Instead, she'd been assaulted by his disappointment. Had she really misjudged him that badly? A little voice whispered that she'd had her doubts of his involvement all along. Ahsan had been blunt and up front since the moment she'd met him, and sincere about everything as far as she could tell, barring the trafficking ring.
What if he was innocent? What if—oh God—what if these were steps to breaking the ring up? Maybe he had them brought here because he knew it was a safe haven. The palace was well protected and far from the city, a perfect place to use as a stopping point on the women's way back home.
Just as he planned to do with her and Iris.
He'd been telling her the truth the whole time.
Rubbing her forehead, wincing at the pain, she stepped away from the wall. Before she reached her suite door, someone hailed her from behind.
“Miss, here are a few things. The Sheikh said you might need them.” A delicate woman stood not far with a tray in her hands. Food sat to one side, with a pitcher of ice water, and a salve to treat her burns sat on the other.
“Thank you.” Sessily opened the door, allowing the woman to come inside and leave the tray on a small table. “Will you pass a message to the Sheikh that I need to speak to him after I shower and change?”
The woman bowed her head and departed.
Perhaps there was still time to salvage the situation. Maybe he would understand why she'd had to be so cautious, and that after the blackmail by Bashir, her trust for strangers was at an all time low. She wasn't sure Ahsan would forgive her, however. He seemed an exacting man, someone who demanded excellence from those he invested his time in. Those he put his own trust in.
All she could do was try to collect her thoughts and present them in a more concise manner—along with an honest apology—and hope he forgave her.
. . .
In his office, Ahsan sank into the chair behind his broad desk and checked his messages. His brethren in the Royal Elite were en route to the palace, due to arrive sometime in the morning. A few other items of business took him mere minutes to deal with.
Tossing down his phone, he raked his hands back through his hair and stared out the windows.
The confrontation with Bashir had gone much as he'd thought it might. Tipping his hand about the spying couldn't be helped, nor could the hints he'd dropped that Bashir might not know all there was to know regarding the Emir's plans.
He'd needed to use that angle to get Sessily out of there and have a bargaining chip for Iris. Very likely, he'd triggered a fight instinct in Bashir, which meant battening down the proverbial hatches for a secondary strike. A more blatant one than the little spy he'd sent the first time.
Sessily. He couldn't believe she thought him capable of running a trafficking ring. Annoyed beyond reason, he hadn't even been able to stand there and listen to any more of her accusations—although if he was honest with himself, what did he expect her to think? She'd seen something convincing, and rather than simply ask him about it, she'd gotten scared and taken off from the palace.
Put herself in danger in more ways than one. Clearly, no one had picked her up on the road. She'd wandered overland, suffering serious sunburns and who knew what else. He surmised Bashir found her in the desert and that's how she came to be back at his brother's holding.
Still. He'd given her every reason to trust him. He hadn't imagined the sparks between them, or those times she'd seemed to waver as if considering telling him everything.
The chime of a message on his phone drew him out of his reverie.
It was the stables. The same horse was in trouble, requiring his immediate assistance.
Leaving thoughts of Sessily behind for now, he departed through a separate, hidden exit that would cut his travel time between here and the stables in half.
. . .
She felt a little more normal after a meal, a shower and a change of clothes. It took her more than an hour to gently remove all the windblown tangles from her hair and to treat the burns on her skin. The eyes that stared back from the reflection in the mirror looked haunted to her, and tired. She was tired. There had been little rest at Bashir's and she would have none until she at least explained herself better to Ahsan.
He was a reasonable man, she assured herself, and would listen even if she had to sit on him to make it happen.
Several hours later, as afternoon turned to night, she still hadn't heard from him. Checking over her attire—a pair of burgundy slacks and a cream button down—she slipped her feet into flats and exited her suite. Sweeping back a stray lock of hair from the hasty updo she'd arranged, she made her way along the empty hall to the stairs and was about to descend when she changed her mind.
Turning around, she went the other way instead. The way she'd seen Ahsan go when he walked away and left her standing against the wall. It wasn't difficult to find his suite—it was the only one with two elaborately carved doors nestled in an arabesque archway—nor to let herself inside after a knock produced no answer.
His guards must be busy elsewhere, leaving her to explore in peace.
She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't skim her fingers over the lavish end tables in the living area or pause to study several statuettes that looked straight from some Egyptian tomb or another. Moonlight spilled in through several open balcony doors, bathing his belongings in an ethereal glow. She moved through his space and considered how much it seemed like him even in his absence. There were touches of masculinity everywhere, from a pair of boots near the wall to one of his white shirts tossed haphazardly over the back of a well made chair.
Sessily paused to pick up the garment and bring it to her nose. Sandalwood, amber, white musk and a hint of something spicy tickled her senses. It was distinct, like Ahsan.
Leaving the shirt where she found it, Sessily investigated his bedroom next. Done in rich colors of the earth—brown, cream, sage green and a hint of red—the massive suite looked comfortable and well lived in. Maps were spread out over a large desk, some rolled and some not, and more maps in frames decorated his walls. A giant bed sat to her left, the covers smooth and neat over the mattress.
The overall effect was careless luxury, fitting for a man who seemed oblivious to his own fortune. There were a few picture frames on a side table that drew her next. Some were of happy looking children in foreign countries, Ahsan crouched by their side with a broad smile on his face.
It was a shocking glimpse into a life she couldn't have ever guessed he possessed. Other photos depicted him with a few of the men from the gala, his group of friends. They were spread out over the world, with glittering cities or ancient sites in the background.
He hadn't lied when he'd told her that he traveled extensively. And she was sure this was just the surface of his experiences. What other places had he visited? Which countries had he given up his time for?
Picking up a rough hewn, beaded necklace, Sessily inspected the hand painted markings with interest. There were several more strands on the side table and a few more hanging from a peg on the wall.
“I spend a lot of time in Ghana. The kids of that village make me something every time I visit.”
Startled, Sessily set the necklace down and turned toward the archway. Ahsan stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, one boot propped onto a toe. He was the picture of studied ease.
“They're very different. The necklaces and beads, I mean.” She waited to see if he was going to explode at finding her all but ransacking his private domain.
“Yes, they are. Each made with exquisite care. If you open the top drawer, you'll find a menagerie of 'gifts' besides the necklaces and wristlets. I save them all.”
“No, that's all right. I...I know I shouldn't be in here,” she said, suddenly changing the subject.
“Then why are you?”
“Because I needed to know more about you. I wanted to know more about you.”
“All you had to do was ask.”
Sessily picked up the double meaning in
his remark. She should have trusted him before, asked questions instead of assuming. “Sometimes you learn more about a person from the things they collect and how they live.”
“I won't argue that, but getting a firsthand accounting is even better.” He paused, then said, “What do you want, Sessily?”
As sensual as she knew he could be, Sessily understood that the question wasn't leading or suggestive. He wanted to know what she wanted of him, from him, now that their secrets were starting to come out.
“First, to say that I'm sorry. I should have followed through when I had doubts about what I saw. I just--”
“Look. I'm not happy that you assumed I was a part of all that, especially when I told you I wasn't. But I've also been in the place where one thing seems like another, and it's not like my brother gave you any reason to trust any of us. So I get that part.”
“And?” Sessily knew that wasn't all.
“I gave you every chance to trust me. Yes, it's true you don't know me or my ways, so you didn't know whether I was lying or not. Yet it's rare that I'm so open and honest and up front with people. I'm not sure what else I could have done to convince you that I'm not that man. You put yourself in grave danger all because you wouldn't ask me a question.”
Sliding her hands into her pockets, she toyed with the vial sitting against her thigh. She reminded herself that this was about more than her miscalculation and bad judgement. “You're right. I did those things. I wasn't sure who to trust, or whether you'd been leading me on. And I am sorry. There's more, though.”
“More what?” he asked, pushing off from the wall. He dropped his arms and closed the distance between them with deceptively lazy steps.
“You already know Bashir has my sister. He's been using her against me to get me to do what he wants. Spying wasn't the only thing on his agenda, Ahsan.” Sessily pulled the vial from her pocket and held it up between thumb and forefinger. There should have been enough light for him to see by.
Reaching out, Ahsan took the vial and held it up higher to the light. He rolled it over, then palmed it and slid it away into his own pocket. “Why didn't you use it?”
“Because I'm not a cold blooded killer. I didn't know what to do. He gave me an order, told me that Iris would come to harm if I didn't use it that night. I had decided to confide in you, started to come down to find you and explain and see if there was anything you could do to help me. That was the night I saw you in the foyer with those women. It felt a lot like betrayal, and I wasn't sure if the women had tattled on me. Told you that I'd planned to try and help them escape. So I left the palace in a panic.” She had to tilt her chin up another notch the closer he got to maintain eye contact.
“They never said anything about escape. I'd been trying to convince them that I was sending them home, or where ever they needed to go, but getting them to believe and trust me was a problem. Again, I guess I should thank Bashir for that.” He pressed his lips together, staring down into her eyes.
“I wish I could explain what it's like, Ahsan, to be snatched straight off the street. I'm not going to pretend that we had it easy, or that I live any kind of a life that would allow me to be visiting the galas and balls you attend. But we had a routine, Iris and me. We had a routine and food on our table and a roof over our head. Then one day, without warning—our tentative life was taken away. Bashir trussed me up like a Thanksgiving turkey and I had to pretend to be what I'm not. I realize all this time later that he never intended to return us to our old life. I believed it then, though. I believed that if I spied and got the information he wanted, that we would return to what we considered a 'normal' life.” Sessily discovered she couldn't stop spilling the truth until the whole tale came out. She wanted Ahsan to know every awful detail, even though she was positive he would look at her entirely different now that he knew.
She was not one of 'them'. Not rich, not connected. Certainly not in his league. But he had the whole story, finally, and she felt better for it.
Silence reigned. Ahsan searched her face, her eyes, saying nothing in the beginning. Sessily started to worry that she'd offended him again somehow, or maybe he was just thankful that he knew she wasn't up to his typical standards.
“Aren't you going to say anything?” she finally asked, unable to keep quiet any longer.
“When I'm good and ready,” he said, voice a low rumble. He took a step closer.
Sessily's hip nudged against the side table. Bracing one hand against it, she watched Ahsan tilt his head another fraction. Lower. Closer. She had the crazy idea that he might kiss her.
“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 th
ose 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.”
Chapter Fifteen
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 Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) Page 15