The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) (5 page)

Picking out a modest pair of new pajamas, she drew the butter soft pants on and pulled the loose shirt over her head. The pale lavender color suited her well and was miles more comfortable than the rough hewn nightgown she usually wore. Back into the bathroom, she washed all the make up off her face, studying her reflection in the mirror. How had she come to be here? Why had Bashir chosen her, of all people? Yes, she'd fallen on hard times and yes, she had a younger sister he could exploit. But there were many other women he could have selected for this task. Women who might have done his bidding for money rather than blackmail.

Exiting the bathroom, winding the mane of her hair into a loose knot, she cut two of the lights and approached the bed. Deciding to leave the single nightstand light on, she had just grasped the coverlet to pull it back when a knock came at the door. Three short raps.

Bashir's men, no doubt, checking up on her to make sure she wasn't going to try and run. Why would she, when she knew what the outcome would be for her sister? Annoyed and, if she was honest, a little afraid, she approached the door.

“Who is it?” she called, angling her head to try and see out the fisheye lens.

“Ahsan.”

Oh no.
Her pajamas were modest enough that she didn't feel the need to change. It was more like a track suit anyway, with long sleeves and a high neck. The few seconds she waited were for her benefit, to prepare herself for anything he might say. Opening the door after sliding back the chain, she came eye to eye with the Sheikh.

He'd lost the suit coat between the last time she saw him and now, leaving him in just the white button down and the pinstriped slacks. The sleeves had been flipped to his elbow, exposing the muscled, swarthy length of his forearms.

In short, he looked like the playboy he was. She decided with a skip of her heartbeat that he was the most devastatingly handsome man she'd ever seen.

Remembering her part in this sordid play, she cleared her throat and said with as much nonchalance as she could muster, “Yes?”

. . .

He didn't know what he was doing here. After taking himself back to his suite, he'd poured himself a quick drink, banished the confining coat, and rolled the sleeves back from his wrists. Something indefinable was under his skin, something more than his unexpected attraction to the svelte woman in white with the luxurious auburn hair and mesmerizing eyes. Unable to quell the driving need to check on her, he'd banged out of his room and stalked the halls with decisive determination.

Standing at her door now, he realized it wasn't just one particular thing, but several combined that added up to trouble. Instincts honed to a fine edge, he rarely ignored it when his gut told him something was wrong.

She had already changed into loungewear, hair pulled up away from her face. It did nothing to detract from the delicate lines of her body that most of her curves were hidden under a soft layer of velveteen. Sessily radiated calm confidence and
that hint of playfulness that had drawn him in and held him sway. But it was that
other
thing, something much less defined and detectable that piqued his curiosity.

What he wanted to do was crowd her back into the room, close the door and kiss her until she begged him to take her to bed. He didn't imagine the flicker of heat in her eyes, overlaying everything else. It would be so easy, hands all over her body, melting her until she was as pliable as he wanted her to be. Seduction was second nature to him, as easy as breathing.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” he finally said, when he dragged his mind out of the gutter. She'd left the gala abruptly, and that little glance back along with her smile didn't convince him that she wasn't upset about something.

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“No particular reason. But I'll feel better hearing it from your own lips.” He watched as her gaze tipped down to his throat, then to his boots. It resonated with him, proved that something
was
wrong.
She was buying time—he knew the tactic all too well. Had she been offended by his deviation into flirtation? It was directly after his quip that she'd backed off,
closed
off, and left the party.

“I'm fine, I promise.” She met his eyes again, forthright and head on.

“Mind telling me what drove you from the ball?”

“I'm simply looking forward to leaving tomorrow, that's all. I wanted to pack.”

His gaze skipped past to her room, but he couldn't tell whether her things were packed or not. The door wasn't open all the way and her body blocked some of the view. When he realized what he was doing, he mentally chided himself. Being a part of the Royal Elite, a band of brothers who stepped up
and stepped in when one of their own was in trouble, brought his detective skills to the fore. He had a habit of noticing
everything.

“All right. If you're sure.” He braced an arm up along the door frame, above his head, leaning his weight into it.

She brandished the same challenging smile she'd given at the gala on her way out the proverbial door. “I'm sure. Did you come just to check on me?”

Ahsan reined in a much more blunt reply and said instead, “I did.”

“You don't strike me as the kind of man who does that for virtual strangers.”

“I'm not.” And he wasn't. Although he wouldn't walk on by if someone was being mugged or molested, he was generally dismissive of women's 'plights' and situations. More often than not, they were ploys to get his attention. Sometimes he played the game, usually if he wanted something from someone.

A knowing glint took hold in her eyes. “Ohh. I get it. You're protecting your wager for the race. Making sure all is on the up and up so I won't deviate and decide not to go to your home tomorrow.”

Her reply was so unexpected that he laughed. “That's exactly what I'm doing. If the quality of your bloodline is as you say, then it behooves me to follow through. I'll be happy to have a new addition to my stables.”

“You mean a new one to mine.”

“We'll find out in a few days time, hm?” Of a lighter mood—which he suspected she orchestrated on the sly—he pushed away from the doorframe. “Sleep well and expect my men to come for you early.”

“You can count on it. Until tomorrow.”

He waited until she closed the door, until he heard the clack of the dead bolt and the rattle of the chain before turning away from her suite. Not convinced there wasn't something wrong, something she wasn't saying, he was nevertheless mollified by her cheeky retort and content to let it lie for now.

Back on the correct floor, striding to his suite, he was almost to the door when someone spoke behind him.

“He must be really distracted not to have heard us coming like a herd of elephants down the hallway.”

Pausing, he brought Leander, Sander, Mattias and Chayton into view. He snorted in amusement. “I heard you. I was just waiting for you to harass me, Leander.”

In truth, he hadn't been paying attention, thoughts consumed with the 'harem', Sessily and the upcoming race. It was rare he was caught off his guard and it wouldn't happen again soon.

“Lies,” Sander said with a jovial clap to Ahsan's shoulder.

Ahsan didn't deny it. “Are you all coming in for a drink?”

“What do you think we're here for?” Leander retorted.

Ahsan laughed and led the men in. His three bedroom suite had a large entertaining area with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the glittering city, and a full kitchen with dining room. The open, airy atmosphere was offset by arabic architecture, rich colors, and polished wood furniture trimmed in gold. A wet bar stood to one side of the entertaining area, replete with every liquor known to man. Once everyone had gravitated to the bar, he stepped behind and made each of his brethren a drink. After all these years of working together as a team, he knew most of their more intimate habits.

“But you're not here
just
for a drink,” Ahsan said. It wasn't a guess. As with Sessily and his instinct that something was bothering her, he knew his brothers in arms were here for another reason. The harem, he thought.

“Of course not,” Sander said, settling on a stool.

Mattias, Leander and Chayton also positioned themselves on stools, facing Ahsan who stood behind the counter making his own drink.

“I had no idea Bashir would pull that stunt,” Ahsan said, cutting to the chase.

“We know,” Mattias replied.

“It was an attempt to sully you and your name in public,” Leander said. “It almost worked. Good thing you've got balls and stood up to clear yourself.”

“What I don't get,” Sander said between swallows of his potent drink, “is
why.
Why now?”

Ahsan let the men speculate, taking a drink from his tumbler. The sharp sting of whiskey was welcome and appreciated. “Because he's Bashir.”

“Has anything happened lately to make you think he would pull such a stunt?” Sander asked.

Ahsan recognized that his brethren were on the hunt. Something wasn't sitting right with
them,
just as something hadn't sat right with him over Sessily.

“The only unusual thing was the humanitarian award I won a few weeks ago, and which my father, the Emir, congratulated me over. Which was a shock—not the award, but my father acknowledging me.”

“Yes, that is quite a shock, isn't it?” Sander said. It wasn't really a question.

“You're not exactly his most beloved son,” Leander added.

“That's what happens when a person shuns their upbringing, religion and the route a father expects their son to take.” Chayton, more quiet spoken than the rest, put it all in perspective.

“He's got countless other sons to consider for the title of Emir. Bashir, so far, seems to be leading the pack. I've got no interest whatsoever in taking my father's place and everyone knows it. Why Bashir would be upset over my father inviting me to the main palace is beyond me.” He had another drink.

“But Bashir would not do such a thing unless he was very motivated, would he?” Chayton asked.

“He usually never does anything without a purpose. In this case, though, he might have done it out of spite. He's been known to lash out in other ways whenever the Emir shows our other brothers any kind of attention. But yes, usually he's motivated when he takes such blatant action.” Ahsan had put it down to a fit of jealousy on his brother's part, a warning not to get too comfortable at the palace.

As if he would. Ahsan wanted no part of it.

“What bothers me about it all,” Chayton continued, “is the after.”

“The after?” Ahsan frowned, trying to catch up to Chayton's thought.

Sander, Leander and Mattias all glanced at Chayton.

“Yes. After the 'humiliation'. What will you do with the women? Not send them back to Bashir. I know you better than that. So you'll take them home and try to find their families, or where they came from. Yes?” Chayton studied Ahsan with vibrant blue eyes.

“Yes. I hinted as much at the gala,” Ahsan said. He considered Chayton's odd wording. 'find their families'. The women were just actresses, no doubt, and would probably disperse on their own. A prick of unease struck then, and he understood that there might be more to the situation than it seemed on the surface. Bashir was his brother—Ahsan automatically tended to put the man from his mind as quickly as possible, but an outsider might see details he couldn't.

“So you win a humanitarian award—for your work breaking up human trafficking rings—and Bashir tries to humiliate you with a harem. With women that, if anyone thought hard enough about it, probably came from one of those rings. The very thing you're lauded for. I find that to be too much of a coincidence,” Chayton said.

The room grew quiet.

“I assumed they were probably actresses playing a part,” Ahsan finally admitted. He could feel a muscle ticking in his cheek. Were those women
real
hostages? Ill gotten from a trafficking ring? No wonder Chayton seemed so insistent that there could be more here than met the eye.

“They might be. I bet they're not,” Chayton said. “I bet, when you inquire, that they're all from one of those rings. Your brother just delivered you a big slap in the face.”

Ahsan finished the rest of his drink in one swallow. He had half a mind to march down to the rooms he'd acquired for the women and start questioning them himself. Instead, he took out his cell phone and fired off a text. His most trusted man, the best of the assassins that guarded his own life, would find out what he needed to know.

“That's just...” Leander paused, as if he was too dumbstruck to continue.

“Wrong on about a hundred levels,” Mattias said, clearly unhappy.

“Well, we have our work cut out for us,” Sander added. “Starting tonight, I'll make some calls to see if we can start tracking down when and where Bashir might have gotten them from. If it's what Chayton says, then we have another ring to bust.”

“You won't be doing much of anything,” Mattias said to Sander.

“I can make calls.” Sander gave his brother a dark look that held no real heat.

“He's right,” Ahsan said to Sander. He hated to back Mattias up, but the King of Latvala couldn't put his life at risk, which was why he never actively went out on missions with the rest of them. Still part of the group, Sander helped in other, innocuous ways. “Going out to bust the ring can't happen, but there is no harm in phone calls.”

Sander reached across the counter and helped himself to another three fingers of liquor. He said nothing more.

Ahsan knew how frustrating it must be for Sander. He knew how active and smart the King was, how much he enjoyed going on missions. Being the ruler of a kingdom came with responsibilities that Sander couldn't easily escape.

“There's more,” Chayton said, drawing everyone's attention again.

Ahsan clenched his teeth. What else was he missing? “What?”

Chayton leaned forward, resting both elbows on the bar's surface. Cupping his drink in his hands, he met each of the men's eyes, landing on Ahsan last. “He will expect you to discover, at some point, that the women are from a trafficking ring. Given your nature of breaking them up, he would reasonably expect you to go and try to break
that
one up.”