Page 30 of Her Irresistible Sheik
Nahla waited, camera cradled in her hands, her heart beating faster than it should.Photographing someone—truly capturing them—was intimate.Raw.It peeled something back, whether the subject realized it or not.
And this man—this maddening, magnetic man—was already under her skin.
So as she held his gaze, silently begging and silently dreading his answer, her breath caught.
“Why not?”he finally said.
A giddy thrill rushed through her, like electricity up her spine.She tried to contain it, but her smile was impossible to smother.“Thank you,” she said, aiming for calm professionalism.Her voice still came out a little breathless.
“What do you want me to do?”he asked, wariness flickering in his eyes as he glanced around the very unprofessional, very pink-accented room.
Nahla turned, eyeing the too-dainty décor, the polished floors, the ornate floral drapes.This wasn’t going to work.“The lighting is bad.And the furniture looks like it came from a rococo tea party,” she muttered, half to herself.
Then she glanced at the dark windows and frowned.“And it’s nighttime?When did that happen?”
Mikail crossed his arms, one brow raised.“You missed an entire meal and a very expansive sunset.”
“I get absorbed,” she admitted with a grin, which of course, made that sparkle appear.Mikail tensed.
She didn’t notice.
“I’ll be right back,” she called, vanishing into the bedroom.A moment later, she emerged carrying a folded white bedsheet and several binder clips.“This’ll have to do.”
He watched her drag chairs, angle lamps, and hang the sheet on a curtain rod like a woman possessed.Occasionally, she mumbled about shadows, bounce light, and something called “tonal coherence.”He caught none of it.He was too busy watching the way her hips moved when she adjusted the tripod.
Finally, she stepped back and sighed, satisfied.“There.Studio Nahla.”
“You finished moving furniture yet?”he asked from his spot where he was leaning against a marble pillar, arms still crossed, watching her with amusement and far too much interest.
“Almost.Don’t worry,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.“No one’s died during one of my sessions.Yet.”
“That’s… reassuring.”
“Stand right here,” she instructed, pointing to a spot in front of the draping white bedsheet like she was directing traffic.
“You want me to pose in front of your bed linens?”
“They’reclean,” she said with mock offense.“And I have a vision.”
Mikail moved into place, stiff as granite.“I feel like I’m about to be sacrificed.”
“You are,” she muttered, adjusting the lens.“To art.”
She took the first few shots, then frowned.“You look like a man about to deliver a eulogy.Relax your jaw.”
“Thisisrelaxed,” he grumbled.
Nahla pulled the camera away from her face, startled by his response.But at the look in his dark eyes, she realized that he was serious.Did the man never relax?
Pursing her lips, she studied him.“Okay.Let’s try something else.”She stepped closer and tipped his chin up; her fingers brushed his skin and a shock of heat raced through her.They both froze.His eyes darkened and her heart thudded against her ribs.“Sorry,” she whispered.“I should have asked permission to touch you.”
“Permission granted,” he replied, his voice deeper and that heat in his eyes turned to inferno levels.
But she swallowed and pulled her fingers away as she stepped back once again.“Tell me about your sisters.”
That startled him.“What?”
“Talk to me,” she said softly, lifting the camera again.“It helps.”
