Sold to the Sheikh (11 page)

“Sheikh—” she tried.

“Quiet,” he said. He got out of the car, and held open the door for her.

Stella pursed her lips and promised herself that she wouldn’t tear up, if only because she refused to appear ridiculous.

Sheikh Bashir led her through the lobby, deserted at this time of night, in total silence. He stayed silent all the way to the door of the suite he had booked for her, and then suddenly stopped. He put his hands on both her shoulders and turned her toward him, regarding her with an appraiser’s eye. Then he quite suddenly pushed her back a few paces, until she stood fully in the soft light of a wall sconce.

“What—”

“I said
quiet
,” he growled, and pushed her flat against the wall. The usual intensity of his stare was enhanced by a ferocity that Stella found genuinely frightening. “You will answer my questions, and only my questions, until I tell you otherwise.”

His large hands burned into her shoulders. Stella couldn’t help her physical response, even if her mind was afraid of disappointing the Sheikh, afraid of what he might say. She wanted to feel his hands everywhere.

She nodded.

“Why did you disobey my order to stay in the car?”

Oh crap
.
How to answer that without sounding like a crazy person? ‘I thought I might be falling for you, and I had to check it out?’ ‘I wanted to know more about you?’

“I was curious,” Stella said lamely.

Sheikh Bashir held her pinned against the wall with one hand, and thrust his other hand between her legs. The shock of his grip pulled a cry from her throat, and heat from her body.

“Let me remind you of our agreement,” he said, his voice low. “You are
mine
, to do with as I will. You have disobeyed me. You will answer my questions now, fully and honestly, to the best of your ability, or by God, Stella, there
will
be consequences.”

He held her frozen in his gaze, and it felt like there was nothing she could even think that would escape his notice. She could never lie to him. She hadn’t meant to. Her only trouble was that his hand was making it difficult for her to think.

What is wrong with me that I want this?
she thought.
That it feels so right.

“Yes, Sheikh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

But words failed her as he moved his hand. He finished her sentence for her: “To obfuscate.”

“Yes. That.”

“Then answer the question fully. Do not close your eyes. Look directly at me.”

She did, and his dark eyes glittered. Again his intensity was…overwhelming. There was the definite sense that she was being studied, analyzed, x-rayed. In some sense it was comforting: she only had good intentions, and maybe he would see that.

“I wanted to know you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It felt like you’d been so deep in me, so intimate, and I didn’t know anything about you. I wanted to know what upset you, because I wanted to help. Like you’ve helped me. I wanted…I wanted to be closer to you.”

There was a long pause. Finally the Sheikh swallowed, and spoke.

“And now?” he said. “After what you saw and heard?”

“I want to know more,” she admitted. “I want to know why you feel so guilty. I want to know why you care for an old woman who hates you. I want…I want to know you, because I need to know…”

Oh God.
Tell the truth
.

“I’ve fallen for the wrong man before. I don’t think I can handle doing it again.”

There. She’d said it.

The muscles of the Sheikh’s face froze. It didn’t even seem like he was breathing. He studied her face for another impossibly long second, and then he took her mouth with his. His lips were swift, and hungry, and passionate, and it felt as though he kissed her with the strength of his own relief. As though he forgave her. And he pulled away before she’d had enough, leaving her dazed. It might never be enough. She was breathing hard.

He leaned his forehead against hers, and she heard him breathing, just as hard as she was. He sighed, then pulled away suddenly.

“Mark Kincaid was my greatest friend,” he said. His voice was artificially calm and studied, as though this was a speech that required special effort to say. He continued, “I trusted the wrong person, and Mark tried to warn me. But I was foolish, and ended our friendship instead. And then Mark died in a car accident, and I learned I’d been wrong. I also learned that there was no one to care for his grandmother. Since then I have assumed all responsibility for her care, even though she despises me, when she remembers me at all. I hope to find people who can make her happy, but even with unlimited resources, it is difficult. You helped her tonight, and for that, I am grateful.”

He let her touch his face, tenderly, for just a short moment. Just a moment, in which she recognized that he felt it, too.

Then he grabbed Stella’s arm and turned her around, pushing her face-first against the wall. Before she could speak or even gasp, he swatted her ass three times, hard.

“You disobeyed an order, Stella,” he said into her ear. “And for that you must be punished, no matter how good your intentions. Your punishment will begin tomorrow morning. For tonight, you will have to suffer without my company. And with the knowledge that tomorrow is coming.”

Stella’s whole body clenched, her heart hammered in her chest, and all of the blood in her body seemed to head downward.

Tomorrow was coming.

C
HAPTER 13

Sheikh Bashir had been suffering an uncharacteristic bout of ambivalence since the previous night, when he’d given Stella the barest details of what had happened with Mark Kincaid. Why had he done that? He
never
revealed that sort of personal information, and he’d certainly been under no obligation to do so. But he’d read her face: she had been telling the truth. Every involuntary muscle twitch, every expression she didn’t even know that she’d made, told him that she was truthful. Earnest. That she’d disobeyed him only with the best of intentions; that she hadn’t done it out of malice, or some scheme to further her own interests at his expense, but that she’d done it out of…

No. Don’t call it love.
She’s known you two days, Bashir
.

Yet all of his training told him that she was the genuine article. He couldn’t help but wonder: if he’d learned these skills earlier, if he’d known them then, would Vanessa still have fooled him? Would he have been blinded by love, and been just as capable of being deceived? Had he been deceiving himself, thinking that with access to the best security firms and the latest research into micro expressions and body language, he could turn himself into a human lie detector? Was it a wasted effort, if he would still, in the end, have to operate on faith?

And yet he felt he had read Stella like a book. But not necessarily because of his skills: because she simply
was
genuine.

She’d been so vulnerable, admitting her motivations, and implicitly, her feelings for him, that he could not resist her. No, it wasn’t even that; it’s not as though she’d asked him for an explanation. He’d just known it would make her happy, in some small way, and he’d wanted to do that.

Get control of yourself, Bashir.
Remember: she is here because you are paying her. That was the whole point, to keep things very separate, very clear…

And yet, he’d called his security firm as soon as he’d left her, the one he kept on retainer, and had requested a rush profile on one Stella Spencer. That was not the action of a man who was staying detached. Who was in control.

The dossier that had arrived by courier early that morning didn’t tell him everything, especially not on such short notice. But perhaps enough to help him even the playing field. He’d revealed one of his most painful secrets the previous night, or at least most of it, and Stella Spencer, who was so instinctively genuine, was still hiding her most intimate, and possibly most painful, secrets from him. He could deduce most of what had happened with her ex-husband, but not the context that clearly made it so painful for her. And he needed to hear it from her. He wanted her to
want
to tell him everything.

He wanted her to truly, utterly submit.

Bashir turned the corner, and walked to the door of Stella’s suite. He’d arranged for a wake-up call, and a delivery with specific instructions. He might not know everything about her, but he certainly knew enough to design a worthy punishment for her disobedience. He allowed himself a smile before becoming stern and foreboding.

And then he punched in the code, and opened the door.

Stella was perched on the edge of a three thousand dollar couch, dressed only in the slip dress he’d chosen for her. He nodded in approval; he could see every single on of her luscious curves, and even the suggestion of her nipples, through the thin fabric. She stood up quickly as he entered the room, and tried to smooth the dress, her expression apprehensive. Good. She should be nervous. He was going to take that exhibitionist streak she hid so well and bend it to his will.

“You are wearing nothing underneath?” he asked her. It was obvious that she wasn’t, but he wanted to remind her of that fact.

She blushed. “Nothing, Sheikh.”

“Show me.”

A little hesitant, a little unsure. But obedient: she pulled up the hem of her dress, showing him her nakedness.

“Very good. Follow me.”

He did not wait for her, but simply turned and walked out of the room, gratified to hear her stumbling steps trail after him.

Sheikh Bashir wondered if Stella had ever been to the Volare Black Brunch before in the course of her duties as a hostess. He doubted it. He’d never seen her there, and even employees who were not into the lifestyle were not welcome at such events. He smiled to think of her reaction. The idea of a BDSM brunch event had always struck Sheikh Bashir as the exact combination of ridiculous and sublime that Roman and Lola managed so well as Master and Mistress of Volare New York. Of course they would take a New York tradition like Sunday brunch and make it their own.

They arrived at the ornate black doors for the second time in three days, and Sheikh Bashir held up his hand, bringing Stella up short.

“Have you ever been to the Black Brunch, Stella?”

“No, Sheikh.”

“But you know what it is.” She blushed again. He loved that. He’d see her grow redder than that before he was through.

“Yes, Sheikh.”

He laughed. She was being very, very obedient this morning. “One more thing before we go inside, Stella. Put up your hair,” he said, and retrieved a thin leash from his suit pocket.

Bashir watched Stella’s reaction very closely. She stared at the leash at first, as though trying to confirm, repeatedly, what she truly saw, and what it meant. And then the blush slowly returned, starting at the top of her breasts, visible in the low-cut, flimsy dress, and rising inexorably to her lovely cheeks. Yes, she understood. And yes, she found it both arousing and humiliating.

Which was exactly the point.

“Stella,” he warned, and she gathered her loose hair in her hands and lifted it off her neck. Bashir attached the thin collar, and it was done. He would be watching her, more closely than she could ever guess, to make sure this went exactly as planned.

“I should not have to remind you, Stella, but proper etiquette is required here. You do not speak unless I permit it, or to use your safeword.”

“Yes, Sheikh.” Her voice was soft. Already her mind was preparing for subspace. Not for the first time, Bashir reflected on how amazing she was.

Then he reflected on what sort of expression she might make when she realized how many people she knew were about to see her like this. He smiled.

“Let’s go, Stella.”

C
HAPTER 14

Stella’s mind lurched about from one extreme to the other, never settling on any one feeling: hot, cold, humiliated. Hot. Horny. God, what was happening to her?

Sheikh Bashir opened the door, and Stella suddenly realized: she would know people in there. They would
see
her.

The thought sent her hurtling into an entirely new space, one in which all her concerns briefly fell away because they simply could not hold on, there was not room for them next to the screaming siren call that was her intense arousal and anxiety at the thought of being seen, like this, by people she knew.

She did not have time to reflect on any of this. Sheikh Bashir led her forward.

Why does this give me such a rush?
she thought. Stella never expected that she might feel this way; she’d always had a million intellectual objections to this kind of thing, but she’d never bothered to try to understand how it might
feel
. And still, she didn’t quite understand it, even as Sheikh Bashir was leading her on the end of a leash through the shallow twists and turns of the Black Room entryway. She didn’t understand it; she just felt it. There was something about giving up such control, such sovereignty over herself and her body, that felt safe with him. More than safe. Thrilling.

They were almost through. Almost to the main room. Stella could here the clatter of cutlery, the clink of glasses, the laughter of people enjoying themselves at a lazy brunch.

The thought that they would all see her like this, that they would all know how much she wanted Sheikh Bashir, how much she craved his body and his approval, that it was enough to put a leash around her neck, enough to let him do anything he wanted to her…

Wet warmth pooled between her legs.

But it was terrifying, too. Humiliating. It was somehow
final
to admit these things publicly. Stella had never been at ease revealing her private thoughts; she’d always been terrible at hiding her emotions, and her one consolation had always been that she could at least keep her thoughts about those feelings to herself. But this would be like showing something very private to everyone who cared to look.