The Sheik’s Pretend Fiancee (Al-Sintra Family #5)

Chapter 1

"Care to explain why you've crashed this gala?" Angela Al-Sintra’s voice was low and steady, but the edge was unmistakable. Her smile, perfectly timed for the hovering onlookers, didn’t quite reach her eyes—those dark, furious eyes that betrayed just a flicker of something else. Recognition. Maybe even longing. Her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her champagne flute, the faintest tremor giving her away. She shifted her weight, not from discomfort but to brace herself—because the man approaching was tall, maddeningly composed, and far too familiar. He walked toward her like he belonged, and despite everything, her pulse stuttered.

The man smiled with infuriating calm, a predator cloaked in charm—and somehow, it only heightened the pressure building beneath Angela’s polished facade. Her lips curved into a wider, almost syrupy smile, the kind that looked sweet but tasted of arsenic. Hidden beneath layers of chiffon, her free hand clenched into a fist, the only crack in her careful composure.

She stole a glance at the elegantly dressed crowd mingling below, nodding absently when someone glanced up. Did she look as poised as she hoped? Or were they already murmuring behind raised cocktail napkins, wondering why she was locked in conversation with the one man she was supposed to avoid?

With a soft huff—equal parts frustration and nerves—Angela amped up her smile and turned back to him.

“My assistant personally confirmed that you had no intention of attending,” she said, her voice honeyed with just the right amount of bite. “I was assured that you had other plans.”

Sheik Tiro el Maistri chuckled, the sound low and warm enough to tingle up her spine. Amusement lit his dark eyes, but it wasn’t just humor—it was interest. Deep, sharp-edged interest. “Careful, Princess,” he murmured, his gaze flicking over her like a touch, “or you might just charm me.”

He waited— waited —for her inevitable snort of irritation before continuing, as if he enjoyed every beat of her barely contained annoyance. When it came, his lips curled ever so slightly with both triumph and satisfaction. “It’s always a pleasure to see you, Princess,” he added, lowering his voice just enough to make her pulse jump. His eyes swept the terrace, casually checking for eavesdroppers before turning his attention back to the glittering crowd. “I came to speak with you,” he said, his voice even, almost casual. “You’re serving as Lativa’s ambassador now, aren’t you?”

Angela took a slow, deliberate sip of champagne—less for the taste, more to cool the flicker of heat his nearness provoked. He’d shifted just slightly, angling his body toward hers with that predator’s ease, and she felt it, sharp and immediate, like a live current brushing her skin.

Why couldn’t he look like the monster he clearly was? It would be so much easier if he had horns. Or warts. Or a complexion that screamed stay away. But no—he had to be tall, immaculately dressed, and so sinfully composed it made her teeth ache.

She flashed a bright smile, all teeth. “I am. And what exactly do you hope to gain from this little chat?” Her tone was light, dismissive. Her heart, on the other hand, was thudding like a warning bell.

Tiro’s gaze didn’t waver. “That depends,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Are you here to represent Lativa, or to guard your own interests?”

Her brows lifted, just slightly. “Is there a difference?”

“There usually is.” His voice was smooth as silk, but there was something underneath—something testing. Measuring. “But I was hoping you’d be the exception.”

Angela laughed, short and dry. “You’ve mistaken me for someone cooperative.”

“Not at all,” he said, and for the first time, a faint smile curved his lips. “I’ve heard you’re an exceptional pain in the ass. I simply wanted to see it for myself.”

Unfortunately, the ruler of Ginisia was, annoyingly, handsome. Not in the traditional sense—his features were too angular, too severe. But the bold line of his nose, the precise cut of his jaw… there was something infuriatingly arresting about the whole package.

If one were inclined to ignore the ever-present scowl.

Or the fact that he governed with all the finesse of a sledgehammer.

“I’m only acting as ambassador temporarily,” she continued , adjusting her stance to shift just a few more inches away. “I’m here until the actual ambassador recovers from surgery.”

“I heard,” he said quietly. “But I imagine it’s a dangerous game—putting you in front of microphones and diplomats. The wrong words could start a war.”

Angela arched a brow. “Good thing I don’t say the wrong words.”

“Hmm.” His eyes dipped to her mouth, then flicked back up. “So far.”

She didn’t like how aware she was of his presence. She didn’t like the way his height loomed in her peripheral vision, how the scent of him—clean, expensive, infuriating—kept pulling at her focus. Most of all, she didn’t like that her gaze kept returning to his jawline, sharp enough to cut glass.

Then his eyes moved over her again—slow, deliberate, unblinking. A sweep that felt more like an assessment than a glance. Something inside her fluttered unexpectedly. It wasn’t fear. Not quite. Just... foreign.

She took a half-step back, her instinct flaring—only to stumble slightly as someone moved too close behind her.

Tiro reacted before she could, one strong hand closing around her upper arm with alarming precision. Not tight, not bruising—just... aware. Like he knew exactly how far she’d move and when. Like he’d been ready.

The contact lasted barely a second, his hand releasing her the moment she regained balance. But the heated imprint of his fingers lingered, tingling through the silk of her sleeve as though her skin remembered.

Angela looked up at him sharply, trying to mask the jolt of disorientation. But his gaze had already found hers again—cool, unreadable, too perceptive for comfort. Her breath hitched, too fast, and she turned away before he could see the confusion behind her eyes.

The ballroom below bustled with color and movement. Waiters navigated clusters of guests in glittering gowns. Crystal lights shimmered overhead, refracting across glass and champagne and diamonds. Angela had come to the balcony for a reprieve. To collect herself. To escape the noise.

Instead, he had found her.

Of course he had.

“Thinking of jumping?” His voice held a teasing lilt, but something darker ran beneath it—something too observant to be casual.

She cut him a look, unsettled by how much attention he paid to her.

“Why would I jump?” she asked coolly.

He shrugged, and her eyes—traitorous things—tracked the motion of his shoulders beneath the perfectly tailored suit. Broad. Powerful. Designed to make people feel small.

“Maybe to get away from me,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Your country doesn’t exactly welcome mine with open arms. Perhaps they’d prefer you fall to your death rather than be caught speaking to the enemy.”

Angela rolled her eyes, but her smile faltered at the edges. “Don’t be ridiculous. The people of Lativa don’t hate you that much.”

She tried to say it lightly, but she couldn’t ignore the way her voice had softened—or how her pulse refused to slow under his watchful gaze.

“Good to know,” he replied. She felt his gaze on her and stiffened, worried what he would say next. To her surprise, his tone warmed slightly, “You’re surprisingly beautiful.”

For a long moment, Angela forgot to breathe. Angela ignored the increased pace of her traitorous heart at his words, turning back to watch the crowd, pretending that he hadn’t just altered her world in some subtle, weird way. “I’m not sure why my appearance would be relevant.” She glanced back over her shoulder at him. “What do you want?”

The man’s enigmatic gaze moved over her features and Angela had the strangest sensation that he was trying to memorize her face. Toward what goal ? He was the ruler of Ginisia! Their countries were not friends. They competed fiercely for markets, there were regular border problems, and his country had stolen some top-secret documents from a Lativa government laboratory just last month.

For that alone, Angela should slap him and walk away.

But his next words stopped her.

“In the world of international diplomacy,” he started, then paused, his eyes still tracing her cheekbones, “everything is relevant, wouldn’t you agree?”

Why did that strangely worded comment feel like a veiled compliment? The words alone weren’t necessarily flattering. However, Angela felt…unexpectedly beautiful.

Focus! Don’t let him get to you, she admonished herself silently.

“What do you want, Sheik el Maistri?” she demanded, startled when her tone came out breathy instead of the sharpness she’d intended.

Did he just step closer? Angela held her breath, feeling that unwelcome tension increase. Enemy, she reminded herself. This man wasn’t handsome. He wasn’t interesting. He was the ruler of her country’s enemy. So, why did she catch herself leaning forward slightly ? Why did her fingers itch to explore the muscles under his tailored tuxedo?

“Oh, I want many things,” he replied. Had his voice become huskier? Surely, he wasn’t trying to flirt with her! Why would he? They hated each other . They were strangers!

Angela tried to come up with a pithy, strategic response. But her lips couldn’t move. Not at the moment.

“We’re enemies,” she finally blurted out. Later, Angela would replay those two words in her head, cursing at the banality of their meaning. But at the moment, those two words felt more like…an obstacle? Or a challenge?

Whatever, there was something about him that was seriously frazzling her. She couldn’t effectively concentrate. Maybe giving him a harsh, stinging rebuke for daring to approach her in such a casual manner would help her regain control of this moment. It was certainly unprecedented and she definitely didn’t appreciate his comments about her appearance.

“I think it’s time we change that,” he offered. There was definitely a challenge in those dark, enigmatic eyes ! She felt it in the way his gaze shifted to her lips, then slowly and with an intensity that caused her heart to skip a beat, returned to her eyes.

Angela suddenly became aware of the fascinating flecks of gold in those dark eyes. Interesting !

“Our countries barely have diplomatic relations,” she countered, wondering why her voice sounded like a barely audible whisper. And was that lingering regret in her tone ? Were his lips as hard as they appeared? Or would he kiss tenderly, with a hint of hesitation ?

Kissing? Angela was both appalled by the thought…and more intensely curious about the possibility than she’d ever been in her life. And that was saying a lot!

Of course, her cousins, Laith, Rafi, and Zayn, would roll their eyes and snicker if they knew what was going through her mind at this moment.

He stepped forward, his shoulders blocking the light from the ballroom while the intensity in his dark eyes made the world evaporate. “I think it’s high time that we changed the script, don’t you?”

What, exactly , was he suggesting? She licked her lips. “I don’t think my Uncle Khal would be open to that.”

His lips quirked and Angela wasn’t sure what he was thinking. This new expression wasn’t amusement. It wasn’t anger. Unfortunately, she was too distracted to interpret the way his lips curled slightly at the corners.

“Isn’t it your job to change a man’s mind?”

Whose mind was he suggesting she change? For some unfathomable reason, Angela suspected that he didn’t give a damn about her uncle. And equally unfathomable, her eyes dropped, again, to his mouth, wondering what his lips would feel like. Would his kisses be hard and demanding? Or soft and persuasive?

Clearing her throat, Angela blinked and looked deliberately at him, then took a step away. She wanted to rebuke him, to come up with something to say that would destroy his confidence. However, she wasn’t able to think of an appropriately pithy, pointed remark. The best she could manage was, “I doubt your mind is flexible enough to be changed.”

The look he gave her was...it wasn’t threatening, exactly. But it was a warning. An alarm bell sounded in her head. Loud and clear, but Angela ignored it, preferring the soft, fuzzy warmth of curiosity. Her tendency to run headlong into mysteries had gotten her into trouble more than once over the years.

But, it had also brought her a great deal of satisfaction.

She heard a soft, tempting-yet-terrifying growl and watched as his eyes burned in response to her challenge. “You’d be surprised at how flexible my mind can be,” he replied.

Were they still talking about…what had they been discussing? It certainly wasn’t her Uncle Khal anymore!

A bell sounded, jerking Angela from the trance she’d been in for…however long this interaction had been.

“I believe dinner is about to be served,” Tiro said. “Would it be outrageous if I were to escort you to dinner?”

Angela turned, looking up at him. Everything inside of her wanted to take his offered arm and walk beside him into the dining room. Her fingertips literally tingled with the hope of getting to feel the bulging muscles underneath his tuxedo.

But that would be wrong, she reminded herself firmly.

“Dare to be dangerous,” he purred, shooting her a pointed look.

Angela’s startled gaze lifted, her heart pounding against her ribs.

“I can’t and, more importantly, I shouldn’t ,” she told him. Finally, some common sense! Angela carefully and deliberately stepped around him, heading for the stairs.

And yet, Angela nearly changed her mind when she glanced back over her shoulder and caught the disappointment in his eyes. For a long moment, she simply stood there, looking back at him, fighting the urge to rush back up the steps, to tuck her hand into his arm, and smile up at him.

By sheer willpower, Angela resisted the urge. Silently, she reminded herself that she was the ambassador for her country. She didn’t have the luxury of ignoring the social and political implications of walking into dinner on Tiro’s arm. He was the enemy. And the international ramifications of being seen on his arm were dire. He knew it, as did she. So, why was he trying to shake things up? What was his plan? What advantage would the gesture provide for Ginisia?

With a huff, she looked away and shook her head with frustration. Who knew what Sheik Tiro was up to? He was a master at manipulations and gaining the upper hand . Of course, he’d lost as many battles as he’d won against her uncle, Sheik Khal of Lativa. Still, this was an extraordinary offer. Even being seen speaking with him could be considered threatening if the wrong interpretation were put on their conversation from Lativa’s allies.

She walked away, gripping the brass railing as she made her way down the ancient stone steps where the pre-dinner reception had been held. Carefully, she inserted herself into the slow moving, glittering crowd and headed into the dining room for what promised to be a delicious feast.

But Angela couldn’t keep from doing one last glance over her shoulder. He truly was magnificent, she thought. He was so tall and powerfully built. The tuxedo seemed to be mocking the world, teasing everyone into thinking that the man underneath the tailored material could be tamed.

Angela knew better. There was nothing docile about Sheik Tiro el Maistri. He was more beast than man. The almost feral look in his eyes as he followed her proved that point. She couldn’t stop the shiver.