Page 25 of Her Irresistible Sheik
But this time, the waiter noticed.
And made a hasty retreat.
Smart man.
“So, you don’t like biographies because they might not be true.And you don’t like autobiographies because the writer is arrogant.”
“Exactly.”She nodded decisively.“Plus, I’m fairly certain most autobiographies are ghostwritten, which means the subject isn’t just arrogant—they’re also a liar.”
Mikail chuckled, setting his wineglass down.“I suspect you’re right.Though… I do enjoy biographies.”
“Are they military leaders?Or stoic diplomats who suppress all their feelings and make their own clothes out of burlap sacks?”
He lifted a brow.“I don’t recall burlap being mentioned, but yes—military leaders and the occasional visionary strategist.”
“Of course,” she said with mock solemnity.“Next, you’ll tell me you highlight key passages and store them in a color-coded filing system.”
He gave her a level stare.
Her lips twitched.“You do, don’t you?”
“I believe in organized intelligence.”
She snorted and lifted her wine glass.“I believe in stories where the heroine doesn’t have to footnote her feelings.”
That made him laugh.And then she grinned.
To protect his dignity and his sanity, he pivoted to safer ground—books.Fictional ones.He steered the conversation toward spy thrillers and mysteries, watching as her face came alive.She spoke with her hands, her spoon forgotten in her fingers as she recounted plots and twists with a vibrancy that made the rest of the room disappear.
Mikail didn’t interrupt.He just listened.Or at least hetriedto.But her lips—soft, pink, slightly glossed—kept catching his eye.Especially every time she licked the spoon.Which, apparently, was often.
He was doomed.
Before long, the dessert course arrived—raspberry mousse, artfully plated.The chef had even done one of those sauce swirl things.Mikail frowned at it.It was…festive.He preferred steak.Or black coffee.Possibly a wall to glare at.But mousse?
Across from him, Nahla moaned softly with pleasure after her first bite.“Oh wow,” she whispered.“This is amazing.”
Mikail shifted in his chair, trying not to notice the way her eyes fluttered closed or how her tongue flicked out to catch a smear of raspberry from the corner of her mouth.He tried not to imagine replacing that spoon with his fingers.Or his mouth.Or—
Nope.Time to retreat.
“I have some work to finish up,” he said abruptly, standing so quickly his chair scraped loudly against the floor.
Nahla blinked up at him, clearly startled.“Oh.Yes.Of course.”
“Thank you for the… for your company.”
He nearly groaned.For your company?That was what he came up with?
Mikail strode from the room before he did something idiotic.Like taste the raspberry mousse on her lips.
Or ask her to stay.Or kiss her.Or clear the entire table with one sweep of his arm and—
No.Cold shower.Now.
By the time he reached his suite, he was practically tearing off his shirt.Cold water wasn’t enough tonight.It never was where she was concerned.
And yet as he stepped under the spray, Mikail knew exactly what image would haunt him through the night: her laugh.And the way she said “mousse” like it was a sacred offering from the gods.
