Free The Royal Elite: Ahsan (Elite, Book 2) by Danielle Bourdon Page B

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