Page 39 of Her Irresistible Sheik
Guilt twisted inside her.
Had she taken up too much of his time last night?Talking.Photographing him.Making him stand in that ridiculous makeshift studio?
Had he stayed awake afterward, worrying about her safety?
Nahla stepped back slightly, trying to regain her balance and clarity.“I’m very hungry,” she repeated, a bit more formally.“But I don’t want to take up your time this morning.I’m sure you have more important things to do.”
“Nonsense,” he said without hesitation.He reached for her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow, his grip firm and unapologetic.“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
His fingers pressed gently over hers.“And I doubt you had dinner last night.”
“No,” she admitted, too disoriented to argue.But her brain was still trying to replay their kiss.The warmth, the hunger, the way her heart had thundered in her chest.
Yet now, he was so… composed.There was no flicker of recognition in his expression.No acknowledgement of a kiss, a whisper, or a midnight confession.
So, it had been a dream.Right?
“How long will it take you to edit the photos from last night?”he asked as they entered the sunshine filled breakfast room.
She sat down, glancing around to get her bearings.The lemon-yellow walls glowed with morning light.Outside, birds chirped merrily in the garden beyond the open doors.
“Um…not long,” she said vaguely, still half-certain she was going to wake up again at any moment.
And yet… over the next hour and a half, she forgot to question.The more they talked, the more she relaxed.Mikail was funny, sharp, thoughtful.He listened when she spoke.He challenged her, teased her, respected her opinions.
And as she sipped her coffee and nibbled at buttery pastries, she realized something even more unsettling than dream-kisses or late-night whispers.
She liked being with him.
So when one of his aides stepped into the room to interrupt them, informing Mikail of an urgent issue, the pang she felt wasn’t confusion anymore.
It was disappointment.
The kind that lingers long after the dream fades.
Chapter 21
Clyde walked out of the palace that morning with a stiffness in his gait that wasn’t just from pain—it was rage, barely contained by his skin.He kept his broken thumb hidden deep in his pocket, shielding it from view, though every jolt of movement sent a fresh stab of fire up his forearm.His teeth clenched against the pain, his jaw twitching with every step.
Then there was the faint, sickeningly sweet scent of lavender still clung to his clothes, a lingering reminder of his failure, humiliation, and fury.And the ache in his shin from when he’d run into that damn chair.
Around him, the other palace workers were leaving for the day, chatting in low voices, shuffling tired feet.A few glanced his way.One woman sniffed the air and wrinkled her nose.Another squinted, as if trying to place his face.
He ignored them all, shoulders squared and expression tight.
Yeah, I smell like lavender perfume,he silently seethed.Deal with it—or die.
The sun was just starting to set, but the lingering heat still burned too bright against his skull.His temple throbbed, a slow pulse of agony that joined the chorus of aches radiating from his hand, his thumb, his jaw, his shin—and damn it, his gum.The pain from his thumb had nearly blocked out the pain from whatever had happened to his jaw.His tongue slid over the spot and found nothing.His anger increased slightly at the realization that he’d actually lost a tooth!From a scone!
As soon as he turned the corner and was out of sight of the palace gates, Clyde moved faster.Rage added fuel to every step, boiling beneath the surface of his skin.His limp grew worse, but he pushed through it, powered by hate.
The warehouse was just a few blocks away, tucked between a long-abandoned bakery and a collapsed car maintenance shop.From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a ruin—windowless, crumbling at the edges, forgotten by time.But Clyde had spent two weeks turning it into a base of operations: maps, floor plans, surveillance monitors, old laptops, burner phones, weapons, disguises.All hidden away at the moment, but easily exhumed from the chaotic rubble.
His planning should have been enough.
This job was supposed to take three days.In, kill, out.Professional.Clean.
Now he smelled like a damn bouquet.
