Sold to the Sheikh Read Free Page A

hooked under the straps of her dress, and blinked.
    What the hell was that? She’d never felt so weak. I have my safeword. I can always say the safeword.
    Somehow, that didn’t help. She didn’t fear Sheikh Bashir, even as he arose from the couch with a lazy, predatory grace. She feared her own apparent loss of self-control. What kind of person nearly undresses just because some guy with the voice of God tells her to? What was happening to her?
    “I’m sorry,” she said, “I told you I’m not…I’m not familiar with these kinds of things. I’m sorry. I think this was mistake, Sheikh Bashir, I really do.”
    “I grow weary of hearing you say that, Ms. Spencer,” he said, and a wry smile played across those soft lips. “It’s almost as if you do not trust my judgment.”
    Stella knew there was something wrong with that argument, but she was having trouble thinking logically. The Sheikh had risen to his full height and had removed his tailored grey suit jacket, tossing it carelessly on the sofa. What was left was an obvious wall of hard muscle under a fitted white, collared shirt, which was tucked crisply into a pair of grey suit slacks.
    Maybe he plays polo , Stella thought weakly. She could see the Sheikh fiercely driving a horse around a pitch. Oh God, what an idiotic thing to think about! You don’t know anything about polo! Get a hold of yourself, Spencer.
    But she was frozen to the spot, as though if she stayed perfectly still, maybe Sheikh Bashir would just forget about her. Instead, he came very, very close. Stella remembered the heat of his body from when he’d grabbed her, only a few moments ago in Lola’s office, and looked furiously at the floor.
    He said, “But it is more offensive to me that you seem to expect me not to trust my own judgment, too.” He reached out and touched the side of her cheek with the back of his hand. “I know what I see before me. You make it quite plain.”
    Suddenly, Stella was furious. She’d been torturing herself nightly over what other people must see when they looked at her, what led them to treat her the way that they did, and this stranger had the temerity to just…announce that he knew? Better than she did?
    “Oh, really ?” Stella said, and let the sarcasm fly. She finally looked up to see that he was still smiling. “You think you know me better than I know myself?”
    “Apparently.”
    Stella was not prepared for that.
    “But perhaps you need to be convinced,” the Sheikh continued, and stepped quickly behind her, resting his large hands on her shoulders. Stella was afraid to move. Not because of what might happen, but because she might miss the feel of him behind her, and she wasn’t quite ready for that, either.
    Maybe that’s the problem , Stella thought to herself. I’ve been so afraid of what might happen, I’ve stopped moving. She felt something inside twist, and the kaleidoscope of jumbled emotions that she’d become accustomed to carrying around with her fell into a kind of focus. The picture didn’t make sense, exactly, but it was a picture now. She was afraid. She had stopped moving. She’d been hiding.
    And this stranger could see that.
    If it hadn’t been for his warm hands massaging her shoulders, Stella was certain she would’ve begun to shake. She wasn’t sure she could handle whatever he had planned.
    “Who do you think you are,” she said, and she could not keep the tremble out of her voice, “to talk to people this way?”
    The Sheikh’s big hands spun her around easily, and he caught her around the waist with his iron arm. His other hand moved upward to cradle her face—and to make sure she looked at him while he spoke to her.
    “I am Sheikh Bashir al Aziz bin Said of Ras al Manas,” he said with unerring calm, “though that has little to do with my ability to talk to you this way, or my ability to recognize you for what you are.”
    His black eyes softened and searched her face. Stella was completely at a loss for