The Sheikh’s Secret Heir (Sheikhs and Sweethearts #3)

4. Tara

CHAPTER 4

TARA

T he moment stretches, a silent current humming between us. I linger at the door of my office, hand still resting on the cool metal knob, while Faiz leans back casually against my desk.

But casual isn’t quite right; there’s a tension in his posture that betrays him. His eyes, dark pools of mystery, hold mine with an intensity that burns through my body. Always, there’s been this… awareness. A pull towards him that I’ve scolded myself for indulging even in thought. It’s just physical, I insist, nothing more. After all, he’s a near stranger who has actually been polite to me maybe once or twice.

In a few rare moments, I’ve caught only glimpses of someone who doesn’t seem to despise life — a laugh shared with someone else, a fleeting smile that never quite warmed his eyes. Eyes that are now fixed on me as if I hold some answer to an unasked question.

Faiz straightens slightly, his hand making a subtle gesture that feels like a command. Shut the door .

I obey, the click of it shutting louder than expected in the quiet room. The walls of my office suddenly feel closer, as if they’re leaning in to listen.

“Dr. Hague,” he begins, and I’m struck by how odd my professional title sounds on his lips, “I need your help.”

The words hang in the air, fragile and unexpected. Help. From me.

My chest tightens around the words.

Faiz Al-Rashid, the man who embodies self-reliance, the stoic prince whose life is a fortress of secrets, is reaching out. To me. It doesn’t make sense, yet here we are.

“Whatever you need, Your Highness.” I stand a little taller, doing my best despite how weak his gaze makes me. “You can count on me.”

He acknowledges my pledge with a nod, sharp and decisive. But there’s something else there — a flicker of vulnerability that softens the hard lines of his face before it’s gone, tucked away once more behind the armor of royalty.

“Meet me at my palace later,” he says, the words less an invitation and more a plea. “Eleven a.m.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” I respond, my own voice betraying none of the surprise that jolts through me. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

Of course I don’t know what I can do for him, since I don’t know what’s actually going on, but words are all I have to offer him in this moment of exposed humanity. What’s the deal with him? He’s never asked for anything from me before.

With a curt nod, he turns on his heel and strides out, leaving a silence that rings louder than any spoken word. I’m rooted to the spot, questions swirling around me like leaves in a storm. Is he ill? In trouble? Why is he being so secretive about this?

The possibilities are endless and unfathomable. Clearly, though, he is hiding something. He’s not merely asking me to do a routine physical on him. If that were the case, I highly doubt he would have asked me to shut the door against any prying ears.

I get to work straightening the stacks of medical journals on my desk, my hands steady while my thoughts are anything but. His invitation to his personal residence — it’s not protocol, it’s not ordinary, and it’s certainly not something my heart should be racing over.

But it is.

As I slot each journal into its proper place, I can’t help but ponder the reason behind his cryptic summons. Could it be…

No. He’s not inviting me over for some sort of romantic rendezvous.

This is Faiz Al-Rashid — prince, handsome ghost, a man who holds his cards so close to his chest they might as well be etched onto his ribs. This isn’t about attraction; it’s about necessity. And yet, the thought is there, a persistent vine of hope that sprouts buds of “what if…?”

Shuffling the last of the paperwork into its designated drawer, I let out a huff of laughter. The sound fills the stillness of my office, oddly out of place. It’s ridiculous, this flicker of fantasy that takes root in my mind — Faiz Al-Rashid, with his brooding eyes and quiet strength, seeking me out for personal reasons? I shake my head, feeling the warmth of absurdity paint my cheeks.

“Get a grip, Tara,” I mutter to myself, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.

This isn’t some tale spun from the pages of a dog-eared romance novel tucked away in my nightstand. Those stories, with their whirlwind courtships and charming princes, they’re just an escape, not a blueprint for real life — especially mine.

And yet, as I straighten a frame on the wall, a sliver of daydream slips through my defenses. For a sweet, indulgent moment, I’m swept into a vision where it’s just Faiz and me, alone under the star-sprinkled Zahranian sky. His hands, strong and sure, cup my face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. There’s a tenderness there, in the depths of those brown eyes, a softness that contradicts the hard lines of his jaw. He whispers something, voice low and husky, and I can almost feel the brush of his breath against my skin.

I sway slightly, lost in the vivid conjuring of my own longing. My heart races with the thrill of proximity to him, to this man who embodies a paradox of power and vulnerability — a man who, despite his aloof exterior, might just harbor desires as fervent as my own.

A sharp knock on my door startles me back to reality. The fantasy evaporates like mist under the harsh glare of sunlight, leaving behind a faint ache of longing. I clear my throat, schooling my features into practiced neutrality.

“Come in,” I call out, already mourning the loss of the dream but grateful for the interruption. It’s a reminder that there’s no room for such foolishness — not here, not with Faiz Al-Rashid.

There are boundaries and duties, and whatever he needs help with, it certainly won’t be found in the fanciful recesses of my imagination.