

“Let me guess,” she teases, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around my waist from behind. “You were aiming for abstract pancake art?”

“Exactly,” I agree, playing along, the joy of the moment loosening the last little bit of tightness inside me. Her laughter is a melody I never knew I craved, and it’s addictive, disarming my usual guarded nature.

“Can I try?” she asks.

She flips a pancake effortlessly, and I lean in for another kiss, drawn to her like gravity. Her taste, a mix of sweet and warmth, stirs a longing that’s been dormant for far too long.

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