The tingle remained with her, a pleasant after effect of the Sheikh's attention. Sessily chided herself and got back to business, mentally planning ways to put her idea in place as Arturo threaded their steps through the dancers.
. . .
“You should just go ask her to dance already.”
Ahsan finished off his third glass of whiskey and deposited the empty vessel on a tray one of his security team produced. “I don't know what you're talking about,” he said to Leander.
“That woman? The one you keep staring at?” Leander rocked heel to toe, a smug grin on his mouth.
“You've had too much to drink, pup. I'm not staring at anyone.” Ahsan would deny it to his last breath. He was annoyed with himself for the way his gaze continued to stray to the woman in white. It was as if he was compelled to watch the sway of her hips, the grace with which she moved over the floor. He couldn't get enough of the shine of her hair or the lazy waves the strands made down her back.
“Seriously, would it be such a crime to ask her to dance?” Sander said. “You have paid her more attention than any other woman I've seen.”
Ahsan glared at the King, mouth quirked into an unhappy, downward curve. “Are you telling me you haven't looked at the way her dress fits? Mister, I'm so happily married?”
Laughing, Sander looked nowhere but at Ahsan. “Oh yes, I glanced. How could I not? Pigs are flying somewhere, I'm sure of it, and there is no way I would pass up the opportunity to find out what woman has snagged your attention so. But I didn't stare, and haven't continued to moon over her like some other man I know.”
Ahsan barked a laugh at the absurd notion that he was mooning over the woman in white.
Leander interrupted to say, “Besides that, Chey would have Sander's head if he stared at other women.”
“Chey isn't here,” Ahsan countered.
“It doesn't matter. She'd find out somehow. Women are uncanny like that,” Leander stated, drawing a collective rumble of amusement from the group.
“You can't tell me that you're happy with just one woman for the rest of your life.” Ahsan couldn't fathom the thought. He didn't want what his brothers all had either—multiple wives—but he didn't enjoy the idea of 'settling down' with just one woman for all eternity. He loved women too much, liked sampling flavors world wide.
“It takes the right one,” Sander said. “Look how long it took me to find her.”
“You were born with that mindset, too. That you would have to take a wife, one wife, and produce heirs to take over the crown. I have no issues of crowns and thrones,” Ahsan pointed out.
“That may be true, but I didn't buckle under the pressure of finding the one the king and queen thought I should marry. I chose my own, when the time was right. There hasn't been another woman who has tempted me half as much as my own wife. I'm a lucky man.” Sander finished his thought with a satisfied grin.
Ahsan grunted, dubious that a man could be that content tied down to one woman for life. If he was honest with himself, though, he'd never seen Sander happier. Ahsan had known the king before he'd taken the throne, knew him back when they'd all traveled the world and ladies flocked around the heir in droves. Sander had definitely taken lovers, had his share of women from all corners of the earth. But there hadn't ever been the spark Sander had now, the kind that made the king cut gala parties short to go call his wife or to leave gatherings a day early to fly back to his family.
“It might not matter either way,” Leander said, once more interrupting. Attention fixated on something across the room, he added, “Looks like the lady will be leaving shortly.”
The faint frown on Leander's face drew Ahsan's gaze in the same direction. With her elbow caught in her companion's hand, the woman in white appeared to be gently, subtly, trying to get him to let go. It took a keen eye to detect the new tension between the two, and that the lady didn't want to do whatever the man wanted her to. She didn't seem to want another dance, or to leave, or have another drink. Ahsan couldn't be sure what the man's intentions were, but his hackles rose nevertheless.
Sander rumbled a discontent noise.
Chayton remained silent but vigilant.
Mattias said, “It appears she doesn't want whatever he's asking her to do. How far do you think he'll take it?”
“I don't know, but he's got about ten seconds to let her go or I'm heading over to break that little party up,” Leander said.
“Why wait that long?” Ahsan cut away from the group of men, bristling under his fine clothing. He cautioned himself not to let his temper get away with him. If there was anything he and his brethren detested, it was men who abused women. None of them would allow this to go on very long, and Ahsan decided to beat them all to the punch.
Stalking through the crowd, he avoided eye contact with people so he wouldn't be stopped, and only murmured greetings when directly spoken to. He angled his approach to come up on the couple's blind side, eyes narrowing when he saw the man give the woman's elbow an especially urgent tug.
This would not do. It would not do at all.
Chapter Two
“Arturo, please. I don't want to go over there yet. Let go of my arm.” Exasperated and annoyed, Sessily tried again to release Arturo's grip on her elbow. His tension had spilled over, his angst at the delay in plans leading him to try and prompt her to action. But she wasn't mentally prepared yet, needed another ten minutes to adjust to the crowd, to the lies she had to say.
Before Arturo could reply, he spun around, away from her body, hand falling from her elbow. Sessily realized it wasn't of his own accord when a shadow loomed above their heads, broad shoulders blocking out part of the room.
Good heavens, it was like a brick wall suddenly appeared out of nowhere. A brick wall with Ahsan's face.
Spun by the shoulder, Arturo glanced up at the Sheikh at the same time Sessily did.
“I'm sure you've got more pressing business somewhere else, hm?” Ahsan asked Arturo. His tone suggested it was an order, rather than an option.
Arturo stammered through a reply, rubbed his shoulder with a hand, then glanced at Sessily before stalking away through the crowd.
The mild confrontation hadn't drawn the attention of too many eyes, Sessily noted, as she glanced from the departing Arturo to the hulking, taller-than-tall Sheikh. This was her chance, even if she wasn't quite prepared. She lifted her chin a fraction and fought down unexpected shivers being in such close proximity to him. The scent of sandalwood and some other masculine cologne tickled her senses.
“Thank you. I'm not sure what got into him.” Sessily played it off as a minor irritation rather than an overblown ordeal. She imagined many women might simper and play at injury to eke as much sympathy from Ahsan as possible.
“You're more than welcome. Did he hurt your arm?” Ahsan grasped her elbow in gentle yet calloused fingers and looked down to examine the flesh.
Sessily swallowed past the knot in her throat. Why was she suddenly shaking? The feel of his fingers on her skin sent shockwaves up her arm and through her body. “Y...yes. I mean, no, he didn't hurt my arm, but yes, I'm all right. I don't think he meant any real harm.”
With his whiskered chin tucked, he looked up with just his eyes. Dark eyes, like liquid obsidian. “It's better we don't find out. Only time will tell if you'll have bruises.”
Sessily regarded her elbow, or rather, his fingers on her skin. The man made it hard to think. “If so, there will be just a few. I think you scared him off for good.”
He chuckled, a rumbly, raspy sound. “You sound relieved.”
Sessily smiled. Ahsan wasn't wrong. She was relieved, although her reasons were different than what he imagined. Then she chided herself, remembering the task at hand. She needed to use the 'bruises' to her advantage. She couldn't afford to pass up any opportunity. “Yes. He was nice enough, I suppose, but I don't appreciate being manhandled. I already have plenty of bruises of my own.”
Ahsan smoothed his fingers along he
r skin, cupping her elbow in strong yet gentle hands. He arched a questioning brow. “Not another overbearing male?”
“Oh no. From riding.” She met his eyes again, allowing him to keep hold of her arm. A spark of interest lit his gaze. Good.
“Did you fall? Or was it from the equipment?” he asked.
“The equipment. New saddle.” Sessily tipped her chin up another notch. “I don't fall off horses, Mister...”
“Ahsan. No Mister needed.” He released her elbow and grasped her outstretched hand for a shake.
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.
The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) Page 2