The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) Read Free

boon in her current predicament. Perhaps a playful challenge of a race, or interest in breeding her own mares—of which she had none—to his stallions. It would require him to take her to his home, where she could drag out her time by visiting his stables and looking over the horses.
    Another, less enticing angle would be to lie and pretend that her 'diplomat' father wanted her to procure relations with Ahsan and his household. Her father was neither in her life nor a diplomat, which meant if Ahsan checked too far into her history, he would discover her subterfuge. All she needed, however, was a few days in Ahsan's presence, in his home, to discover whether or not the man was making plans to try for the throne. For the highest position of Emir in his country.
    If he was—Sessily didn't want to think what had to happen then. Bashir's instructions had been explicit and unrelenting.
    Horses, she decided during the next rotation. That was her angle, the way in. She didn't have horses, or stables, or wealth, but she decided that these lies would be harder to discover than whether or not she was really the daughter of a foreign diplomat.
    The next task to figure out was how to make the initial contact. Bashir insisted that Ahsan didn't like to be chased, didn't like women who fawned and preened and hounded him. Approaching him first had to appear an accident, nothing as blunt as walking up to ask for a dance or a drink.
    No, she needed another way. She needed him to come to her. According to Bashir, hell would freeze over before that happened. Ahsan was apparently as arrogant as his brother and did not chase women, either. He didn't need to, Bashir had informed her, because women flocked to him like moths to flames.
    During the next turn in the dance, Sessily spared a quick glance Ahsan's way. She could see that Bashir was right. A handful of women in glittering gowns lurked close to Ahsan, whispering and giggling and staring at him. Clearly, they were looking for an open opportunity or for him to take notice. She glanced at Ahsan himself to see where his attention lie—and twitched in Arturo's arms when her gaze locked dead on with the Sheikh for a second time. A tingle raced along her skin, a buzz of electricity that made goosebumps crawl down her arms. As before, she played at hauteur, arching a brow as if their glance-by-chance meant nothing to her, and looked away a moment later.
    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