The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) (3 page)

Sessily was surprised he didn't tout his position and money. With her hand engulfed in his, she shook as firmly as he did. “Ahsan, then. I'm Sessily. Very nice to meet you.”

“No princess, or lady, or...?” he asked.

If he only knew, Sessily thought. She smiled, however, leaving him to guess what her connections were at the gala. Where should she say she was from? And her nonexistent stables? She scrambled mentally to come up with answers. “I'm afraid not. Just Sessily.”

Ahsan released her hand with apparent reluctance. “Interesting. Is your family in the horse business, then?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. You speak with curiosity, which makes me wonder if yours is, too.” Sessily led the conversation along, too wary of Ahsan's moods to be pleased that he was still here, talking about horses.

“I own a rather large, influential stable. Yours is located where? Perhaps I've heard of it.”

Sessily didn't think his interest in the topic of horses was feigned. He seemed truly captivated by the subject. More lies sprang to her lips, desperate to keep him on track. “Our enterprise is smaller, based in Romania. We have some of the fastest Arabians you'll find.”

He snorted, shoulders squaring. “Now that I'll have to see to believe. Mine have won every major race in the last seven years.”

Sessily exploited the knowledge Bashir had given her about Ahsan's stables and the breed he raised. Half turning her body toward him, she held his gaze, allowing a gleam of challenge to spring up between them.

“It also depends on the skill of the rider, don't you agree? I'm confident that any of ours will beat any of yours as long as I'm astride.” A cheeky smile flared to life on her lips. She was well versed in riding, yes, but racing? Had she lost her mind? The way his eyes traveled so intimately over her body made her heart rate pick up speed. As if he was assessing how well he thought she could ride.

“That sounds like a wager waiting to happen. Pity your stock is located so far away. I'm willing to send a plane, however, to retrieve whatever mount you deem worthy of a race. A private race, just your stable against mine.”

Oh, she'd done it now. Sessily refused to panic. Bashir, the monster who had gotten her into this, would just have to get her out of it. “Never fear, Ahsan. I can have my favorite delivered promptly, although it will still take a couple days of travel time. I was due back in Romania tomorrow, after the gala, but I'm sure I can find a place to stay on in Dubai until our contest.”

“Absolutely not. You'll come and stay at my home, where the race will take place. It makes perfect sense. And I've got plenty of room for your steed in my stables.”

What she would do, she decided, was contact Bashir immediately and have him arrange to have an animal delivered. Ahsan never needed to know the horse didn't come from Romania at all, but his own country.

“We've not spoken of the wager itself,” she reminded him, allowing the idea of her coming to stay at his home to fall away, as if it was a foregone conclusion. She now had direct access to his private domain, one of Bashir's requirements.

Ahsan's attention lingered on the pulse point in her neck, then swerved back up to her eyes. “The winner gets to keep the loser's steed. Like pink slips, but for horses.”

Swallowing tightly, too aware of the directness of his gaze, she affected a lofty demeanor. “Very well. We have a race on our hands. And who will I be riding against, I wonder?” she asked, sliding her palm into his once more to shake on their wager. Sessily experienced a jolt at the rough callouses grating against her skin.

“Myself, of course.”

Sessily withdrew her hand and stepped back, making a show of eyeballing him head to toe as he'd done her. “Really now? Aren't you too...big to be racing?”

A dashing grin cut across his mouth. “My horses can easily manage. We'll depart first thing in the morning on my private jet. Does that suit you?”

“Just where do you live, anyway? Here I am, agreeing to jet away with a man I've just met to an unknown place.” Sessily remembered that although getting to his home was her goal, Ahsan had no idea she was setting him up. She needed to show
some
sort of wariness, pretend to think it over. She suspected that the elite of the world did things like this on a regular basis, but thought it wise to at least ask questions.

“Afshar. It's not terribly far from here, and I promise you'll be perfectly safe. We can call in members of your family to meet us there--”

“
No.
No, that's quite all right.” Sessily wished she'd been able to temper her reaction to his comment about her family. At least she hadn't been too fervent or abrupt. “I will meet you in the lobby in the morning.”

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing what new stock will be gracing my stables in a few days time.”

Sessily smiled at his arrogance, and found it an attractive quality when she should have thought it annoying. It suited him, along with his striking charisma. She needed to remember that he was not so different from Bashir, and that he would likely show his true colors soon.

“You mean what stock will grace
mine,
” she countered with a faint laugh.

“We'll see. Let me get you a drink. What would you prefer?” he asked next.

Shocked at the offer, recalling Bashir mentioning that attending to people was not in Ahsan's nature, she nevertheless acted as if it was an every day occurrence. “Wine, red. Thank you.”

He tipped his head and pivoted away, one hand sliding into his pants pocket. Sessily regarded his commanding stature, the elegant way his shoulders filled out his suit. Judging him to be several inches or more above six feet, he moved with the natural grace of a predator. In control, confident, devilish.

One thing was for certain. Ahsan Afshar was already making it hard to hate him.

. . .

He needed a break. A breather. Some space. Ahsan could have gestured to one of his guards to retrieve the drink he wanted, and wine for Sessily, but he had to clear his head. Being in such close proximity to the woman made him want to do all sorts of things. Like drag her off to the nearest room, or leave
tonight
for home instead of tomorrow.

The vision of her lovely eyes, a pale blue color with gold flecks near the pupil, played over and over in his mind. He imagined them lit with passion and desire instead of challenge and intrigue. His hands itched to stroke the smooth skin of her bare arm again, or to thread through the luxurious strands of her glossy hair. He couldn't recall the last time any woman had affected him to this degree.

It was disconcerting. What he needed to do was bed her and get it over with. So her mystery and secrets would be his. His baser instincts detected a return attraction, though he couldn't tell if she was merely playing with him or meant business. He didn't expect her to fall straight into his bed—well, yes. Yes he did. Most women couldn't wait to get him alone. Usually, once the night—or tryst—was over, he went about his business and never saw the woman again.

Would it be the same with Sessily? Time would tell.

While he obtained another drink and wine from one of his men, Ahsan raked a hand through his hair and considered her reason for being here. She didn't seem to be about business, due to the lack of dignitaries, businessmen and other elite who hadn't approached for discussions. Typically, debutantes didn't come to galas alone, preferring to travel in pairs or trios. At the very least, they met up at the hotel and attended the party together.

Sessily appeared to be alone, without escort. She might be one of the few who came merely to see and be seen, although that idea sent a spike of discord through him. No, there had to be more. Maybe she was just bored. Bored with life. Needing a distraction. Someone that sharp, that keen, might seek out others of the same ilk.

Across the room, the sparkling white of her dress caught his eye. Again. Not just the dress but her willowy limbs, her captivating poise.

Muttering an Arabic curse, he backtracked through the room, flashing a daring smile at a few women who openly flirted. He passed out a few greetings to men he knew, and was perhaps ten feet from Sessily when a serpentine note of music hit the air. Reminiscent of a snake charmer, the tune overrode the current selection, bringing the small band at the far end of the room to a halt.

“A gift from his Excellency, Sheikh Ahsan Afshar!” the doorman bellowed.

The announcement brought Ahsan up short. From the opposite side of the dance floor, he caught the puzzled gazes of King Sander, Prince Mattias, Chayton and Leander. They too looked as surprised as he felt.

In through the archway, a string of women appeared. Dressed in sheer, billowy pants, gold coin belts at their waists, bellies bared to view. The tops, fitting snug below the breast, had sheer sleeves to the wrist.

Their attire and submissive postures screamed
harem.
There were seven in all from a wide range of nationalities and backgrounds. The two blondes, he realized, were twins.

What the hell was going on?

Brought to a stunned silence, the crowd watched on as the women made their way single file into the ballroom, and straight to the dance floor. Other dancers backed away, giving them space, whispering amongst themselves.

With increasing fury, aware that people were staring at him now for different reasons, Ahsan gripped both glasses hard enough to make them shatter. One glance Sessily's way proved she was disturbed by the sight that greeted the entire room, a small frown creasing her brow.

As the music grew louder, the harem women began to dance. Sinuous rolls of their hips, coins jingling at their ankles and wrists. They made a circle, a figure eight, winding and weaving and gyrating. As if they knew instinctively where he stood, the line gravitated toward him and encircled him with their arms in the air, their eyes obediently on his shoulder rather than his face.

Everyone
was staring. Sessily, only a handful of feet away, had taken several more steps back. The faint frown that had been on her brow turned into a full on expression of distaste.

He could sympathize. Ahsan loathed the idea of a harem, regardless of his penchant for having a different woman every night. Now everyone present thought he condoned it, and had arranged this for their benefit. Judging by the hard looks from his brethren, this was not a joke any of them were playing on him.

Bashir. It had to be. Only his elder brother would seek to push his buttons this way, to try and humiliate him in front of his peers. Bring him down a notch or ten.

Setting the glasses down, he broke through the line of women, snapping his fingers high to summon his security. He made a quick gesture; his men would know what he wanted. Striding with purpose through the room, he stepped up onto the far dais and simply snatched the microphone off the stand. The musicians didn't dare interrupt.

Facing the crowd, he cleared his throat to make sure he had their attention. In a droll voice that belied his boiling anger, he said, “This was an unfortunate attempt at a joke. Thank my brother Bashir the next time you see him. The actresses will be dispersed at the soonest availability.” He added, “You can wipe the horrific looks off your faces now.”

A low rumble of laughter swept through the throng. Ahsan could see some people still struggling over what to believe, and others showing obvious relief that the situation had only been a poorly planned ruse. He set the microphone back in the stand and stepped off the dais, smoothing down the front of his suit coat. Stopped by no less than thirty people wanting a piece of his time, Ahsan, forced to answer questions and reassure once more that he had no part in the harem, didn't return to Sessily's last known position for twenty minutes.

He wasn't surprised to find her gone.

. . .

At the wine fountain, Sessily obtained a fresh glass, filled it a little more than halfway, and downed several swallows immediately. That display of women, who had disappeared from the room with one of Ahsan's men, hit too close to home. Not that she'd ever been in a harem. It was the idea that the women had no choice to be there. No freedom.

Like her.

She had no choice but to be here right now, in this predicament. Someone had forced her hand. Bashir, to be exact. Took her freedom and her decisions right out of her hands. Judging by the looks on some of the harem dancer's faces, Sessily knew that they were not here of their own accord, despite Ahsan's suggestion from the podium that they were actresses.

Taking another drink, she schooled her features and thought of her younger sister, Iris. Bashir had her somewhere, hidden away, using her as bait to make Sessily do what he wanted. It appeared that Bashir had taken more than Sessily and Iris off the streets, too, if the harem was anything to go by.

Snake. Bastard. Monster. She couldn't dislike Bashir anymore than she already did.

The initial shock that Ahsan might be responsible for the harem was slow to fade. Even though she now knew he had nothing to do with it, she was still bothered by her attraction to him and whatever connections he had to Bashir. She shouldn't feel a pull toward a man who probably had similar tastes as his brother.

“I thought you'd left the gala altogether,” Ahsan said somewhere behind her.

Too close behind her. She could almost feel his breath on her neck. The sense of open space at her back ceased to be as the Sheikh filled it up. His sheer size and presence made her feel fragile, delicate. While she was not a ram-around type of woman, she had never thought of herself as 'delicate'.

Turning around, she discovered that he stood
very
close. Close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. Her height of five-nine was no match for his greater breadth and dominance.

“I just needed a drink,” she said, and for once it wasn't a lie. “That was some spectacle.”

“A spectacle my brother will pay dearly for,” Ahsan said, and sounded like he meant it.

As deeply as she searched his eyes, she could find no trace of subterfuge. She sensed no deception. Truly, then, he'd had no clue about the harem.