by Milly Taiden
A game she was coming to loathe more and more with every passing second. Ahsan might be arrogant and blunt and self-serving, but she thought she detected a more complicated man beneath the outer trappings. It was the way he bluntly warned her to be more cautious about strangers, the way he handled the kitten with such tender hands, and the fond way he sometimes greeted his horses. This was a man who truly cared about animals and their well being. People, too, or at least certain people. His employees treated him with respect and were eager to please and, as far as she had seen, his entire household worked together like a well oiled machine.
All her inner warnings that Ahsan might be like his brother held less weight in the face of these personal glimpses. Bashir had been cold as ice from the outset, a man who looked at a person with calculation over the best way to use them.
Stroking the muzzle of a sleek black mare, Sessily considered her options. Ahsan had told her what Bashir wanted to know: he wasn't interested in the title of Emir and appeared to have no plans to challenge Bashir for the title of Crown Prince. That was the crux of her spying, the ultimate knowledge that should set herself and her sister free.
She wouldn't have to resort to murder to save Iris, and she was deeply grateful for that. Whether she could commit the act was a question she didn't want to answer. Bashir said she would if she knew a knife was at Iris's throat and there was no other way.
Kill or be responsible for her sister's death. Do or die. Did she have it in her?
The chime of Ahsan's phone snapped her out of her reverie. Glancing down, she was able to see the message on the lit up screen whether she wanted to read it or not.
Have 5 new women. Send them to you or Bashir?
Sessily gasped. She immediately thought of the 'harem' from the night before, the women standing single file, prepared to do Bashir's bidding. Her mind raced with possibilities. Could Ahsan be working with his brother in the trafficking rings while pretending to dismantle them? He would have inside knowledge, information to make himself look like a savior if he waited until they were done in one area, then 'busted' the ring he'd known existed all along and moved on to another place in the world.
The thought made her sick.
Niggling doubt ate at her. The man she'd spent the morning with did not seem like the type to enjoy the kidnapping, blackmail and abuse of women and children. He'd told her with his own mouth that he detested any kind of abuse—yet wouldn't that be the perfect cover story? What person would openly admit being involved in such a thing?
By the time she glanced down at his phone, the message was gone. She'd not gotten a good look at who the sender was, unfortunately, and she wasn't sure she was brave enough to pick his phone up to search it with so many people around. There could be more incriminating texts, which might or might not answer her questions.
Have 5 new women. The words haunted her. And the sender clearly wanted to know where to send them. To Ahsan, or Bashir? Why else would someone be asking that question unless they had a new batch of freshly harvested flesh to trade?
But if Ahsan and Bashir were working together, then why had Bashir sent her here? As a test of loyalty? Was this all a grand game, where bored Royal brothers made bets over the psychology of an innocent woman?
That's paranoia talking, Sessily. It's too complicated, too much trouble, she argued with herself.
Distraught, unsure what to believe or who to trust, she left the cell phone and his keys where they lay. Backtracking to the juncture in the stalls, she found the double doors and retreated to the palace.
She needed time to think. To sort.
What bothered her most of all was that she didn't want Ahsan to be that man. She wanted him to be what he appeared on the surface: upstanding, compassionate, honest and willing to sacrifice much for the safety of others. Even more frightening, she had the urge to confide in him. Tell him of Bashir's plans and plots. To see if he could save her like he'd supposedly saved those women last night.
It could turn out to be the best or worst decision she'd ever made.
*
Disappearing women annoyed him. Stalking back to the palace after finding Sessily missing from the stables, he considered her actions. Had she become bored waiting? He hadn't been gone that long. Longer than he'd planned, yes, but colicky horses worth a small fortune deserved forty-five minutes of his time. He didn't want any of his animals dying if he was there to prevent it.
His phone chimed and he dug it out of his pocket while skirting the gardens and the pool. Another text from Leander. Well? He had to scroll back to see the previous message to find out what Leander was asking.
Five more women. His brethren were onto something and had rescued another group before they could fall into Bashir's—or someone else's—hands. Excellent. He thumbed out a return text, muttering Arabic curses over how many times he had to correct spelling. His fingers were too big, the screen too small.
You're funny. Bashir would like you to do his dirty work for him. Leander's sarcasm over sending the women to his brother, after last night's episode, amused him. Send them here until we know more.
Sliding the phone away, confident Leander, Chayton, Mattias and Sander could handle things, Ahsan entered the cooler halls of the palace and made his way to the stairs after a staff member discreetly informed him Sessily was in her room.
With the door shut.
At her door some minutes later, he knocked loud enough for her to hear even if she was showering or in the bath. “Sessily?”
“Come in.”
The weak reply concerned him. Turning the handle, he stepped inside the suite, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. She'd drawn the curtains over the windows, dousing the room into shadow. There was enough light to see by, however, and he spotted her prone on the bed, on her back, with a cloth over her eyes. She had tucked one of her legs beneath the other, making the shape of the number four, and it struck a vulnerability chord in him. She was a long way from the sophisticated lady in white, laid low by some indefinable issue.
“What's wrong?” He left her door cracked instead of closing it, so she wouldn't feel trapped in there with him. In short order he was at her bedside, staring down at her pale face. Her lower lip looked redder than he remembered and not from lipstick. The length of her hair had come undone at some point and lay strewn across the pillows, rich and luxurious.
“Headache. I suffer from severe ones, and they can come on strong without warning. My apologies for leaving the stables before you came back.” She laid a hand over the cloth, applying gentle pressure.
Hands on his hips, Ahsan stared down at his stricken guest. She sounded strange, as if it cost her in pain to speak. “Don't worry about that. What can I do? We have mild painkillers here. I can fly a doctor in if you need one.”
After a short silence, she said, “No, no that won't be necessary, thank you. I brought something with me, I always do just in case, and am waiting for it to take effect. I should be fine in another few hours.”
“I know something that will help in the meantime.” He was taking a chance with this, but anything to ease her apparent pain was high on his priority list.
“You do?”
“Yes. Turn over.”
She plucked the cloth off her eyes and squinted to focus on him. “What?”
Resisting the urge to grin, which might make her think he meant to do something inappropriate, he repeated his request while toeing out of his boots. “Flip over onto your stomach, and leave room for me.”
*
Turn over. Sessily wasn't sure she heard him right. Through blurry vision, she watched him start to come out of his boots and repeat his instructions. Onto her belly, and leave room for him.
Had he lost his mind? Had she lost hers? He made a strikingly handsome portrait hovering above her, with his shoulder length hair, rough whiskers and broad shoulders. And he was probably involved in human trafficking, she reminded herself. No matter how he affected her blood pressure, she needed to e
xert caution for her own safety and welfare.
Although she hadn't been lying about the headache—she did have one—it was of a more mild variety, an excuse to retreat to her room and think. To figure a way out of her circumstance. Unable to find a way to turn him down without appearing paranoid or overly prudish, she rolled onto her stomach, dropping the damp cloth onto the nightstand. Pulling a few pillows under her cheek, she braced herself for what came next.
The edge of the bed dipped, and then she felt him straddle the back of her thighs. It was so shocking that she twitched in surprise. He was a big man, with an undeniable presence. Before she could protest, his hands landed on her back, right between her shoulder blades. Even with a shirt between his palms and her skin, the heat bled through, imprinting the shape of his hands. He used his thumbs to begin gentle but firm circular motions, the pressure just enough but not too much. She hadn't realized just how tense and stressed her muscles were until he got to work on the knots.
“How does that feel?” he asked, voice a raspy murmur.
Like heaven, she wanted to say, but didn't dare. “I think it's helping.”
“You think?”
“Well, you only just started.”
“You're supposed to say it's the best thing you've ever felt.” After a moment, he added, “You're pretty knotted up. It might take a while to get the muscles relaxed.”
Why did it have to feel so good? Why did he have to smell of spicy cologne and leather oil? And why oh why did her mind want to veer off into wild fantasies of them in this position under different circumstances? She wanted to agree that it was the best thing she'd ever felt but wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
As if his gigantic ego needed more accolades.
“A few things have felt better,” she said, just to keep him in check.
“Did it involve hands and tongues and di--”
Her head flew up off the pillows. “Excuse me?”
He laughed.
The vibration shivered up the back of her legs, over her hips and into her spine. Sessily shuddered at both the sensation and the effect of his sensual laugh. He was dangerous, she decided. Too dangerous. She shouldn't have allowed him anywhere near her, especially when she was on a bed in a room with no other people.
“Well?” he asked.
“I think you could make improvements to your stables,” she said out of the blue, desperate to change the subject. Resting her head on the pillow again, she couldn't resist a private smile when he grunted offense.
“What? My stables are impeccable.”
“Not flawless,” she lied. They were just about perfect. And she wasn't an expert by far, but still. Everything had been neat and orderly and well built.
“What improvements do you suggest?” he said, a note of challenge in the question.
She scrambled to come up with something. It was difficult with the way his hands traveled in slow circles down her back. “I thought the stalls could have been bigger. And it should be U-shaped, not L-shaped. It's a better design.”
“The stalls are plenty big and the design works just fine. You're reaching, because you know they're the nicest stables you've ever seen.”
“Do you have your own zip code for that ego?”
He rumbled amusement. “What ego? I'm just stating the truth.”
“You're—ooh.” She paused whatever she'd been about to say. He'd hit on a spot at the base of her back, the friction of his callouses on her flesh too intoxicating to ignore.
He put more pressure behind the motions, as if he knew just how he was affecting her. She felt tiny and fragile in his hands, which only exacerbated the heat spiraling out from his touch.
“I think this is good. My headache is almost gone.” Sessily wasn't thinking about her head at all, but the burning ache beginning to swell low in her belly.
“I haven't even done your shoulders yet.”
She wanted to shout at him to get up, to move his hands, before she did something humiliating like writhe and groan.
“That's all right. You've worked hard enough. Thank you.” She shifted on the mattress, further indicating to him that it was time to get up.
For the briefest moment, he hesitated. She was afraid to twist her shoulders around and look up. It was bad enough to feel him looming all along her back; to see the rogue above her still straddling her legs might be too much.
But then he was moving, shifting from the bed to the floor with effortless ease. He bent to pull his boots on while she swiveled her legs around and sat up. They made eye contact and it hit with a jolt of electricity she wasn't expecting.
Pushing mussed strands of hair from her face, she smiled a small smile and slid to the edge of the bed.
“Take your time. I'm going to do a little work before dinner, and then, if you're feeling better, we'll see about that ride.”
“That sounds like a good idea. Thanks again.”
He paused at the door, stared for a full ten seconds, then let himself out.
With her feet on the floor, she pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. The man had a maddening effect on her senses. The scent of his cologne lingered in the room and her back tingled from his ministrations. That telltale ache in her belly was only just now starting to dissipate.
We have five new women. She reminded herself of the text, of her doubts and worries, and tried to put the Sheikh from her mind.
Drawing on her discarded shoes, she went into the bathroom, splashed a little water on her face, and waited a few more minutes before leaving the suite. She needed to walk, to think, to figure out a new plan.
Armed with the information Bashir wanted, all she had to do now was call him and wait for him to extract her from Ahsan's household. Ahsan had no designs on the throne, had no interest in taking over. That was what Bashir wanted to know and she'd succeeded in getting the information sooner than she expected. She should get out of here before Ahsan discovered her subterfuge or before Bashir decided to get rid of Ahsan anyway. There were many reasons for Bashir's possible duplicity. He felt Ahsan was a threat; he'd only been using Ahsan to get the trafficking rings up and running and now, wanted him out of the way; greed.
Or, Ahsan was innocent and not involved, and Bashir wanted the threat gone.
That didn't explain Ahsan's text.
Puzzled, she descended to the lower floor and headed down one of the broad hallways that led to an indoor pool. She'd glimpsed many rooms on their earlier tour that she hadn't inspected as thoroughly as she would have liked. It gave her time to consider her next course of action.
An endless array of doors led off the corridor, some to sitting rooms, parlors, game rooms and any number of retreats for guests. She came to one on the left well before reaching the indoor pool where the quiet voices of women drew her attention. Stepping toward the open doorway, she paused just outside, out of sight, and listened.
The women from the harem. That's who it had to be. Their queries between themselves—what might happen now, where would they go, could they escape—pinned them as those sent to dance for Ahsan at the gala.
This might be her chance to get more information. These women might be able to shed some light on the questions and mystery surrounding Ahsan's text message. Without thinking about it further, she stepped through the doorway, bringing the whispers to a halt. Each woman glanced her way and went silent.
Two seemed to be of Ahsan's heritage, with swarthy skin and dark eyes. The redhead looked defiant but wary. Then there were the blonde twins, who stood close enough for their shoulders to touch. A woman with African and perhaps Indian features eyed her with open contempt. The last, a slightly mousy woman with brown hair hovered half behind the redhead.
The spa, with mud baths build into the ground, cool tile floors, potted plants and stations for facials, massages and pedicures appeared unused so far by the women. None seemed to take advantage of the rack of oils, lotions, steamers or hot rocks. Likely, they were more concerned about escape.
&n
bsp; “Hello, ladies. Do you all understand me?” she asked. Her accent wasn't so acute that people had trouble understanding her English.
The women didn't reply. They didn't look at each other, either, as if they'd all made a prior pact with each other not to speak.
“I heard you mention escape. All I want to know is if the Sheikh Ahsan had anything to do with your capture, or was it his brother, Bashir?” Sessily worried she might tip her hand, that one of the women might use any information she gave them against her. To buy freedom, or other favors.
Still no answer.
Sessily set her hand on the back of a chair and met each woman's eyes. She took care to keep her voice down. “What's happened to you since you've been here?”
Considering the women were still in the harem-type clothing, Sessily suspected they had resisted any offers of other clothing or creature comforts.
“At least tell me this: were you caught, or did you come willingly to this circle?”
The redhead snorted, and with a thick Irish accent said, “Do you really think we'd be here of our own volition, lady?”
“I don't know. Maybe some women would. I can't know everyone's situation,” Sessily said, desperate to keep the dialogue going. She glanced at the doorway, relieved to see it empty. She wasn't sure what she would say to Ahsan if he discovered her here. Back to the redhead, she asked, “Was it a group of men that rounded you up? Did they hold you all somewhere together?”
The women of Ahsan's heritage sent warning glances to the redhead, which the redhead ignored.
“I can't speak for the others, but they flat out kidnapped me off the street. Granted, I wasn't in a nice part of town, and it was very late, but that does not give anyone the right to do what they've done,” the redhead said, clearly indignant.
Sessily didn't judge. She suspected Bashir's group preyed on the less fortunate, the homeless, those without much family.
“No, it doesn't. I agree. You must all promise me you won't try to escape here. There is no where to go beyond this palace but the desert. If you go, and you don't know your way, you might perish in the heat.” Sessily still didn't have her answer about Ahsan, and tried again now that the redhead seemed amiable to speak.
