The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) (8 page)

“About five weeks, give or take a few days.” He regarded the softer lines of Sessily's face, the adoring look in her eyes, and thought about what it would be like to wake up to that in the morning. To see her tousled, cheeks flushed from sleep.

“Ahsan?”

“Hm?” He came back to the present when he realized she'd been talking to him. “What?”

“I asked if it was all right for me to come down and visit the horses and kittens.”

“Any time you like. While you're at it, you should give all these kittens names. They don't have any yet.” He just wanted to see what she would come up with.

“This one is precious, so I'll call her Precious.” Sessily held up the fluffy tabby and smiled at Ahsan.

He groaned. This might be a big mistake. “You don't even know if it's a girl yet.”

“And the one you're holding is Whitey.”

“Sessily, seriously? You're horrible at naming animals.” Whitey? He wasn't calling either cat Precious or Whitey. A man had to put his foot down at some point.

“Are you a name snob?” she asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Choose something else.” He set the fluffy white kitten down and watched it scramble back to the empty stall. Searching his pockets, he brought out his phone, keys and a small red apple. Setting his phone and his keys atop a nearby trunk with a flat lid, he fished out a knife next and quartered the fruit.

“But I like those names, they're fitting.”

“I'm not calling that cat Precious.” And that was that. He handed off two slices to Sessily, and turned to offer two horses a slice of apple each. The steeds nickered with interest, ears pricked forward, and lipped the treat off his palm.

After setting the tabby down, Sessily chose two horses to give the apple slices to. “You invited me to name them, so I'm naming them. Live with it.”

He laughed. “These are my stables, in case you've forgotten. I make the rules, and I can change them any time. Choose different names.”

Before anyone could say anything else, an employee hailed him from the far end of the stable. He glanced at Sessily. “Will you be all right here for a moment?”

“Of course. I'll be waiting, take your time.” She smiled as if the intrusion was not a problem at all.

“Excellent. Think up new names in the meantime.” He winked and strode the other way, intent on finishing his business as soon as possible. Like a burning brand, he could feel her gaze bore into his back, watching him walk away.

As if she could do any less.

Sessily helped herself to the impressive sight of Ahsan's retreating back. Broad and strong, with muscles flexing under the snug fit of the tee shirt, it was a back she could easily imagine running her hands over.

Turning her mind from intimate musings, she rubbed her forehead with her fingers and took a deep breath.

She hadn't expected their conversation to take such a drastic turn. His admission that he'd checked her background had almost sent her into a fit of panic. Sessily thought he was going to casually say he knew exactly why she was here, and who had sent her. For long moments, she'd nearly lost control of her temper and ranted at him. Fear was the culprit of her swing in emotion, for the stakes were high if she failed to accomplish her mission or if Ahsan figured out her game.

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 exert 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.