Page 2 of Bred By the Sheikh

I looked up.

One of the Al-Hadid executives stood beside me, tablet in hand.

“Yes?”

“We’ll begin as soon as Sheikh Tariq arrives.”

“Of course.”

I managed not to ask whether people normally said that sentence with quite so much gravity.

Everyone else seemed to know where to sit. I recognized members of the Al-Hadid brand and marketing teams from the briefing documents, though Amanda had warned me most of the working group would remain functional contacts rather than people I needed to memorize.

I could handle that.

My brain was currently running on airplane coffee, determination, and whatever biochemical process allowed me to remain upright.

The door opened.

Conversation stopped.

I turned.

Then I forgot every single thing I’d just told myself about staying in my lane.

Sheikh Tariq Al-Hadid walked into the room like he’d been designed specifically to make women lose arguments with themselves.

He was enormous.

He wasn’t bulky or exaggerated, just very tall, broad through the shoulders, and built with the kind of athletic solidity that made the tailored lines of his suit look unfair to ordinary clothing.

He had thick black hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and warm olive-brown skin.

His eyes were so dark they looked almost black when they landed on me.

My stomach dropped.

And I didn’t mean metaphorically.

There was an actual physical dip low in my belly, followed by a warm rush up my throat.

I could’ve done without that.

Apparently fourteen hours on an airplane had stripped away whatever defenses normally prevented me from becoming sexually aware of clients before introductions.

His gaze moved over the room, then came back to me and stayed.

I swallowed.

Sheikh Tariq had the stillness of someone who’d never needed to fidget his way through an awkward moment in his life.

I, on the other hand, became abruptly aware of everything: my wrinkled hip, my StayWell lanyard, the freckles across my nose, and my nipples tightening beneath the pale blue fabric.

I folded my hands over my notebook.

He met my eyes.

“Good afternoon.”