Page 18 of Her Irresistible Sheik
Heather didn’t respond—just smiled and looked thoughtful.
“Broccoli’s off the table too,” Nahla added quickly, grasping for any sense of control.“I hate it.It tastes like punishment.”
Heather gave a mock gasp.“You insult my beloved brassica inmykitchen?”
Nahla barely glanced at her new friend.“It’s horrifying.I won’t apologize.”
Heather sighed dramatically and opened a drawer.“Fine.Green beans then.Grown in the greenhouse.Fresh, crisp, cooperative little things.Unlike you.”
Nahla smiled despite herself.“Thank you.Really.”
Heather gave her a side glance and lowered her voice.“You okay?”
Nahla nodded, then ducked her head, brushing a streak of flour off her cheek.“Just…nerves,” she admitted.“Dinner with a man who frowns better than I breathe?Who looks at me like I’ve committed diplomatic treason every time I walk into a room?”
Heather slid a bowl across the counter.“That’s definitely not how I’d interpret that look.But don’t worry.You’ll do fine.”She turned away, but said over her shoulder with a cheeky grin, “Just don’t feed him scones.”
That drew a laugh from Nahla, and for a moment, the tension eased—until she remembered what time it was and what was coming.She took a deep breath, clutched the broom a little tighter, and stared at the spotless floor.
Only six more hours until dinner.And she already needed another shower, a new outfit, and possibly a new personality.
Chapter 10
He’d had to walk away.
If he’d stayed even one second longer in that kitchen, Mikail would’ve kissed her.On the mouth.With tongue.And maybe flour.And then his life would’ve been over.
Those bright, stunned blue eyes.Those soft, flour-dusted lips that parted when she gasped.He’d seen the moment her expression turned dreamy, and it had nearly done him in.Just one more heartbeat and he would’ve been brushing flour from her jaw with his mouth instead of his thumb.
The woman was a menace.
As he strode down the corridor, every purposeful step filled with the sheer force of his restraint, Mikail tried to shake her from his thoughts.No good.The image of Nahla standing there, curves wrapped in an apron, looking like some sort of adorable domestic disaster, was now burned into his brain.
And her scones… good grief.He glanced down at the disc in his hand.The thing had the density of industrial concrete.The thing could possibly double as riot gear.And yet—he couldn't throw it out.That rock-hard pastry was a symbol of something he didn’t want to examine too closely.
With a sigh that could’ve cracked marble, Mikail turned to the guards still shadowing him like ghosts.
“Why was Princess Nahla in the kitchen?”he asked, his voice low and loaded.
All four guards exchanged glances, shoulders twitching with fear and confusion, like they’d just been asked to explain quantum physics during a lightning storm.
Silence.
His good mood—already on life support—flatlined.
He resumed walking, his steps heavier, his jaw set to stone.Once in his office, he dropped into his leather chair with a grunt and opened the top file on his desk.A report on the new irrigation systems for the eastern provinces.Very important.Vital, even.
He read the first paragraph four times.
And couldn’t remember a single word.
“Desmond!”
His assistant appeared so fast, Mikail suspected the man had been lurking just outside the door like some overly formal ninja.
“Yes, Your Highness?”
“I need a security update on Princess Nahla.”
