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

by Milly Taiden

  “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that.” She snatched her hand back, cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment, and met his single staring eye. He towered above her by a handful of inches, maybe more, and was just as muscled across his back as his front.

  “But you wanted to, because you did it without thinking. Go ahead. Explore that, too. I don't mind.” He stood still, half in and half out of the gloomy garage.

  Sessily drew in another deep breath, unsure whether it was a wise idea to allow herself the luxury. Reaching out, her fingers tentatively touched the scar at the point below his shoulder blade and traced a slow path to the other end.

  He exhaled a quiet breath, then said, “Yes, I own a yacht. Several of them, actually.”

  “Have you sailed extensively?” Mesmerized by the flex of muscle in his back, Sessily stepped closer, tracing the scar back the other way.

  “One year, I spent probably three months total on the water. Other years, I only snag a few weeks here or there.” He braced a hand against the door frame, elongating his already tall body.

  “So you don't use them all that much.” She hesitated, then asked, “What happened?”

  “Not as much as some people. But I may decide to, and they're there when that time comes.” Ahsan was quiet for a moment, then said, “I ran with the bulls in Pamplona. Someone bet me I wouldn't, so I did, and the bull won.”

  Sessily leaned around his other shoulder, the one with the hand down instead of up, seeking his eyes. “You ran with the bulls? Are you insane? You could have died.”

  He cut a look sidelong, mouth quirked into a curl of amusement. “I almost did die. It didn't help that I'd had a few too many to drink.”

  “Ridiculous.” Sessily muttered unkind things about men and egos after that, using her thumb next to smooth over the skin just above the scar. “I hope you've learned your lesson.”

  “I'm going next year. You should come with me.”

  He was laughing at her. She pinched him, hard, rewarded with a faint grunt and shift of his body. Then she realized what she was doing, and that she'd forgotten—again—what Ahsan might be involved in. He made it far too easy to get lost in him.

  Damn his charisma.

  Withdrawing her fingers, she put a bit of space between their bodies and goaded him forward. “Come on, then. Show me your toys so I can finally go to bed.”

  He murmured, too low to hear, and stepped into the garage.

  “What was that?” She wanted to know what he'd said.

  “Nothing.” The overhead light snapped on, illuminating an enormous garage.

  Sessily, about to press the issue, instead turned her attention to the array of vehicles lined up before several bay doors. She knew which were his favorites because they were parked closer to the house, leaving the ones used for every day activity in the back.

  She hated to admit that she had no idea what kind of cars they were by sight. Sessily didn't run with these crowds, only pretended to. Would he expect her to have some knowledge, or could she get by playing dumb?

  “Very sleek and pretty,” she said, and that wasn't a lie. The vehicles looked like they could take flight.

  He strolled toward the few parked closer to the house. “This is a Hennessey Venom GT. It's as fast as it looks. That's an Aston Martin, the one after a McLaren F1. I have a couple classics elsewhere. Corvette, Camaro, Mercedes.”

  Afraid to touch the cars lest an alarm go off, she nevertheless made a circuit around each one, examining the details. Meanwhile, while trying not to be obvious, she took note that there were other vehicles available. The limousine, a couple SUVs, a few nice sedans with tinted windows. They were still nice, though not of the million dollar variety she currently circled.

  “Very nice. I think this is a pretty extensive collection, myself,” she said, coming back to the front where he stood. Hyper aware of his half naked body, Sessily kept her attention focused on the cars, memorizing the layout and other things.

  “Real collectors have twenty, thirty, fifty cars. I'm not that into it.” He slid his hands into his pockets, posture relaxed.

  Sessily had the impression that while he might enjoy riding in the cars, he treated them as he did the palace, with an almost dismissive air. It wasn't like when he'd shown her his main collection room, where his passion for Egyptian antiques and collectibles made his eyes shine with interest. From papyrus pages to a sarcophagus to rare objects from a Pharaoh’s tomb, he collected it all. That was where his true passion lie.

  “Maybe you'll allow me to drive one of the less expensive ones,” she teased, “since you don't care so much about them.”

  He laughed and glanced at her. “Any time, any where.”

  Sessily seized upon the invitation. “Really? Actually, I'd love to reflect on my visit here when I leave, so if you would allow me to drive one to your private air strip, then I could kill two birds with one stone. If you wouldn't mind one of your people coming to collect it after, that is.”

  He arched a brow, studying her features intently.

  Sessily thought she might have gone too far. But the opportunity had been organic, too natural to pass by. She hoped her features looked innocent instead of guilty.

  “If that's what you'd prefer, then I don't mind.” He sounded mildly disappointed.

  “Thanks.” She left it at that. Now all she had to do was get the harem women into the car beforehand. One problem down, one to go.

  “When are you leaving, anyway?” he asked.

  “The day after the race.” She tilted her head as if this pained her—and in a way, it did. She had pangs about staying, and pangs about leaving. Most of it was not knowing the level of Ahsan's involvement in the trafficking scheme. Or whether he'd been lying to her the whole time.

  Like you've been lying to him. Displeased with that thought, she re-focused her attention on Ahsan. He wore a vague frown at the news.

  “You're welcome to stay on after the race, if you'd like,” he said.

  “I'd accept that invitation if I didn't have some work to see to back home.” She paused for effect, hating the lies that were pouring from her mouth. “Maybe we could meet up somewhere afterward, in a couple weeks?”

  “There's another gala next month in Greece.”

  “I know! We can attend the gala, then perhaps you can show me one of your yachts. How exciting would it be if we toured some of the Greek islands? Maybe even visited Egypt in person.” The sad part of it all was—if the circumstances were different, Sessily would have loved to do exactly that. Except she wasn't who he thought she was, and she didn't trust that he wasn't involved in questionable, repulsive acts. But she let herself believe it could happen anyway, thinking the sincerity might reflect better on her features.

  Ahsan wasn't so easily sold down the river, however. The way he watched her made Sessily think he was on to her game. Or suspected she was leading him for reasons he might not understand.

  “All right. I plan on attending, anyway, so we'll meet in Greece. How long of a trip would you like to take?”

  Sessily grew nervous at his reserved manner. She'd expected him to perk at the idea of visiting Egypt firsthand. Then again, he'd probably gone before, many times.

  “Well, how about two weeks? Can you get away for that long? I'm not sure how long it takes to get from one place to the other on the water.”

  “I can be gone as long as I want. I'm bound by no schedule other than the one I set for myself.”

  “Two weeks, then. We'll see how far we get and go from there.”

  “Are you sure about this?” he asked with a note of reservation in his voice.

  Sessily considered the idea that perhaps she'd been too interested, recalling Bashir's warning that Ahsan didn't like to be chased. That would account for his sudden 'cooling off' toward her.

  “I'm sure if you are. Or, we can simply meet up in Greece for the gala.” She didn't want to backtrack too much. They weren't going to be meeting up anyway, or going on any cruises.


  He sank into silence for a few seconds, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

  Sessily started to fret. She'd blown it. Been too accessible.

  “A cruise it is. I'll send one of my yachts ahead when the gala gets closer.” He inclined his head, eyes hidden behind the sudden droop of his lashes.

  “Excellent. I'm looking forward to it. But first, our race—and some sleep.” She eased into a segue and backtracked into the palace. The closing of the door somewhere behind her was her only clue that he'd followed her inside.

  When they reached the bottom of the staircase, he glanced at her and said, “Is everything all right, Sessily?”

  The rasp of his voice sent another shiver along her spine. Maybe it was hearing him use her given name. Or, perhaps it was the sincerity she detected. Pausing with one hand on the banister, she met his eyes. As before, she had an urgent need to confide in him. To put trust where she shouldn't. He was wearing her down with his perceived kindness, with his teasing and intensity.

  “Everything's fine,” she said, and didn't bother to put a fake smile on.

  He took a step closer, until he was staring right down into her eyes. Until she had to crane her neck to maintain the contact. So close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. When he palmed her jaw, she jerked from the electric jolt that ricocheted through her.

  “I don't believe you. Your eyes are telling me that you're desperate—or desperately unhappy—and sometimes you look so frightened that I want to pick up a sword and slay all your demons. Tell me who they are, tell me where they are, and I'll make sure you never suffer again.” He stroked an arc across her cheek with his thumb.

  Rattled to her core at his perceptive ability, she wobbled a smile and tripped over the lowest stair when she turned to flee. He caught her arm in gentle but firm fingers and steadied her until she got her balance back.

  “I'm fine,” she repeated, and even she didn't think she sounded sincere.

  “Mhm.” More a rumble than a reply, he released her.

  Sessily ascended at a trot, brushing aside a few strands of hair from her face. Was she so transparent as all that? When had she looked frightened? Appalled that she might have been giving off signals she hadn't meant to, she made brisk strides to her room, relieved when she glanced back to find Ahsan no where in sight. Disappearing into her suite, she closed and bolted the door, leaning against it afterward to draw in several ragged breaths. Her carefully constructed facade was coming apart at the seams.

  Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. She needed to have their agreed upon race and leave here before she fell under his spell. Before she did something she might regret.

  In less than ten minutes she was ready for bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, her hands shook while she rubbed lotion into her skin, just another sign of her distressed state.

  On the nightstand, her phone vibrated. Why would Bashir or his men be contacting her at this late hour? Picking up the device, she turned it on. Several messages had been left in her absence, each more annoyed than the last at the lack of a reply.

  It was the last message, however, that sent a shockwave through her. It read: go to plan B.

  Plan A had been the spying. To find out whether Ahsan had aspirations to take the throne and become Emir.

  Plan B was the assassination of Ahsan Afshar.

  And she was to be his murderer.

  ***

  Chapter Eight

  “Meet me in my office.” Ahsan didn't wait for an answer. He ended the call and pushed his phone back into his pocket. On the way to his suite, he thought about the evening, about Sessily in particular.

  Something was definitely wrong. Every now and then he couldn't tell that anything was amiss, but sometimes, like tonight, she exuded vibes he couldn't ignore. It was the look in her eyes, the hunted—or haunted—way she surveyed her surroundings, or him. More than that, he had the sensation that she wanted to tell him something, he just couldn't imagine what. Did it have to do with their mutual attraction? There was no denying it existed. Or was it something regarding her homeland?

  Maybe there was an over protective brother waiting at home, but that didn't add up to her offer of meeting up and touring the islands of Greece.

  It was starting to drive him a little crazy.

  The few times she'd been normal and easy going, even fun, seemed to be what he considered usual for Sessily. It wasn't forced or awkward and he thought if she would just let go, all her moments could be that way.

  Crossing through an open archway, he passed through a sitting room on the outside of his suite, through double doors, and into his sanctuary. Columns and arches and walls separated several different rooms that made up his personal domain. Another living room with lush furniture and a tall fireplace gave way to a hall that went two directions, left and right. To the right was his bedroom, master bath and closets.

  To the left, a private collection room, his office and a sitting area with comfortable chairs, reading lamps and a view out the floor to ceiling windows that made up the entire back wall. An enormous balcony overlooked the stables and desert beyond, all currently cloaked in darkness.

  Taking his phone out, he set it on his desk and paced before the windows, thinking about every second he'd spent with Sessily so far. In less than five minutes, a shadowy figure approached from the living area and came to stop at his side.

  Eli, a soul salvaged from one of the first trafficking rings he'd ever busted, was his right hand man. His most trusted member of security. And the best assassin he'd ever seen. Even better than the man who'd trained him. Eli's stealth was part of his excellence; the young man was able to come and go undetected when he so chose, and his preferred murder weapon was his hands. If Eli got that close to you and meant you harm, you had little chance to escape. Black haired and gray eyed, Eli stood at just six feet with a slim yet honed build.

  “Yes?” Eli said in a quiet voice.

  “I want to know everything about her this time. If it means you have to travel to Romania, then do it. I especially want to know if there are any ex-boyfriends in the picture that might have a reputation of harassment. Use whatever means necessary to get the information you need. Her parents are out of the picture—the mother is dead and the father travels extensively, so try the sister, friends and acquaintances. If her horses are that well thought of, someone should know where the stable is. Use the Elite contacts if you have to, use the hackers. I don't care, I just want the information as soon as possible.” He was pulling out all the stops to find out what was under Sessily's skin. Gut instinct told him it was serious, and a secret, and so, he meant to barge into her life whether she liked it or not.

  “I will. Anything else?” Eli asked.

  “No. Let the other men step up in your place to guard things here. Tell them to be especially vigilant, and that Bashir might very well be trying to set me up for a fall. The Emir called earlier and asked me to change my views, to become someone I'm not, because he wants to hand the throne to me.”

  Eli showed a first sign of surprise.

  “Yes,” Ahsan said, picking up where he'd left off. “And since we know how Bashir feels about the title of Emir, let's not be caught off guard.”

  Eli inclined his head and retreated as silently as he came.

  Ahsan scraped a hand back through his hair and looked out the window. There would be little sleep for him tonight.

  *

  A knock at the door midday pulled Sessily out of her reverie. She'd declined to go down to breakfast, politely turned away a server for lunch, and was only now prepared to deal with other people. It had taken her this long to school herself, to do a better job of faking serenity. Because there was nothing serene about the knots in her stomach or the sick feeling she got every time she looked at her last text.

  “Hello,” she said when she opened the door to find a staff member there.

  “Miss. Your caravan is here. They have driven around to the stables,” the young
woman said.

  “I see. Thank you.” Closing the door after the employee left, Sessily brushed a few wisps of hair from her face and glanced down at her attire. She wore the same pair of jeans and a pale yellow shirt, clothes fitting for the race to come. Knee high boots had been set outside her suite earlier, boots that fit rather well and were more comfortable than she thought they would be.

  The race was the last thing on her mind. She would put in a good showing, and with any luck, wouldn't fall off the horse in her distraction. Crossing the room, she entered the bathroom, then the closet, and went to the suitcase tucked against the wall. Kneeling, she opened the main zipper and flipped the flap up. Running her fingers along the edge just inside the seam, she found the hidden pocket and dug out a small, clear vial half full of fine white powder. One of Bashir's men had given it to her with strict instructions for use.

  Just the sight of it, and the thought of using it on Ahsan brought tears to her eyes. A deluge waited to spill over, and several tears squeezed free before she could stop them.

  This was madness. She wasn't an executioner. It wasn't in her nature to hurt people. Digging her phone from her pocket, she thumbed back through the messages until she found the picture of Iris. Her sister's terror jumped off the screen, wrapping icy fingers around Sessily's heart.

  Did she have a choice?

  Just tell him. Tell Ahsan what's going on. And what if he'd been pretending with her the whole time? What if he was what the text portrayed him to be? There was no telling what he might do if she admitted she'd been sent here to first spy, then kill him.

  No. He wasn't pretending. He couldn't be. She needed to trust her instinct and needed to trust him. He would help her, wouldn't he, if he knew the truth? It was a huge gamble to think he would take her side over his own brother, even if he'd acted annoyed and frustrated with Bashir at the gala.

  Stuffing the vial and her phone into her pocket, she closed the suitcase and propped it against the wall. Exiting the closet, she smeared tears off her cheek, sniffed once, and left the suite.