That photo did not do her justice.

  Her honey-brown hair was half-hidden underneath her chef’s hat. Dark eyes gleaming with concentration flicked away from the phyllo dough for only a moment to check the time. The delicate curve of her cheek set his heart racing, which Faidh hadn’t expected. How? His heart beat. How is she here? How, how, how? Intellectually, he knew exactly how she’d gotten here. His pastry chef, Alma, had asked permission to hire an apprentice. He’d paid a pretty penny for Alma, a woman in her fifties, to come and serve in his palace. She was a famed pastry chef in the Middle East, and Faidh had hired her as a gift to Meher, who loved pastries.

  If Alma requested an apprentice, Alma got an apprentice. He’d told her to give the paperwork to Elyas, Meher’s husband and head of palace security, to do the background checks.

  Mina’s record was stellar. She had Cordon Bleu training and had worked in several high-end bakeries around Pasadena, where she was from.

  Alma had already installed her in the kitchen when Elyas had discovered the inconsistencies in the paperwork. She’d made a few creative changes. Instead of sounding the alarm, though, Elyas had suggested that Faidh take advantage of those inconsistencies.

  Faidh couldn’t take his eyes off Mina’s hands on the phyllo dough. Her delicate fingers made practiced, expert movements as they worked it over, rolling and stretching it to a paper-like thinness. At that moment she turned to reach for something—plastic wrap, it looked like—and froze.

  Her eyes met his, shock written across them. His heart thumped. He’d thought she was beautiful from the photo. He’d thought she was gorgeous when her face was tipped down toward the dough. But when she was looking into his eyes—

  Stunning. She was stunning.

  He had to clear his throat before he could speak. It had gone tight at the electric sensation of her eyes locking on his. “Hello, Ms. Parks.”

  She blinked at the sound of her name, her hands frozen on the dough. “Sheikh Faidh.”

  Even her voice made him shiver, though not from cold. No—it was a warmth that ran down his spine and pulled toward her. Faidh pushed his reaction to the side. He was not there to assess her beauty or to have any sort of emotion about her.

  “I came to talk to you. It seems your visa paperwork wasn’t quite accurate, and you’re the daughter of Abbas Hamid.”

  Mina’s throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.

  Abbas Hamid. The Great Enemy of Nouzar. He had acted as a spy for the former sheikh of Larasan, who wanted to expand his emirate’s borders. The espionage had come to nothing, and after it was discovered, Hamid was exiled to the United States. The sheikh who had commanded him to spy abandoned him to his fate.

  “I know you’re not here legally.” He had never been so glad for an empty room. It was just the two of them, which made the impact of his words seem greater.

  “I didn’t lie,” she said, her voice even. He thought he could hear the slightest nervous waver in her tone, but she held her chin high and breathed deep. “On my application. I told the truth.”

  “You purposefully hid your parentage on the application. I believe that you have the skills you say you have, otherwise Alma would have sent you off by now. But the paperwork as a whole does not represent a true picture of you, Ms. Parks.”

  Her fingers jerked, shredding the delicate dough between them. Mina’s eyes fell to the table. The rise and fall of her chest became quicker, more shallow, and pink spread across her cheeks. He wanted to stroke the side of her face. To chase that embarrassed color away.

  Perhaps kiss it away.

  At that thought, reality crashed back into Faidh’s thoughts. Mina was hardly breathing now, the only movement coming from her hands. He had come in way too hot.

  He’d scared her.

  That was the last thing he’d wanted.

  Faidh put on his most charming smile, raised both hands in the air, and stepped back, creating more space between them. “I just wanted to talk to you about all this. I think we could help each other.”

  Mina’s deep brown eyes snapped to his. “How could I possibly help you?”

  He wanted to tell her the plan. Wanted to tell her the solution he’d come to after too many sleepless nights. But the noise from the larger kitchen surged in. The rest of the staff wouldn’t be able to resist coming closer. There was effectively no way to keep them from hearing—the pastry kitchen was connected to the main space by an open doorway.

  What they needed was a door.

  “Would you step into the butler’s pantry with me for a few moments? It would give us a bit of privacy so I could explain myself. I’d rather your illegal status not become idle palace gossip.”

  Her eyes went wider, and with a shallow nod, she draped the phyllo dough across the prep table and came around to him.

  Faidh led her out and to the right, where they went through another door. He closed it behind them as Mina stepped further into the pantry. The butler’s pantry was a transitional space between the kitchens and the palace’s formal dining room. Its greatest advantage was that it had been soundproofed more thoughtfully than other areas of the palace, so that the staff didn’t have to worry about disrupting meals while preparing dishes for serving.

  They were even closer now. The scent of her skin was sweet. Light. Delicate. Almost like the dough she’d been working with. Faidh ignored it and launched into the speech he’d come here to make.

  “I’ve been the sheikh for more than ten years, but I’ve always wanted my sister Meher to hold the title. She deserves it. She’s the older sibling, and she’d be a better leader than I would.”

  Mina shook her head slightly. “You came down here to tell me you don’t want to be sheikh?”

  It was too bold, but Faidh was delighted by it. “That’s exactly what I came down here to tell you, Ms. Parks. I don’t want to be sheikh, but a law prevents me from abdicating the throne without facing serious consequences. I would be exiled. On top of that, there’s a deadline coming up that means passing the position to my sister is a top priority.”

  There was only one way to do it that Faidh could see, and he’d turned this problem over and over in his head until the day Elyas told him about Alma’s new apprentice. “I need to push the council into taking away my title, at which point, it would pass to my nearest living relative—my sister. And now, I think I know how to make it happen.”

  Mina’s face got even redder. “What does that have to do with me?”

  Faidh took a deep breath. He was used to having all his requests honored to the best of his staff’s ability. This was different. It was so very different that his heart skipped a beat. “If you become my fiancée, it will enrage the council. They’ll have no choice but to declare me an unfit ruler. It’s the only way to transfer power to my sister without completely losing my home. I love my country—and that’s why it must be done this way.” There. That was it. “Will you marry me?”Grab your copy of Sheikh’s Pretend Engagement

  Grab your copy of Sheikh’s Pretend Engagement

  Available October 21 2021

  Available for pre-order now! www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  Sheikh’s Surprise Son

  BLURB

  The desert stars align for passion and romance…

  Years ago, Sheikh Hadi Toma allowed himself one night of freedom, one night to be a normal young man. Little did Hadi know, his one night of passion resulted in a son—a son who has been adopted by his daughter’s quirky, pink-haired teacher, Willow.

  It isn’t long before Hadi realizes Willow might solve a major problem. He’s duty-bound to fulfill an ancient prophecy, and must marry during an upcoming astronomical event. Who better to marry than his son’s adoptive mother? Now he just needs to convince Willow. But is he marrying her for love? Or just to satisfy his superstitious family’s wishes…

  Willow may not be her son’s biological mother, but she’s fiercely protective of her little boy. Can Hadi, a gruff, taciturn man, learn to be a patient, caring father? Sure, he’s the sexiest man she’s ever met, but that’s not the point. Still, it’s hard to keep her priorities straight when she gazes into the Sheikh’s smoldering eyes…

  With the public demanding a fairytale marriage, can these two opposites find their very own happy ending?

  Grab your copy of

  Sheikh’s Surprise Son

  Available December 30, 2021

  Available for pre-order now

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  BLURB

  The sexy American, Hannah, gave Sheikh Kyril a week of passion and then disappeared from his life. In the three months since, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Now, with an ancient law and his family’s expectations breathing down his neck, he has to find her. And convince her to marry him.

  Hannah spent ten years raising her younger sister and dreaming about traveling the world. Now that her sister’s grown she’s not waiting any longer. Her first trip, to the Middle East, made her wildest fantasies pale in comparison. Mostly because of Sheikh Kyril, who made her nights burn hotter than any desert day. But when she discovers she’s pregnant—with the sheikh’s baby—she can feel the walls of responsibility closing in around her again. Determined to hang on to her newfound freedom for as long as possible, she decides to embark on one final vacation before she returns to Kyril and breaks the news about the baby.

  But when Kyril finds her before she’s ready, she refuses to fall into line. So he falls in with her and begins a courtship through dream destinations and lavish pampering. But Hannah knows she won’t fit into Kyril’s royal family or lifestyle, and when they return to Al-Dashalid, discovering she’s right just might break both their hearts.

  Grab your copy of The Sheikh’s Pregnant Lover

  (Sheikhs of Al-Dashalid Book One)

  www.LeslieNorthBooks.com

  EXCERPT

  Chapter One

  Sheikh Kyril couldn’t lose her again.

  He tore through the train station, his feet hitting hard against the cement platform, the collar of his shirt damp against his neck. Damn the people lingering everywhere in his path, faces buried in phones and squinting at the arrival and departure boards. Hannah’s hair was lit up in the afternoon sun streaming through the station’s high atrium windows. The train whistle blew shrill in his ears—and in theirs, too, but the French didn’t seem to care, only the tourists.

  Hannah stood at the opposite end of the platform, ignoring the call to board the train. Of course she was. Kyril glanced up at the departures board as he rushed by—the only train leaving from that track was one bound for Venice. Now. Hannah dug into her bag, shoulders rising and falling. Even from this distance, Kyril’s chest hummed with pleased recognition. He would know her anywhere, among any crowd. The bag was the only thing saving him. He ran faster.

  Hannah shifted the bag from one arm to the other, and her face turned to him in profile, a little frown on her full lips. The light shifted on her sandy hair, illuminating the varied shades of blonde and brown. The urgency of her digging increased, and Kyril’s lips turned up at the corners in spite of himself. What did she think, that the bag was endless?

  God, she looked good—curvy, petite, delicious. As good as he remembered. Twice as good, even. He’d like to sweep her into his arms and run her somewhere private. But that bag—he had to stifle a laugh. It was a ridiculous bag, something huge and practical. He never knew what she was going to pull out of it—or lose in it—next. That image of her—head bowed over the opening of her bag—was burned into his memory. He knew this image would be, too. Hannah. Train station. Backlit by the sun.

  They’d spent a week together, three months ago. He’d never forget a single detail of that week. Not for as long as he lived. He knew that for certain.

  A more pressing certainty pounded in his chest. He had to catch Hannah before she stepped onto the train and it pulled away from the station. Its departure was imminent. He wouldn’t run like this if the train weren’t already humming with energy, ready to spirit her away from him. Weeks of searching had brought him to this point, racing through the Gare de Lyon train station like a businessman late to a meeting with his boss instead of the ruler of Al-Dashalid.

  He ignored the shouts of his security team. Too slow, those men. Deadly, when they needed to be, but he outpaced them too easily. Sometimes his sister Adira would tease him about his hours spent in the gym, but this was precisely what those moments were for—when he had to take matters into his own hands. He’d watched his father do the same time and again when he was a child, though he’d never seen him run after a woman. Not even his mother. Kyril didn’t care.

  His headlong sprint across the train station, warm from all the people crowding the platform, was beginning to cause a murmur in the air. The voices rose as he zigzagged through the people waiting there, his security team twenty paces back and utterly useless in the event that he was ambushed. But he wouldn’t be ambushed. He would make it to Hannah, come hell or high water.

  Snippets of conversation—questions, really—came at him in broken fragments.

  “Hey, watch where you’re—”

  “Who’s that—”

  A man sprinting through the train station was noteworthy enough to draw people’s attention. If that didn’t do it, the six men on Kyril’s security team would. Kyril breathed in through his nose and forced his jaw to relax. It wasn’t in his nature to chase like this, a run verging on an all-out sprint, but his need to find Hannah—to see her, to touch her—was so strong that it overwhelmed his reservations.

  Hannah lifted her head from the bag, her eyebrows rising. She must have heard the crowd’s hum getting louder, and nothing in front of her was that much of a spectacle.

  She turned.

  In one smooth motion, she faced him, holding the bag close to her stomach as if he were a pickpocket coming for her purse. She went still, eyes wide with shock. They were green, those eyes of hers, green shot through with a startling ring of gold around her pupils. He thought of that gold ring at night when he woke from dreams about her. Three months, and he’d thought of her every day.

  And every night.

  He closed the gap between them, and she stood as still as a stone pillar in the desert, not moving a muscle. It was only when he stopped abruptly in front of her that she jerked the pointed oval of her chin to the side, as if she were looking for a way out. Hannah’s grip tightened around the strap of her bag, and Kyril consciously relaxed his fists. It wouldn’t do any good to drag her out of the train station, because Hannah wasn’t the type to come quietly. No, she’d go kicking and screaming, and then it would be an event. An unforgettable, embarrassing event. Not behavior befitting Sheikh Kyril, the ruler of Al-Dashalid.

  “Kyril.” Her lips, dressed up in red lipstick that made him want to lean in and devour her with kisses, parted again, but she had no words. “I—” She swallowed hard. “You’re here. What are you doing in Paris?”

  An urgency that he thought he’d trained himself not to feel pounded in his ears, a smile spreading across his face. “What am I doing here? Trying to find you before you step on a train and disappear into the ether.”

  “Even if I wanted to disappear into the ether—and I don’t, because that sounds awful—I couldn’t.” She seemed to struggle between a smile and a frown. “Not via this train, anyway.”

  “No?” He cocked his head to the side, considering her. A gauzy pink sundress hugged the curves of her body as if it was made for her. His palms ached to be pressed against those curves. “Have you come here for a little getaway? An escape from life?”

  The corner of her mouth turned up in a woeful grin. “Ha. In order to escape you have to have a train ticket, and mine disappeared.”

  It wasn’t the first time she’d misplaced an item like that. During their week together—that heady, passionate week—she’d lost her ticket to a special exhibit at one of the museums not far from his residence. It was sold out for the day, and he’d had to pull rank in order to get them in.

  Now that she was within arm’s reach, he felt a strangely determined calm. The thrill of the chase was over. He’d caught her. He also caught the worried glance she tossed toward the huge clock in the center of the station.

  “Come with me.” He put a hand on her arm, a firm but gentle suggestion. “I have a plane. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

  “No.” Hannah was adamant. “I want to take the train. It’s part of the experience.”

  “A private plane, Hannah.”

  “I don’t fly.”

  Kyril sighed. Her voice was firm. “I’ll get you another ticket, then.” His accompanying her on the train, security team in tow, would never fly.

  “You don’t have to do that.” She reached down into the opening of her bag again. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere. Or else it’s between the ticket counter and the information desk. That’s the only place—”

  “I’ll replace your ticket.” Hannah met his eyes, cheeks reddening, and he had a flash of her face as she tilted her head back against a pure white pillow case, those same lips parted in ecstasy. “But hurry. We don’t have much time.”

  “I saw you running.” She pitched her voice low as the security team caught up to them, hanging back several paces in a loose semicircle. They had some privacy—almost. “You chased me through the train station, and now you’re going to let me carry on with my trip?”

  “I’m not sure that it was technically a chase, since you weren’t running.” He steered her toward the ticket counter. “This time, at least. You’re a surprisingly difficult woman to find.”

  “I’ve been traveling.”

  They stopped in front of the ticket window, and Kyril turned her to face him. “I’ve been looking for you for weeks. Your landlord said you were on a world tour. I didn’t believe him at first. But here you are, in Paris.” He felt it, then, the relief of finding her after the hectic search.