The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2)

by Bourdon, Danielle

  With increasing fury, aware that people were staring at him now for different reasons, Ahsan gripped both glasses hard enough to make them shatter. One glance Sessily's way proved she was disturbed by the sight that greeted the entire room, a small frown creasing her brow.

  As the music grew louder, the harem women began to dance. Sinuous rolls of their hips, coins jingling at their ankles and wrists. They made a circle, a figure eight, winding and weaving and gyrating. As if they knew instinctively where he stood, the line gravitated toward him and encircled him with their arms in the air, their eyes obediently on his shoulder rather than his face.

  Everyone was staring. Sessily, only a handful of feet away, had taken several more steps back. The faint frown that had been on her brow turned into a full on expression of distaste.

  He could sympathize. Ahsan loathed the idea of a harem, regardless of his penchant for having a different woman every night. Now everyone present thought he condoned it, and had arranged this for their benefit. Judging by the hard looks from his brethren, this was not a joke any of them were playing on him.

  Bashir. It had to be. Only his elder brother would seek to push his buttons this way, to try and humiliate him in front of his peers. Bring him down a notch or ten.

  Setting the glasses down, he broke through the line of women, snapping his fingers high to summon his security. He made a quick gesture; his men would know what he wanted. Striding with purpose through the room, he stepped up onto the far dais and simply snatched the microphone off the stand. The musicians didn't dare interrupt.

  Facing the crowd, he cleared his throat to make sure he had their attention. In a droll voice that belied his boiling anger, he said, “This was an unfortunate attempt at a joke. Thank my brother Bashir the next time you see him. The actresses will be dispersed at the soonest availability.” He added, “You can wipe the horrific looks off your faces now.”

  A low rumble of laughter swept through the throng. Ahsan could see some people still struggling over what to believe, and others showing obvious relief that the situation had only been a poorly planned ruse. He set the microphone back in the stand and stepped off the dais, smoothing down the front of his suit coat. Stopped by no less than thirty people wanting a piece of his time, Ahsan, forced to answer questions and reassure once more that he had no part in the harem, didn't return to Sessily's last known position for twenty minutes.

  He wasn't surprised to find her gone.

  . . .

  At the wine fountain, Sessily obtained a fresh glass, filled it a little more than halfway, and downed several swallows immediately. That display of women, who had disappeared from the room with one of Ahsan's men, hit too close to home. Not that she'd ever been in a harem. It was the idea that the women had no choice to be there. No freedom.

  Like her.

  She had no choice but to be here right now, in this predicament. Someone had forced her hand. Bashir, to be exact. Took her freedom and her decisions right out of her hands. Judging by the looks on some of the harem dancer's faces, Sessily knew that they were not here of their own accord, despite Ahsan's suggestion from the podium that they were actresses.

  Taking another drink, she schooled her features and thought of her younger sister, Iris. Bashir had her somewhere, hidden away, using her as bait to make Sessily do what he wanted. It appeared that Bashir had taken more than Sessily and Iris off the streets, too, if the harem was anything to go by.

  Snake. Bastard. Monster. She couldn't dislike Bashir anymore than she already did.

  The initial shock that Ahsan might be responsible for the harem was slow to fade. Even though she now knew he had nothing to do with it, she was still bothered by her attraction to him and whatever connections he had to Bashir. She shouldn't feel a pull toward a man who probably had similar tastes as his brother.

  “I thought you'd left the gala altogether,” Ahsan said somewhere behind her.

  Too close behind her. She could almost feel his breath on her neck. The sense of open space at her back ceased to be as the Sheikh filled it up. His sheer size and presence made her feel fragile, delicate. While she was not a ram-around type of woman, she had never thought of herself as 'delicate'.

  Turning around, she discovered that he stood very close. Close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. Her height of five-nine was no match for his greater breadth and dominance.

  “I just needed a drink,” she said, and for once it wasn't a lie. “That was some spectacle.”

  “A spectacle my brother will pay dearly for,” Ahsan said, and sounded like he meant it.

  As deeply as she searched his eyes, she could find no trace of subterfuge. She sensed no deception. Truly, then, he'd had no clue about the harem.

  “As well he should,” she admitted.

  “I'm glad you disapprove.”

  “And if I hadn't?”

  “I would have left you standing here.”

  Sessily covered her surprise with a small sip of wine. “That's a pretty strong reaction.”

  “A worthy one. I detest abuse of all kinds and anyone championing it is no friend of mine.” He paused to accept a tumbler full of amber liquid from one of his men, never backing off an inch from his position before her.

  “What will you do with all those women?” she asked, staring up into his eyes. He was overwhelming, obliterating almost everything else in the room. She heard the music start up again, albeit slowly, and conversations return to normal. Yet it was all background noise, happening elsewhere than the bubble she seemed to exist in while shrouded by Ahsan's presence.

  “Take them home.”

  She arched a brow. “I thought you just said--”

  “I didn't say I intended to make them my harem, did I? I'm taking them there for protection until I send them all back to where ever they came from.”

  “It would be a great temptation, I think, to have that many women so close.”

  He laughed, a sound like sandpaper on stone. Pleasant and warm to the ear. “Sweetheart, that's never a problem, no matter where I am.”

  “There are always women close, ready to please you,” she said, finishing his unspoken thought. She may have underestimated this man's arrogance.

  Instead of confirming it, he lifted his glass for a hefty drink.

  Sessily allowed her senses to expand beyond him, and as difficult as it was, she managed to catch glimpses of the same women who'd hovered near him earlier not far away. Waiting, glancing, adjusting their gowns. Hoping for any attention he might send their way.

  “Has it always been this way for you?” she asked, genuinely curious.

  “Yes,” he said, nonchalant and matter of fact.

  “You have no wife, then?”

  He scoffed into his glass, then finished a second swallow. “No, I have no wife.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  “I think so. You're the type who prefers to play the field.” Sessily could think of ten other names for it, but that one was less scathing than the rest.

  “I just prefer not to tie myself down. What about you? Will there be a Mister Sessily steaming at the ears?” His gaze tipped straight down to her left hand, clearly looking for a ring.

  This time, she laughed. To pretend she had a beau or husband somewhere else might make her look like all sorts of a hussy after accepting his offer to escort him home. Race or not, most married or involved women wouldn't take off on a whim with strange, single men. “No, there is no Mister Sessily.”

  “Good. Then I won't have to beat off some enraged fellow when he finds out you're with me.”

  “I wouldn't say I'm with you.”

  “What would you call it?” he asked, closing the distance between them an inch.

  Heat rose in Sessily's cheeks. There could be no more than a foot separating their bodies now. “Not with-with you,” she said, as if that made more sense. “Just...together.”

  His mouth flexed with the struggle to contain a smile.
“Not with me, but we're together. How is that different?”

  “We're not together,” she said, because when he repeated it back to her, it still smacked of something more intimate than travel partners. Being 'with' him did as well.

  “But you just said--”

  She laughed, suddenly amused at the circles they were talking in. “I'm going with you, and we're traveling together. Is that better?” The deviant smile that flashed across his face made her knees weak. Sessily cautioned herself not to get caught up in his handsomeness. The chiseled angle of his jaw begged the touch of her fingers, however, just to feel the rasp of his whiskers against them.

  “The other expressions were technically correct as well--”

  “But too intimate sounding. What would people think?”

  “You'll discover very soon that I don't care what anyone thinks.”

  “Oh, but I think you do.”

  He cocked a disbelieving brow. “How is that?”

  “You were too quick to get up there and defend your innocence about the flock of women and place blame somewhere else. You definitely cared that the people of this party didn't think you were responsible for the harem's presence here.” Sessily couldn't help but respond with a cutting truth, a truth as she saw it. Sensed it. He cared what people thought in that regard, at least. The electric buzz she experienced from the conversation was something she'd never felt before, with any man. He was impossible not to respond to, on many levels. When he lifted his glass for a slower sip, watching her past the rim, Sessily thought she might have actually caught the tack sharp rogue off guard.

  “That's probably a little different than not caring what people think of my wardrobe, what car I drive, or how I dance. What I do with my life. Don't you?” he finally said. “Would you allow the misconception that you engaged in what amounts to a criminal act to stand?”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. Put in his situation, she would have likely done the same thing. Relenting, she inclined her head. “Probably not,” she admitted.

  He toasted her decision with his tumbler, then finished off his drink. Setting it aside, he helped himself to her glass, too, sliding it from her reluctant fingers.

  “Now then. It's time for a dance.” He slid his hand around hers, warm and large and encompassing.

  “I...is it--”

  “Do you have two left feet?” he asked, coaxing her toward the floor. Couples had resumed their dancing, slowly swirling together.

  “No. Do you?”

  “You'll find out soon enough.”

  “I hope not, because you'll likely break my bones with those boots.” Sessily glanced down. The black leather, cut through with a brogue design across the arch, sported silver at the toe and heel. They looked wicked, deadly.

  He pulled her close, wrapping one arm low around her back and arranging her other hand in his once they were on the floor. “I'm not so awkward as all that,” he said, breath brushing her ear.

  Swallowing with difficulty, she spared herself a few seconds to acclimate to being pressed snug against his body. Most men would have left a few polite inches between them, but Ahsan was not most men. No, he invited himself into her personal space, making it his own. The arm around her waist reminded her of a steel band, strong and sturdy. Immovable. He was all hard angles, hot breath and warm possession. She had the strange sensation of security, as if she'd never been in a safer haven than his arms.

  How long had it been since she'd felt security like this? Too long.

  “You're quiet,” he murmured.

  “Thinking,” she whispered.

  “About what?”

  “Things.”

  “What things?”

  She shook with a silent laugh. He was impossible. “Just things.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Security,” she said, and wished she could have taken it back.

  “What, my security? They won't bother us.”

  “I didn't mean your men.”

  “Life security? Job security?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Money?”

  “Are you always this pushy?”

  “Are you always this evasive?”

  “I'm not evasive,” she countered. “But some things aren't easy to tell.”

  “So you're a woman with secrets.”

  “Aren't you a man with secrets?” He was discombobulating her, making her say things she didn't want to say. What she needed to do was close her mouth and fast. He was, for all intents and purposes, the enemy.

  “What kinds of secrets do you suppose I have?”

  “You're evasive, too,” she said, unable to keep a grin from her mouth. Bantering with him was exciting, stimulating. And dangerous.

  He rumbled a laugh. “I can be.”

  “Women are staring,” she said without looking at the crowd. It was a foregone conclusion, she knew, and a topic that might distract him from her faux pas of speaking her mind.

  “So are some of the men.”

  “Your group of friends?” she guessed.

  He laughed aloud, though quiet. “You're quick.”

  “I don't have men hovering around me everywhere I go, like you have women. So simple deduction leads to your friends. Why are they watching?”

  “The single one is wondering if he's got a shot with you, and the others are probably waiting for me to trip over my own feet.”

  Sessily risked a glance toward his group of friends, amused. Not one was looking their way. Laughing, she playfully swatted his shoulder. “Liar. None of them are even paying attention. Besides, you're not a bad dancer.”

  “I'll take that as a compliment, even though we're not doing much more than swaying. Anyone can sway.” His palm made a circle low on her back, resting just above the base.

  “Does this mean you can do other, complicated dances?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Like what?”

  “You'll have to wait and see.”

  “Give me a hint.”

  “What'll you give me if I do?”

  She blushed, thinking she'd accidentally traipsed into territory that was a bit too flirty. And what was she doing, anyway, acting like any other guest, as if she didn't have orders to follow and a sister in danger? It sobered her, realizing that Iris was probably scared out of her mind, held against her will God knew where.

  Easing back enough to meet his eyes, she said, “Actually, I think I should get back to my room.”

  Ahsan frowned, brows pulling together over his dark, dark eyes. “What brought on the sudden change?”

  “The wine, I guess. And I need to pack, since we're leaving earlier than I planned.” What she needed to do was get herself away from this addicting man. Get her head in the game, remember what she was here for. He made it too easy to forget everything but him. She would have never expected to be so comfortable in his presence.

  His lingering hesitation warned Sessily that he might be suspicious about her reasons. She had ended the dance and their conversation abruptly. Then he eased his hold around her waist and lowered their joined hands.

  “All right. Let me walk you back to your room. This way, I know where to have my men come pick you and your luggage up in the morning.”

  Should she let him? She wanted to. It would be the easiest thing. And she did need to tell him where to find her for tomorrow. Yet, what she said instead was, “Room 414. Just ring me when you're ready.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, and his eyes still gleamed with uncertain curiosity. He released her hand, however, and shifted back a few inches to give her room. “Very well. I'm looking forward to our race.”

  Sessily hated to put the distance between them, but she fretted what might happen if she didn't. Things were rolling along too smooth, too...seamless. She half thought she might invite him into her room if he walked her back, a shocking thought in itself.

  “Thank you for the dance and for tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it, too.” She took two steps back, hold
ing his eyes, then turned to navigate her way through the remaining dancers off the dance floor. Refusing to look back until she hit the archway, she darted a glance over her shoulder. He stood where she left him, watching her with a hawkish stare.

  Flashing him a daring little smile, one she hoped smacked of challenge and her anticipation to get on with their race, she disappeared down the hall toward the elevators.

  On the way, she wondered what she'd just gotten herself into.

  Chapter Three

  “I need to speak to Ba—the Crown Prince, please. This is Sessily.” While she waited for the bastard to get on the phone, Sessily removed her earrings, necklace and shoes. Rattled from her experience with Ahsan, she forced herself to refocus on her task and forget the chemistry between them.

  “Yes?” a curt voice said.

  “I need a favo--”

  “You need?”

  Sessily bit her tongue to refrain from making a scathing retort. “May I have a horse delivered to Ahsan's home the day after tomorrow? A fast one, one that will rival any in his stables.”

  Silence at first greeted her request. Then, Bashir said, “Have you lost your way? Forgotten what your purpose is with my brother?”

  “No, no of course not. But because I have to be at his house, this was the predicament that came up, and now I need a horse to arrive shortly.” Pacing through the upscale, expensive hotel room, she worried a piece of her hair, praying that the Crown Prince wouldn't be difficult in this crucial time. What would she do if he said no?

  “Other, less bothersome predicaments could have come up instead,” he said.

  She knew what he meant. Sex. “It just happened this way. Will you send one? Day after tomorrow, no sooner, no later. Please.”

  “It will be too suspicious if it comes from my stables. Unless you've divulged that you know me, and I truly hope that you did not.”

  Sessily shivered at the ominous tone in his voice. “Of course I didn't. But I need this to remain in his house. He thinks I come from a family of breeders, and you gave me all the information about him so I could use what I had to, yes? How about finding an animal from another stable?”