Red Hot Lovers: 18 Contemporary Romance Books of Love, Passion, and Sexy Heroes by Your Favorite Top-Selling Authors

by Milly Taiden

  “Absolutely not. You'll come and stay at my home, where the race will take place. It makes perfect sense. And I've got plenty of room for your steed in my stables.”

  What she would do, she decided, was contact Bashir immediately and have him arrange to have an animal delivered. Ahsan never needed to know the horse didn't come from Romania at all, but his own country.

  “We've not spoken of the wager itself,” she reminded him, allowing the idea of her coming to stay at his home to fall away, as if it was a foregone conclusion. She now had direct access to his private domain, one of Bashir's requirements.

  Ahsan's attention lingered on the pulse point in her neck, then swerved back up to her eyes. “The winner gets to keep the loser's steed. Like pink slips, but for horses.”

  Swallowing tightly, too aware of the directness of his gaze, she affected a lofty demeanor. “Very well. We have a race on our hands. And who will I be riding against, I wonder?” she asked, sliding her palm into his once more to shake on their wager. Sessily experienced a jolt at the rough callouses grating against her skin.

  “Myself, of course.”

  Sessily withdrew her hand and stepped back, making a show of eyeballing him head to toe as he'd done her. “Really now? Aren't you too...big to be racing?”

  A dashing grin cut across his mouth. “My horses can easily manage. We'll depart first thing in the morning on my private jet. Does that suit you?”

  “Just where do you live, anyway? Here I am, agreeing to jet away with a man I've just met to an unknown place.” Sessily remembered that although getting to his home was her goal, Ahsan had no idea she was setting him up. She needed to show some sort of wariness, pretend to think it over. She suspected that the elite of the world did things like this on a regular basis, but thought it wise to at least ask questions.

  “Afshar. It's not terribly far from here, and I promise you'll be perfectly safe. We can call in members of your family to meet us there--”

  “No. No, that's quite all right.” Sessily wished she'd been able to temper her reaction to his comment about her family. At least she hadn't been too fervent or abrupt. “I will meet you in the lobby in the morning.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to seeing what new stock will be gracing my stables in a few days time.”

  Sessily smiled at his arrogance, and found it an attractive quality when she should have thought it annoying. It suited him, along with his striking charisma. She needed to remember that he was not so different from Bashir, and that he would likely show his true colors soon.

  “You mean what stock will grace mine,” she countered with a faint laugh.

  “We'll see. Let me get you a drink. What would you prefer?” he asked next.

  Shocked at the offer, recalling Bashir mentioning that attending to people was not in Ahsan's nature, she nevertheless acted as if it was an every day occurrence. “Wine, red. Thank you.”

  He tipped his head and pivoted away, one hand sliding into his pants pocket. Sessily regarded his commanding stature, the elegant way his shoulders filled out his suit. Judging him to be several inches or more above six feet, he moved with the natural grace of a predator. In control, confident, devilish.

  One thing was for certain. Ahsan Afshar was already making it hard to hate him.

  *

  He needed a break. A breather. Some space. Ahsan could have gestured to one of his guards to retrieve the drink he wanted, and wine for Sessily, but he had to clear his head. Being in such close proximity to the woman made him want to do all sorts of things. Like drag her off to the nearest room, or leave tonight for home instead of tomorrow.

  The vision of her lovely eyes, a pale blue color with gold flecks near the pupil, played over and over in his mind. He imagined them lit with passion and desire instead of challenge and intrigue. His hands itched to stroke the smooth skin of her bare arm again, or to thread through the luxurious strands of her glossy hair. He couldn't recall the last time any woman had affected him to this degree.

  It was disconcerting. What he needed to do was bed her and get it over with. So her mystery and secrets would be his. His baser instincts detected a return attraction, though he couldn't tell if she was merely playing with him or meant business. He didn't expect her to fall straight into his bed—well, yes. Yes he did. Most women couldn't wait to get him alone. Usually, once the night—or tryst—was over, he went about his business and never saw the woman again.

  Would it be the same with Sessily? Time would tell.

  While he obtained another drink and wine from one of his men, Ahsan raked a hand through his hair and considered her reason for being here. She didn't seem to be about business, due to the lack of dignitaries, businessmen and other elite who hadn't approached for discussions. Typically, debutantes didn't come to galas alone, preferring to travel in pairs or trios. At the very least, they met up at the hotel and attended the party together.

  Sessily appeared to be alone, without escort. She might be one of the few who came merely to see and be seen, although that idea sent a spike of discord through him. No, there had to be more. Maybe she was just bored. Bored with life. Needing a distraction. Someone that sharp, that keen, might seek out others of the same ilk.

  Across the room, the sparkling white of her dress caught his eye. Again. Not just the dress but her willowy limbs, her captivating poise.

  Muttering an Arabic curse, he backtracked through the room, flashing a daring smile at a few women who openly flirted. He passed out a few greetings to men he knew, and was perhaps ten feet from Sessily when a serpentine note of music hit the air. Reminiscent of a snake charmer, the tune overrode the current selection, bringing the small band at the far end of the room to a halt.

  “A gift from his Excellency, Sheikh Ahsan Afshar!” the doorman bellowed.

  The announcement brought Ahsan up short. From the opposite side of the dance floor, he caught the puzzled gazes of King Sander, Prince Mattias, Chayton and Leander. They too looked as surprised as he felt.

  In through the archway, a string of women appeared. Dressed in sheer, billowy pants, gold coin belts at their waists, bellies bared to view. The tops, fitting snug below the breast, had sheer sleeves to the wrist.

  Their attire and submissive postures screamed harem. There were seven in all from a wide range of nationalities and backgrounds. The two blondes, he realized, were twins.

  What the hell was going on?

  Brought to a stunned silence, the crowd watched on as the women made their way single file into the ballroom, and straight to the dance floor. Other dancers backed away, giving them space, whispering amongst themselves.

  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 sec
urity. 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 conversa
tion 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.