While he watched the sights of the city fly by out the window, he let his mind roam to more pleasant things. Like a pair of blue eyes, a sweet mouth, and a skein of auburn hair he wanted to run his fingers through. He didn't have time for much, but he had time to remember how her mouth felt under his, how her body responded with passion, and the way she breathed his name in the aftermath.
He warred with the idea of throwing responsibility to the wind and flying to Romania, title be damned. In the end, reason won out. He directed the driver to take him back to the palace where a menagerie of tasks awaited.
. . .
Anna's Bakery looked the same as it always had. The small shop, tucked between a business office and a quaint gift store, had frontage windows displaying glass shelves full of baked goods and a green and white striped awning tipped out over the front door. What had changed, Sessily realized, was her perception of it. After spending time in Dubai amidst so much luxury, and the richly furnished palace, Sessily could only describe the nondescript street the bakery sat on as rudimentary and old fashioned. Everything had an aged, run down appearance to it, from the paint on the roofs to the whisky barrels full of pansies and other colorful flowers. Parking slots directly in front of each business provided easy access for shopping, with more parking available in the back.
Being the main street in the village, it ran perhaps two or three blocks—which were not the same length as the city blocks of Dubai. These were shorter, containing four to five businesses on each side, and one intersection that didn't have a traffic light but a stop sign.
After taking a week to settle in, and make sure Iris was on the mend, Sessily was due back at work. Anna, an older woman with strong hands and a head of silver hair, had been horrified to learn the circumstances of Sessily's disappearance. Kind at heart but also strong willed, Anna had insisted Sessily take the week off. She could show up at the beginning of the new week to take up her position as the baker's assistant.
She glanced down at her beige pants and simple white tee, which would eventually be covered with a flour smeared apron. Gone was the elegance of Dubai, the sophistication of high society and wine in crystal flutes. This was real life. This was the day to day grind. Making bread and pastries and treats. The pay was a pittance, but enough to keep a roof over her and Iris's heads. For now, she wouldn't have to worry about money. Ahsan had tucked away her five thousand dollars before sending her off, money she'd been shocked to find upon unpacking at home. It assured her and Iris at least six months of frugal living, which was better than just scraping by.
Exhaling, she caught her hair back and secured it into a messy knot with a few clever twists and tucks. As always a few strands escaped to tickle her cheek. Crossing the street, she angled her way past barrels of pansies and pushed open the bakery door. The scent of fresh baked bread assaulted her immediately. It sent a pang through her stomach, full of nostalgia, and when Anna bustled around the corner from a back room, Sessily barely managed to smear a tear away in time.
“My sweet girl! Anna is so glad to have you back.” Anna swept Sessily into a motherly hug, rocking her gently side to side.
Amused at the familiarity of Anna referring to herself in third person, Sessily hugged the matronly woman, then kissed her cheek. “Thank you. It's...good to be back.”
Anna leaned away to see Sessily's eyes. Her own carried a hint of suspicion. In a thick and rolling accent, she said, “You tell Anna what's wrong. Do you need another day off?”
“No, no. I'm fine. It's just...readjusting.” Sessily dropped her hands from Anna's arms after a brief, affectionate rub.
“All right. You tell Anna if you need anything.” Anna patted her back, then bustled around the counter where all the baked goods were on display for sale. “But! There is something. This came for you this morning.” Anna lifted a tall vase of flowers from the floor in the corner and set it on the glass display.
Sessily eyed the clear vase and two dozen pink tipped white roses with confusion. “For me?”
“Yes, yes! There is a little card.” Anna pointed to a small envelope attached to the pink ribbon around the vase.
At the display, Sessily reached for the envelope and pulled out a two inch by three inch card. It had two initials embossed in gold. A. A. Had Ahsan sent her flowers? Who else could it be with those initials? What was more—why? He had to be married by now. Was he the type to schmooze women even after vows? Sessily snorted.
“Here. We'll put them on the table.” She walked the vase over and set it on one of two small tables available for customers. The fine array of perfect roses looked out of place in the rustic bakery, Sessily thought. It seemed much more fitting for a fine suite in soft colors of cream and cocoa, with gold accents and high end furniture.
“Are you going to tell Anna who those are from?”
“Just someone. It's nothing, really.” Sessily tucked the card into the pocket of her pants, and went into the back to don an apron. A large steel table sat in the middle of the room, with several towel covered steel bowls that had dough rising inside.
“That looks like more than 'nothing really' to Anna!” Anna called from the front.
Sessily peeled back a towel and punched down a swell of dough. That felt better than she thought. “It's someone being nice, that's all.”
Anna grunted.
Sessily scattered flour over the table and tossed the dough down to begin kneading. There was something therapeutic about pushing, pulling and tugging on a thick wad of pliable material. She worked out her frustrations, mind busy with thoughts of a married Ahsan sending her gifts.
It was going to be a long day, and an even longer night.
. . .
“Sessily!”
“Yes?”
“Delivery for you at the front!”
Exhaling at the interruption, Sessily wiped her hands on a towel to remove some of the flour and headed into the main room of the bakery. Two days had passed since her first day back, and since the delivery of the roses. The flowers still looked picture perfect where they sat on the table, but she didn't even glance that direction as she accepted a package from the delivery man and signed for it. Middle sized, the brown wrapped box was square and light.
Sessily took it to the other table, the one not bearing flowers, and picked at the tape securing the paper. Inside, she found a plain box of black with a lift off lid. Inside that, another box, perhaps four inches by four inches. This one was velvet, different from the rest.
Opening the lid with more than a little trepidation, she discovered not a diamond necklace or an expensive, flashy bracelet, but a miniature replica of a yacht. Sucking in a surprised breath, she picked the extraordinary object off its bed of velvet and took a closer look. White in color, the yacht appeared to have every detail intact. There were three 'levels', miniature smoked glass windows around the front and sides, and a swimming pool at the back. Did yachts really have swimming pools? The replica was heavy as well, made of some sort of metal material.
Of course she harked straight back to her conversation with Ahsan when they discussed visiting Greece and taking a tour on his boat. Was he suggesting they do so? Reminding her, teasing her? How convenient, she thought, that the worldly playboy—the now married playboy—would want to whisk his lover away from his homeland, away from prying eyes.
Setting the yacht back inside the box, she snapped the lid closed, gathered up the other boxes and wrapping, and took it all into the back. Dispersing the trash, she set the velvet box on a high shelf behind a sack of flour.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Except for the rest of the work day, all she could think about was swarthy skin, tropical water, and a luxurious cruise on a yacht.
Damn the man.
Chapter Nineteen
Three days after receiving the yacht, Sessily exited the back room, wiping her hands on a towel. Listening to Anna hum a catchy ditty from the oven room, Sessily swerved toward the display cases but stopped when a c
olorful object snagged her attention. It sat on the table with the flowers, which had finally started to wilt. A box of white, the lid wrapped with sharp black ribbon and sporting a black bow, awaited. It looked sleek and expensive and entirely out of place in the shop.
Setting the towel down, Sessily rounded the display cases again and went to peer out the front windows at the street. A few pedestrians walked here or there, one or two getting in and out of their cars. She saw nothing like a delivery truck however, or anyone who looked out of place.
In this small of a town, there was no worry that the citizens would waltz in to steal bread and pastries, so she and Anna didn't concern themselves with having someone in the front of the shop at all times. People knew to call out or tap the bell on the counter.
Whoever left the box had made a stealth entrance and exit.
She knew who it was from, of course. Ahsan. Another gift. Half giddy with excitement and half perturbed at his persistence, she approached and lifted the lid. The box itself was medium sized and perhaps twelve inches deep. Inside, she encountered a glut of filmy tissue, and peeled it back to expose an explosion of color. Tropical colors, in blues, purples and whites. She pulled out a daring sarong and a little top to match. Something she might expect to wear on vacation—on a yacht. It would fit her perfectly, she knew, because that's how Ahsan worked. Also inside, she discovered a small printed card with a message for her to arrive at a nearby airstrip—private naturally—at one in the afternoon tomorrow. It took no great effort to understand he expected her to show up and be whisked away to Greece for a tryst.
Cursing him under her breath for his audacity, she tucked the outfit back into the tissue, put the lid on the box, and carried it into the back.
He could make all the suggestive overtures he wanted. She certainly wasn't about to entertain the idea of going away with him. What she loathed more than anything was the little ache of want that lingered long after opening the gift. Not just the want to feel his arms and his lips and his presence, but the want to go on the yacht, to live carefree and happy for a few days. To see new sights, enjoy a new climate. It was almost cruel, she thought, to tempt her with such things. Tears rolled down her cheeks, both in anger and in misery. She missed him, wanted him, needed him. And absolutely could not have him.
Slapping out a new batch of dough, she attacked it with fervor, determined to knead it into oblivion. In the back of her mind, only one thought kept rising to the surface, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it: Ahsan.
. . .
“If the flowers didn't mean anything, Anna doesn't know why it's so hard to throw them away. They've been dead three days,” Anna pointed out.
Sessily stood near the trash behind the display cases, clutching the wilting stems of the now brittle roses. The petals sagged like the tongues of desert dwellers desperate for water. She knew hovering near the trash would bring a comment from Anna, who didn't disappoint.
“I know. They're just...” Sessily wasn't sure what she wanted to say. She had a crazy desire to pull at least one flower from the bunch to press between the pages of a book. That was a whimsical desire in remembrance of a man who didn't deserve the thought.
“What are you not telling Anna?”
“Nothing.” Sessily dropped the bouquet into the trash, wiped her hands on her apron, and grabbed a tray of pastries from the counter to start loading into the display case. If Anna had found out about the yacht and the beach attire, Sessily would never hear the end of it. The questions would go on for days.
Anna grunted, confirming she didn't believe a word Sessily said.
Two weeks and three days after arriving home, Sessily still felt awkward in her work routine. All the motions were the same, the faces of customers familiar, and yet she experienced a restlessness that hadn't been there before. As if she should be doing something else, somewhere else. And she couldn't get her mind off the damn invitation. Often, she considered Ahsan's reaction to her not showing up at the air strip. Had he been there, waiting? Or had he just sent the plane to take her to Greece and eventually the yacht, where he would be lounging like a lion, waiting for her arrival?
Brushing a wayward strand of hair from her temple with the side of her wrist, she set the last pastry in the case and closed the display door.
“Oh, look at that,” Anna said in a low voice.
“What?” Sessily asked without looking up. She had cream cheese filling on her apron along with a dusting of flour, which she tried to clean off with a paper towel.
Silence drew Sessily's gaze to Anna, and then to the windows. Beyond the clear panes, a black limousine had pulled across three parking spaces and come to an idling stop. The vehicle looked obscenely out of place with the backdrop of the quaint stores on the other side of the street. A few pedestrians stared; one or two others put their heads together to whisper.
It was a bold move, taking up that much space.
Alarm bells went off in Sessily's head as the driver came around and opened the back door. She stood frozen, a crumpled paper towel in hand, eyes wide as an occupant emerged.
Ahsan stood on the sidewalk under the awning to the bakery, fingers adjusting the button on the front of an immaculate suit. Black and white pinstripe, with a white shirt thrown open at the throat. He wore dark glasses over his eyes and a platinum watch that probably cost more than most automobiles.
“Agh, he's coming in, he's coming in! Hurry, wipe down the cases, clean the tables! Sweep!” Anna went into a frenzy of motion, trying to do ten things at once. As if any amount of cleaning and straightening could compete with such an obvious high roller.
Sessily experienced an onslaught of emotion: lust, relief, anger, suspicion. She couldn't move even when he opened the door and stepped in. All at once, the bakery seemed tiny. Impossibly crowded and overflowing with Ahsan's presence. These four walls were not nearly big enough to contain all that he was. He brought the scent of some expensive, masculine cologne with him and the studied ease of motion that all predators exhibited.
“Welcome to Anna's Bakery! What can Anna get you? Please, make yourself at home.” Anna swept the floor with brisk strokes, set the broom down and bustled over to a table to dash a cloth across the surface.
Sessily didn't have the heart to inform Anna that Ahsan probably didn't speak Romanian. She tracked his progress through the room, around the end of the display case—as if he owned the place—and right up to her. She heard Anna grunt in surprise.
Wadding up the paper towel, she tossed it down without looking where it landed. He was larger than life in ways she hadn't experienced before, and she suffered an acute bout of embarrassment that he should see her like this. Covered in flour, disheveled, and wearing an apron. Anger returned in force, and before she could stop herself, her hand flew up to make contact with his whiskered cheek. His head only moved an inch from the slap.
“Sessily! What are you doing?” Anna gasped in horror.
To Sessily's surprise, Ahsan smiled. A slow curve that made his appearance that much more devastating.
“You didn't show up,” he said, sounding as casual as if they were discussing the weather.
“I know him, Anna,” Sessily said in her native tongue. She didn't miss the way Ahsan's gaze narrowed, picking up on some subtle clue. Then to Ahsan, she said, “And I can't believe you expected me to show up.”
“I thought you wanted to see the Greek Islands.”
The nerve. The utter nerve of this man. Her fingers twitched to slap him again, but she wasn't typically the type to strike anyone, and instinct told her that he wouldn't allow it to happen anyway. She wished he would just back up five steps. Give her room to breathe. To think.
“I can't believe you,” she retorted. “Aren't you too busy running a country to meet women in clandestine locations?”
“I'm an excellent multi-tasker. And you should let me worry about what work I have, and don't have.” He took a step closer.
Sessily jutted a hand out, making co
ntact with his chest. The warmth of his skin seeped through the shirt and into her palm. “Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Don't come closer. Don't try and...seduce me. I won't fall for it.” Again, she thought, but didn't dare say.
Anna stood on the other side of the room, struggling to decipher the English words, one hand over her heart. Sessily knew the woman only had a rudimentary knowledge of the language, and for that she was grateful.
Like a striking viper, he snaked a hand low around her back and pulled her hard up against his body. “Really.”
“How dare you,” she hissed, finally losing her temper. The wonderful, hard contours of his chest felt heavenly under her hand, as much as it galled her to acknowledge it. “Sending me gifts, inviting me to your yacht. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I'm not sure why,” he drawled. Then he said, “Your accent isn't as strong as Anna's. I find that curious.”
Leave it to him to pick up on the smallest thing. “Because I grew up in Southern California for ten years of my life. My mother was American. We moved back here when I was ele—why am I telling you this? Release me right now.”
He tipped his head down. Closer. “Your mouth tells me one thing, and your eyes tell me another. Which is the truth, I wonder.”
“That I want you to let me go. That's the truth.” She wanted to kiss him. Wanted to melt against him, feel all his heat and strength and the muscles beneath the fine suit. Her body betrayed her, arching into his, fingers curling against his chest.
“You want me to let you go, yet you're doing everything you can to crawl into my skin,” he pointed out. “Tell me why I shouldn't be here. Tell me why, Sessily, you think you don't want me here.”
“Do I really need to say it? Do I need to remind you that you're married, that I find the idea of some clandestine meeting in Greece with you repulsive? I won't do that to another woman.” Saying the words out loud made the situation more real. More devastating. He was committed, and even if he didn't honor his vows, she would.
The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) Page 18
