The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) (20 page)

“I'm very sorry you've had to suffer at the hands of my brother. You and your sister. No matter what else happens, I promise you that we'll get Iris back. All right?” he asked.

“I know you will.” That wasn't a lie. Sessily fully believed Ahsan would get Iris away from Bashir. One way or another. If they were lucky, Iris would show up on his doorstep as he'd demanded, negating the need for another 'visit' to Bashir's holding.

“There's every possibility that this will get uglier before it resolves, especially now that I know for sure he wanted me dead. I left enough hints earlier that there is something going on with the Emir—which there is—and when he finds out, I expect great backlash. Stay close to the palace for now, all right? Stay close, stay alert. And if he tries to contact you in any way again, tell me immediately.”

“Does this mean we're not going home tomorrow?” Sessily asked.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether he delivers Iris here and whether we're under siege.”

“Do you really think it might come to that?” she asked with a frown.

“Maybe. I hit Bashir where it hurt.”

“You're referring to that thing, whatever it is, with the Emir?” she asked.

“He wants me to take the throne.”

Stunned, Sessily searched Ahsan's eyes. “But you told me you didn't want it.”

“And so I don't.”

“I don't think I understand. Why would Bashir be upset, then? If he knows you don't want it—and I told him you didn't—then where is the threat?”

“My existence is now the threat. Because I might change my mind—and what will I do if the Emir decides to bestow the throne upon me
anyway?
Do I shun my country and my countrymen? Do I allow a coup to take place? Fighting will break out all over if the line of succession is broken. People may die. Not just our people, but the thousands of tourists who flock here, assured it's a safe haven from that kind of activity. Bashir will realize he has a short window to act to save his 'title' before the Emir strips it from him—and I left enough of a hint to make him wary—which means things could get unstable.”

What an overwhelming situation. Sessily glanced between Ahsan's eyes and his mouth while he spoke, thinking over the rhetorical questions he posed.

“Why can't the Emir choose one of your other brothers? You said you have many,” she asked. “Why does it have to be you?”

“The Emir must think I'm the best choice to run the country despite my beliefs. He's desperately trying to get me to revert to the old ways, which won't happen. Regardless, he'll hold out hope that he can twist my arm before it's too late. Make me 'fall in line'. If Bashir can take me out before any official transfer, he will probably retain the title of Crown Prince and then the throne when the Emir dies. I have no power unless the Emir bestows it upon me—unless I choose to risk a coup of my own should Bashir fall into the title.”

“You'll let Bashir rule before you ever consider a coup, yes?” Sessily didn't think she needed to even ask. Ahsan didn't want control, didn't want the responsibility, and she thought he would simply allow Bashir to reign if the man made it all the way to the throne.

“Yes. Unless Bashir threw the country into a tailspin. Got us into war or blatantly damaged our economy.”

“He shouldn't be the one sitting on the throne,” she said. “Look what he did to me and my sister and all those other women. Who knows how many countless others? You speak of tourists—how safe will they be here now? He won't even have to leave his shores to pick innocents off the streets.” Sessily didn't know what she was discussing it for. This was way beyond her yen, too political and complicated for her simple life. Yet she thought she understood where the Emir was coming from. Ahsan could fix anything,
do
anything. There wasn't a situation he couldn't handle. He gave off an air of confident control that made a person want to believe in him. Ahsan was invincible, indestructible.

“There are other ways. Advisors to buy off or blackmail, if it comes to that. No, Bashir is not the perfect specimen for the throne, but he
wants
the job. The question is—will he kill again to have it?”

Sessily reached up to brush her fingertips against Ahsan's lips. It was too tempting not to. “You mean will he
try
to kill again to have it. I hope not.”

Ahsan caught her hand in his, holding it still for the rough-whiskered kiss he pressed into her palm. He held her eyes the whole time. “I won't go down that easy.”

“Promise?”

He said, “I promise.”

Finding her in his bedroom put all sorts of thoughts in his head, none of which had anything to do with Bashir or the title of Emir. The fragile sense of vulnerability she exuded appealed to him when coupled with the glint of determination and fire in her eyes. It was a heady combination, one that drew him now as it had drawn him the first night of the gala.

Not usually given to promising women anything, he found he meant it when he promised Sessily that he wouldn't go down easy. Not just because it was in his nature to fight—and win. It was also because he had an intense desire to see her look at him with more desire and passion than already lurked in her gaze. Her lips parted over a sigh, or perhaps an unspoken sentiment; either way it drew him down until he covered her mouth with his own. The chapped state of her lips did not deter him from taking the kiss deeper and swallowing the unexpected moan that slipped free of her throat.

The feel of her hands on his hips encouraged him to swivel her away from the side table toward the bed. Cupping her jaw, he kissed her until she mewled and writhed against him, brushing her curves against the harder lines of his body. Careful of her burns, he coaxed her back onto the mattress, insinuating a thick thigh between her knees while he palmed a breast and teased the nipple into a hard peak. Sliding his hands up the underside of her arms, he brought them above her head and pinned her wrists to the mattress with a hand.

“Leave them here,” he rasped against her mouth. He wanted her to resist touching him, to leave her arms above her head.

“I can't--”

“You can. You will.” Trusting her to do as he asked, he ground his hips down into hers and nipped a path to the pulse in her neck. Pleased at the way she moved beneath him, as if trying to get closer, to tempt him into another grind, he mouthed her nipple over the silk shirt until it was wet and clingy. With the skill of a lover well versed in the art of passion, he unclasped the buttons of her shirt and dragged the edges away from her skin, exposing a delicate but plain bra.

“But I want--”

“Leave your hands there,” he rumbled when he felt her arms start to unravel. She was so delicate and small beneath him—and lovely. Well shaped, narrow through the waist with ample curves above and below. Her hair came out of its style and splayed across his covers, a streak of auburn fire that he wanted to sink his fingers into.

He nipped and licked and bit her flesh while he undid the bra and stripped it away along with her shirt. She gripped his shoulders, leaving little furrows in his skin with her nails. He 'chastised' her with a hard suck on her nipple that left her squirming and panting beneath him.

Little did she know that her torture was only beginning.

. . .

Sessily couldn't remember when a man had ever driven her to the brink of pleasant madness. Ahsan accomplished it before he even had her pants off, grinding his hips in a rhythm that brought more and louder cries from her lips. He used his fingers in skillful swirls and circles that mimicked what his tongue could probably do, taking her right to the edge before deviating to finish stripping her clothes from her body.

Impatient, she exposed his flesh with less finesse, ripping a few buttons here and tugging at his belt which didn't seem to want to come free. Palming the ripple of muscle across his back and over his shoulders, Sessily begged him to hurry, resulting in him slowing way, way down.

He took his time with his belt, ridding it of the loops while he rasped his whiskers over the tender skin of her stomach. She got her hands in his hair, desperately arching under the methodical graze of his mouth and teeth. Taking her to unexplored heights, Sessily discovered just what it meant to be in the thrall of an expert lover.

No wonder the women were wild for him, she thought, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out on her brow. He wasn't all the way out of his pants yet, though he'd stripped her bare, stripped her to the core in more ways than one.

Then he was over her,
in
her, the hot brand of his flesh repeatedly grinding to deeper depths. She left marks on his broad back while he pinned her to the bed and showed her exactly what kind of stamina he possessed. The pace built until she mindlessly begged him for release. Release he gladly gave her, but denied himself.

Panting his name in the aftermath, she moved with him when he eased her onto her stomach. Just when she'd thought he would finish for himself, he found an entirely new angle and new rhythm, one that made her grip his covers with her fists and gasp praise over and over and over again.

This time,
he
left marks on her back, her nape, and her throat. Tangling a hand in her hair, he arched her head off the covers and used the tether as a tension rod, scraping his teeth along her jaw to her ear.

“Hold on tight,” he growled.

He rocked the bed, her body, her soul. Coming undone, he found her mouth with his and kissed her through an explosive end, the thrusts peaking then waning. Spent, Sessily encouraged him to cover her with his body while they both recovered.

Dizzy with spent passion, she stroked her fingers over his arms and shuddered until the last vestiges of their joining faded.

Rolling onto his side some time later, he stretched out and gathered her close with one hand. Sessily, in no mood to go anywhere, curled close and intimate, ready to find a semblance of rest and peace in his arms.

Who knew what tomorrow might bring.

The glow of mid-morning sunlight ushered Sessily up from her dreams. Blinking against the brightness, she rolled onto her back—and groaned. Sheets tangled around her ankles and legs, she touched the tips of her fingers to her lips and recalled the hot night of passion just past. She felt Ahsan
everywhere.
There didn't seem to be an inch of her body he hadn't touched, kissed or stroked.

Sitting up when she realized he wasn't in bed with her, she scanned his bedroom.

No Ahsan.

Then she remembered what day it was, and that Iris might be arriving soon. On the nightstand, she found a handwritten note.
Breakfast is on the tray and there are fresh clothes in the closet. Rest as long as you need to. A.

Even in the face of possible hostility from abroad, Ahsan had seen to her needs. He'd taken the time to have food brought up and clothing found, both which she was grateful for.

Scrambling from bed after a glance at the clock and discovering it was already well past eleven, Sessily hurried to the enormous master bathroom and helped herself to his shower. She could smell the scent of some masculine body wash or another, letting her know he'd already gone through the cleaning ritual and was off somewhere, tending to business.

Drying quickly, she hung the towel up and brushed her teeth with a new toothbrush she found near the sink. Along with a comb, lotion and a few other feminine toiletries. She had to wear her hair down to obscure a few telltale marks on the skin of her neck, marks that made her feel suspiciously
his.
No matter what other problems they still had to work through, Sessily felt bound to Ahsan in ways she wouldn't have thought possible. He had overcome his own annoyances and troubles and gave himself over to her without hesitation. Where intimacy was concerned, his arrogance evaporated and a mature, experienced lover took its place.

Dressed in white slacks and a baby blue sleeveless top, Sessily found the pair of flats she'd discarded the evening before and prepared to depart Ahsan's bedroom. She gave the rumpled sheets a last, lingering look then let herself out.

When she reached the bottom of the staircase, the sound of several male voices drew her in the direction of the foyer. A group of men stood just inside the large front doors, gesturing between the palace and something outside. It took her a second to recognize the faces as those belonging to Ahsan's friends at the gala. Several saw her at the same time and inclined their heads in polite greeting.

“Good afternoon,” she said as she drew closer. Ahsan wasn't among the men. He was probably elsewhere dealing with the Bashir situation.

“Afternoon,” the gentlemen said as one. They were of the same nature as Ahsan, men of means, of importance, of regal or elite bearing. It was in their posture, that definitive air of power and control.

“I'm sure you're already aware, but I'm Sessily Pavel. It's a pleasure to meet you all.”

“The woman in white,” Leander said with a boyish grin. He held out his hand, the first to lead in a round of shakes. “Leander.”

Sessily smiled at the reminder and met them all one by one: Leander, Mattias—a Prince, she thought—and Chayton. They were faultless with their cordial greetings and did not make her feel awkward or like an intruder. In fact, they were warm and welcoming and treated her as if they'd known her for years. Gone were the suits she'd seen them wear at the gala; instead, each man wore dark clothing better suited to physical activity than balls or boardrooms.

“It's not my place to offer, really, but can I get you anything?” she asked the men with a glance at the open doors. She couldn't see what was going on outside, only hear a low din of voices and the occasional rumble of an engine.

“We're fine for now, thank you,” Mattias said. “I hear you nearly beat Ahsan in the race.”

Sessily smiled and brought her attention back to the group. Had Ahsan actually told his friends that? “An exaggeration on his part, I think. He beat me soundly. It was exhilarating, nevertheless.”