Page 17 of Her Irresistible Sheik
He’d taken the scone.
She’d baked three failed batches today and not even Heather had wanted to taste the latest attempt.But this brooding, unreadable man had taken one.Willingly.
Nahla barely had time to process the moment before she saw him pause at the exit.His steps halted just before he reached the door.Slowly, deliberately, he brought the scone to his mouth and bit into it.
He took a bite, then pulled it away.
Stared down at the scone.
Turned his head and met her eyes again.
Nothing.No smirk.No compliment.No complaint.
Then, without changing his expression, he turned and pushed through the swinging doors.
Nahla stood frozen.
What the hell had just happened?
She blinked, trying to steady her breath.Her chest felt tight.Her heart was moving far too fast.She glanced around.At some point, the kitchen staff had made themselves scarce.She was alone, standing in a cloud of flour that had settled around her shoes.
“This is ridiculous,” she whispered.
A year ago, she’d walked away from that man at a gala and told herself she’d imagined the pull between them.But now she’d seen it again.Felt it.And been reminded exactly why having a crush on Mikail al Acantra was a very bad idea.
There were too many contradictions.He was a puzzle without edges.A man who scowled harder than thunder but brushed her hair from her face with reverence.
She needed clarity.Purpose.
Spotting the broom near the cleaning closet, she grabbed it and began sweeping.The rhythm of bristles against tile helped settle her nerves.It wasn’t diplomacy or strategy or baking expertise, but cleaning up flour was one task she couldn’t mess up.
“You don’t need to do that,” Heather called out, reappearing with a whisk in one hand and a gleam of mischief in her eye.“The cleaning crew’s on rotation.This place will be spotless in twenty minutes.”
Nahla straightened, the broom still in her grip, and narrowed her eyes.“You left me alone with him,” she hissed, voice low and dramatically betrayed.
Heather’s neutral expression cracked into a wide, unrepentant grin.“I sure did.And now you’re having dinner with the tall, dark scowler.You’re welcome.”
“Traitor,” Nahla muttered.
Heather leaned forward on the counter, her grin deepening as she mentally went through dining options.“So.What’s on the menu?I’m thinking candlelight.Maybe steak and lobster, something rich and sensual.Or—wait—sea scallops with a creamy lime drizzle.Delicate.Sophisticated.The kind of dish that saysflirt with me, but respectfully.”
“No!”Nahla gasped, flailing slightly.A fresh puff of flour exploded off her shoulder.She coughed and swatted the air.“Nothing romantic!I need…culinary distance.Something that screams ‘thank you for the bulletproof guest room’—not ‘kiss me by dessert.’”
Heather tilted her head, amused.“You’re really fighting this, huh?”
“He’s just paying off a debt to my cousin,” Nahla insisted, voice brittle with effort.“That’s all this is.”
Heather arched a brow.“Sure.That explains the way he looked at you before he ate one of those...weapons-grade scones.Risked gastrointestinal trauma for you, that man.”
Nahla swept harder.“It was one scone.Probably curiosity.”
Heather held up both hands, backing off—barely.“Fine.No lobster.No lace tablecloths.Just a simple, neutral, emotionally void dinner.”She paused.“With the best wine in the palace.”
“No wine either!”Nahla pointed a flour-covered finger.“I’m already one eyebrow raise away from acting ridiculous around him.Alcohol would just speed up the humiliation.”
Heather laughed as she washed her hands again, unfazed.“Got it.Dinner for two.Warm but platonic.Charming but non-suggestive.I’ll make steak medallions.With a lemon-herb sauce—bright, sharp, friendly.”She paused, then made a face.“Definitely not garlic.Garlic plus potential kissing is not a winning combo.”
Nahla groaned and pressed the dustpan into the bin.“There will be no kissing.”
