The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) (10 page)

“The pillows don't bite,” he said, watching her.

What he should have said, she decided, was
I don't bite.
Moving forward, she seated herself cross-legged on a fat pillow straight across the table from him. The overhead chandelier sent soft light down over the table and most of the pillows, not too harsh and not too dim.

“Do you?” she asked. The question slipped out, mind to mouth without any thought for caution.

“What do you think?” he asked.

Put on the spot, Sessily shifted on the pillow and looked around the room rather than straight at him. “No. I don't see you as the biting type.”

“What type do you see me as?”

Sessily met his gaze across the table. She wanted to be more direct, to take the conversation places it probably shouldn't go. “A rich playboy who doesn't like commitment.”

He arched a dark brow. “And here I thought we were talking about biting and things of that nature, instead of insights to the soul.”

“You asked.”

“Yes, I did. Should I return the favor of insight?”

Sessily, suddenly wary, wasn't sure she wanted him to. What would he say about her after such a short acquaintance? She'd used Bashir's information as well as personal observation to guide her retort, but all Ahsan had to go on was the hours they'd spent together.

“Tit for tat, right?” she said. “Go ahead.”

“If you'd like to start talking about ti--”

“
Mister
Ahsan.” Sessily widened her eyes at him, adding to her admonishment.

Grinning like the devil, he said, “You pretend to be more chaste than you really are. There is a siren lurking under there somewhere, begging to be released. You're picky, independent, and have secrets that you don't want anyone to know.”

Sessily twitched in surprise. He thought she was a siren? And knew she had secrets? Her eyes narrowed the tiniest fraction. Anyone could say that about anyone else, and probably hit on some truth. Everyone had secrets, did they not? Was he waiting to see if she had a big reaction, which might prove that yes, she indeed had secrets?

All she could think to say for the moment was, “I'm not
that
picky.”

“You can be.”

“How do you know such a thing?”

“By the way you examined every seat on the plane before picking the 'perfect' one, just like you did with the pillows right now, and the nits you picked over the stables, which were tiny complaints rather than serious critiques. When we danced, you positioned your hands just so, and I swear I could hear you counting footsteps in your head so you didn't make one mistake.” His gaze never wavered.

Sessily laughed—and blushed. Had the man been paying that close attention to her? “I don't count my dance steps! You had too much to drink last evening. That, or the harem event skewed your perceptions.”

“I know what I know.”

“I
don't
count dance steps.”

“Really? Then get up and do the chicken dance and prove me wrong. It's impossible to count all that.” He used a hand to flippantly gesture to a part of the floor without pillows.

Sessily belly laughed. “Not for a thousand dollars would I do the chicken dance. How absurd to even compare that to the dancing we did last night.”

“You just proved my point very well,” he said with a lazier grin.

“How is that?” The man was maddening.

“You won't dance unless you can count the steps. Picky.”

“You're just trying to get me to do the chicken dance,” she said, openly accusing.

“I'll pay you
two
thousand to do it,” he countered with a sly look.

Sessily stared, incredulous at the offer. Two thousand dollars? That was more money than she saw in six months. Her job in Romania, before Bashir barged into her life, paid little and the hours were slim. In truth, had anyone else offered her a thousand dollars, she would have done ten chicken dances. Two thousand sounded appealing in the extreme. The things she could do with that kind of money!

But this was Sheikh Ahsan, Prince of Afshar. It wasn't the kind of image she wanted him to remember her by. A little voice inside reminded her that it might help free the other women as well, and perhaps she might use some to bribe Bashir's men so she and her sister could escape.

“You drive a hard bargain, Sir, but I will not be performing the chicken dance for you this evening.” Sessily played it off with amused nonchalance. There was no way she could force herself to do the dance.

“Five thousand.”

Did she stand up too fast from the table? A tassel flipped up in her wake and a pillow overturned as she made her way to the bare spot on the floor. To the tune of his abrupt laughter, she concentrated on
the far wall. Humming the melody in her
head, she made the finger motions.
One, two, three, four...
She caught herself. She
did
count her steps. Or her movements, at least.

Ahsan's guffaws weren't helping. Like he could read her mind and knew exactly what she was doing.

Exhaling a gust of exasperation, she flapped her elbows, wiggled her backside, and clapped her hands. She made it through three rotations, concentrating for all she was worth, then retreated to her pillow and sat down. She must have been as red as a tomato.

Ahsan, with a hand planted in the middle of his chest like it hurt to breathe, sat up far enough to applaud. “That was worth
every single penny.
”

She rolled her eyes. Folding her legs beneath her again, she said, “I should have made you do it with me.”

“Not for a million.”

Didn't that figure. He was so filthy rich that no amount of money would entice him to do something so frivolous. Before she could reply, a staff member entered, bearing a large silver tray. Setting it down, the employee unloaded covered platters and set out dishes, glass and utensils for them both. Sessily, not used to being served, contemplated the haves and have-nots. She was definitely of the have-not club, and wasn't sure she could ever get used to being served like this. Ahsan appeared oblivious to the employee's presence, though he did mutter something in his native tongue before the server departed.

“I didn't know what you wanted, so I had them bring a little of everything,” he said.

She recognized roasted chicken, broiled fish, a platter of select seafood and side dishes both usual and unusual. The stuffed grape leaves smelled heavenly.

“I'll have you know that I'll eat anything on this table, which spoils your 'picky' theory entirely.” She scooped slices of meat and a bit of seafood onto her plate, then added small spoonfuls of the side dishes.

“All it means is that I chose well,” he countered with a gleam of amusement in his dark eyes.

“Are you always this contrary?”

“Yes.”

She laughed before taking a bite of chicken. As she suspected, everything was cooked to perfection. “I believe you. Do you entertain many people in this room?”

“Sometimes. It depends who it is and why they're visiting. Also how many.” He dove into his meal, speaking between bites.

Sessily thought he probably only brought women here, women he meant to either impress or take to bed. Although luxuriously decorated, the atmosphere wasn't overdone with suggestiveness; it was simply a comfortable, appealing and different place to take a meal. There were no candles lit, which might imply a certain romantic element. Ahsan himself didn't try to charm her with cheesy come-ons, so perhaps he'd just wanted a less 'cool' environment to take his dinner. The great dining hall was meant for huge gatherings, not a two person meal.

“You're quiet,” he said.

“I'm enjoying the food.” It wasn't a lie. Her mind had wandered at the same time. She discovered the silence between them was companionable and not at all awkward.

“Good.”

It was times like these that Sessily's doubts over Ahsan were greatest. When he was amiable and relaxed, laughing and grinning, so...casual in her company, she had a hard time believing he was guilty of trafficking. In repose, he didn't lose that air of power though, which only served to make him more attractive.

“For someone who's enjoying the fare, you're doing more pushing around than eating, though. If you'd like something else, all you have to do is ask.”

She looked down at her plate and realized he was right. She'd had a few bites opposed to his half demolished plate. In thought, she'd become too distracted to eat.

“No, no. This is excellent, I promise.”

“Then what's got you sidetracked?”

“This and that.”

“Name something.”

“Whether or not I'm going to win the race.” She grasped for the first thing she could think of.

“Listen, Sessily. If you don't want to lose the steed, we can choose something else for the bet.”

She glanced up. The dead serious look on his face told her better than words that he meant what he said. Again, her heart fluttered. He was willing to sacrifice his own enjoyment for the race on her behalf, letting her out of the bet if she had second thoughts and reservations. How many men would do that to a person they'd only just met? Did a man with that much compassion stoop to kidnapping and selling human beings?

“I appreciate the offer, but the bet stands.” She lifted her chin, smiled, and dove into her dinner.

Ahsan Afshar was not making her mission any easier.

Dusk brought a five degree decline in the heat, which was better than no decline at all as far as Sessily was concerned. The arid air felt good for a change, and she embraced the sprawling desert as she and Ahsan paced away from the stables. Astride a sorrel mare, Sessily adjusted to the saddle and her surroundings with increasing familiarity. In her younger years, she'd been paid by a neighbor to exercise his horses, leaving her with enough skill to remain up right even in an all-out run. Racing would be another matter altogether, and she was thankful to have this precursor that allowed her to get a feel for the sand, her mare's gait and the path they were to race on.

Ahsan rode with the effortless ease of someone practically born in the saddle. His big body moved gracefully, one hand on the reins. The jeans he'd changed into fit him well, the shirt of loose muslin open at the throat.

He seemed to wear all his clothes that way, like he had an aversion to anything too snug around his neck.

She'd changed as well, having borrowed a pair of jeans and a tee shirt of pale blue. To keep her hair from her eyes, she'd twisted it up into a knot atop her head and secured it with pins.

“So tomorrow, we'll start the race from right up here.” Ahsan pointed ahead as they rode away from the pastures toward a sloping but small dune roughly thirty yards from the stables. A natural pathway ran parallel to the dune, passing through the sand away from the palace.

“Oh, so not too far, then.”

“No. We do this a lot, so we didn't want to exhaust the horses by traveling a great distance just to get started.” He flashed a deviant grin sidelong, and brought his stallion to a stop at a specific point that matched up to the end of the dune.

“You challenge all your guests, do you?” she asked with a low laugh.

“Only the ones I deem worthy.”

“Have I passed the test?” She glanced aside for his reaction.

“You passed the test the night I met you.”

Something about his tone and the gleam in his eyes sent a tingle up her spine and along her arms. “Excellent. I'm pleased to hear it. Is that the steed I'll be winning tomorrow?”

The animal was stunning. Solid black, with a thick mane and tail, the stallion's coat shined from many brushings.

He laughed. “This is my personal mount, Faisal, and yes. This is the horse who will gain me a new member to the family here.”

“On the contrary, I can't wait to get him home. He'll be an excellent addition.” Privately, Sessily thought it would be a travesty to part the man from the horse. They fit each other well.

“Well, here's the 'race track'. Let's get you familiar with it so you have your fair advantage.” He walked Faisal forward, following the path straight for ten yards. It curved after that, winding through a few more low dunes. Here and there, tufts of grass jutted up from the sand.

Sessily took careful note of the race track. She could tell it had been used over and over and over. The sand along the path itself had been flattened into the harder ground beneath, giving the horses decent traction. Some of the turns would be a challenge to navigate, especially with a rider at her side.

Ahsan never coaxed Faisal past a brisk walk. He said, “There are no rocks or
holes in the track, so you don't have to worry about your steed going down. We check it periodically to make sure it's sound.”

Sessily turned her face to the sun as they walked through a gentle curve, then squinted ahead. There was something healing and pleasant about the dry heat and the sun's rays beating on her skin. “That's good to know. Are there any other rules? You're not going to shove me off behind a dune, are you?”

He rumbled an amused laugh. “Not unless you want me to. The only rule is to get across that finish line first.”

'That finish line' turned out to be nothing more than a stake in the ground to the side of the path. A red ribbon fluttered from the top, the ends frayed from the wind. The track, shaped like a tear, with all its curves and straightaways, led right back to the same area as the start.

Bringing her mare to a halt just past the 'finish line', she surveyed the palace and stables and the endless miles of desert stretching to the far horizon. The sun was sinking lower by the second, turning the sand a deeper orange as she watched. Despite the lack of trees and rugged mountain terrain she was used to, there was beauty in the sloping dunes and receding blue sky.

“Like what you see?” he asked at her side.

Sessily glanced away from the sprawling palace and studied Ahsan's face. “It's different than what I'm used to, but there's a certain peace here I've not experienced anywhere else.”