Sold to the Sheikh

  SOLD TO THE SHEIKH

  (CLUB VOLARE #1)

  BY

  CHLOE COX

  COPYRIGHT 2012 CHLOE COX

  Table of Contents

  Dear Reader…

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  A Note from the Author

  Dear Reader,

  I have a whole lot of fun writing all my erotic romances, but the story of Sheikh Bashir and Stella Spencer is especially close to my heart. This book is for everyone who has been able to put the pieces of a broken heart back together and try again, and it’s especially for anyone who is still looking for the strength to do so.

  But, that said…I feel like I have to warn you, at least a little bit. Sheikh Bashir and Stella get up to some crazy sexual shenanigans, and I wouldn’t want anyone to go ahead and, um, try anything out without doing a lot of research first. In particular, the thing at the end of Chapter 9…

  Don’t try that at home. Not as, like, an impromptu thing. And not without a lot of practice, patience, the proper accoutrements, and a partner you trust!

  Wishing you lots of love and happiness…

  Chloe

  CHAPTER 1

  Stella Spencer stared at her tear-streaked face in the mirror and told herself to suck it up.

  This is pathetic, she thought. And it’s unprofessional. Nobody wants to see a crying woman at a sex club.

  Well, no one she cared to meet, anyway. She tried not to judge some of the things that went on at Club Volare NY, but sometimes she needed to remind herself that everything that happened at the club was always strictly consensual. There’d been a few scenes that could’ve fooled her, but then, Stella didn’t pretend to be totally fluent in the complicated language of human sexuality.

  Which was why it had been such a surprise when they hired her. It had been a gift, really, given Stella’s circumstances. Lola Theroux had just sort of appeared out of the past at a college alumni event, zeroed in on her old, forgotten friend, and offered her a mysterious “position” at an exclusive “club.” If Lola noticed that the alumni mixer was the first time Stella had managed to get out of the house in months, or that she’d looked wan and harried and not quite put together, she didn’t seem to mind. Or maybe she’d just been too polite to comment. The divorce had, of course, made the damn society pages. Stella was convinced that everyone noticed.

  But Club Volare was a reason to get out of the house. At Club Volare, she could be someone else. She hadn’t run into anyone from her old life. Her ex-husband might be wealthy, but he wasn’t quite Volare-wealthy.

  So why am I freaking losing it today?

  One of those questions without an answer. But it didn’t matter; Stella had to get back out there and host. She had a job to do. She rummaged through her purse, looking for an eyeliner pencil. She was pretty sure raccoon eyes wouldn’t do.

  “Stella?”

  Stella nearly put her eye out. She would never get used to the silent swiveling doors that were a Volare trademark. It was like Catie had appeared out of nowhere.

  “I’ll be right back out—just reapplying.” Stella tried to smile. “Can you cover if there’s no one up at the front?”

  Catie’s expression probably should have warned Stella about what was coming. The young courtesan-in-training leaned back against the open door with a sly grin and said, “It’s not that. Mistress Lola wants you in the Pearl Room.”

  The Pearl Room. Stella was not a fan of the Pearl Room. Each of the little sections in Club Volare had their own vibe, and the Pearl Room was full of flashy European glamour and women who were so beautiful you couldn’t be sure that they were actually human. If you were having a fat day, the Pearl Room was not where you’d go to feel better. And Stella felt like she’d been having a fat day for the past few months.

  Not fat, she reminded herself. Curvy. Healthy. Totally normal. Six months ago, this wouldn’t even have crossed Stella’s mind, but six months ago, she hadn’t been dumped. And anyone would look a little zofteig compared to the sorts of people who hung out in the Pearl Room.

  Stella hurried along, smoothing down her black dress, wishing it weren’t quite so form-fitting, and decided she’d take her usual detour via the back stairs. Club Volare leased the top few floors of an expensive boutique hotel, and there were several sets of stairs and elevators for staff use only. She could use one of those to sneak up to the unobtrusive side door embedded in a wall of the Pearl Room and slip in without having to run a gauntlet of judgy models.

  She did, however, pause to adjust her boobs a little higher in her tight dress. Might as well work what you’ve got.

  Stella took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and leaned into the hidden door, hoping to open it as silently as possible.

  “What the hell?” said an irate, female voice.

  Oh shit. Stella had felt a bump against the door, and heard the tell-tale clatter of high heels. She’d definitely just nailed some model who’d been standing next to the door. She slipped inside expecting to find a pissed off glamour girl in need of an apology, but was instead blinded by a very bright light.

  “Ok, what is going on?” Stella said, still trying to get her bearings. Even with her hand covering her eyes, she could barely make out a bunch of long, elegant female bodies, all lined up against the wall that she’d hoped to sneak past unnoticed. So much for that plan.

  “Who is this?”

  That was definitely a male voice. Deep. Sharp. Accented. It seemed to hang in the air, and reverberated through Stella’s body in a very distracting way, so that it took her a moment to realize that she’d obviously interrupted a Club scene of some sort. That was not done.

  Not good.

  “Close the door behind you, Stella, and face forward.” Stella still couldn’t see a thing, but she recognized that as the voice of her friend, Lola, but not as she knew her—not exactly. This was the commanding voice of Mistress Lola of Club Volare, and Stella obeyed before she even realized what was happening.

  Stella blushed. She wasn’t some sort of simpering servant, and her unthinking obedience made her feel somehow very vulnerable.

  She put her hand back over her eyes, trying to orient herself, but still couldn’t see squat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  “Take your hand away from your face.”

  That male voice again; this time, harsh. And…dominating.

  “Excuse me?” Stella said.

  “Remove your hand,” the voice said. The suggestion of a smile played around the edge of his words. “I want to see your face.”

  Stella’s first instinct was to tell Commandant Whoever He Was to get bent, but something in his tone gave her pause. He wanted to see her face. He’d already seen the rest of her, plain as day in the middle of whatever light they had trained on her, plump and short compared to the women on either side of her, and stuffed into an ill-fitting black dress. It had been a long time since she’d felt like any man really saw her, let alone wanted to see more of her. And the harsh, commanding man wanted to see her face.

  She removed her hand and said, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”


  Oh, great joke, Stella. Hilarious.

  The man ignored her. “Please adjust the light, Lola,” he said.

  The light clicked downward so it was no longer directly in Stella’s eyes, but upon her breasts. Stella tried not to think about that. She hadn’t realized she was squinting, but now her face relaxed. She could make out a few figures, one she took to be Lola, and another, a man, a tall, broad silhouette, standing next to her friend. Why am I just standing here like a dumb prop? she thought. She felt like some sort of specimen, pinned to the wall by a spotlight. This was not her. Not how she thought of herself. And she didn’t want to think about how she looked compared to all the other women on display.

  “Ok, yes, very funny,” she said. “Obviously I’ve interrupted something. Lola, is there something—”

  “That is the one that I want,” the man said abruptly. “Make the arrangements.”

  And the tall, shadowy figure disappeared behind the light.

  ~ ~ ~

  “No,” Stella said, swishing fruitlessly at the air with her hand. “No, no, no.”

  Lola only smiled. Her silence was infuriating, and still Stella felt compelled to fill it.

  “You know this isn’t my thing, Lola. You know I’m not cut out for it. I don’t…look, I’m not judging, one way or the other, but I don’t get the whole BDSM thing. Or Dom/sub thing, or whatever. See? I don’t even know what to call it.”

  “You’re doing fine so far,” Lola said. She leaned back in her chair, head nestled in a pile of rich auburn hair, and this time her smile spread across her whole face. She looked like Stella’s friend again.

  “But I don’t think I can do this,” Stella said. “It’s just not me.”

  “Are you sure? Sometimes others can see what we hide from ourselves.”

  Stella looked at her. “Don’t try that fortune cookie Volare-type philosophical crap on me.”

  “Hmm. Deflection,” Lola said. “Interesting. I doubt he’ll put up with that.”

  Stella threw her hands up in frustration. “Who?”

  A buzzer sounded, emanating from the always-locked door that led to Lola’s plush office space. Stella had always wondered about her friend’s choice in decor; lots of comfortable looking black velvet and leather that somehow managed to make Stella feel transgressive, even if she wasn’t doing anything wrong. And right now she felt as though she were definitely doing something wrong. She looked at Lola, alarmed.

  “Him,” Lola said with a smile, and reached across her desk to buzz someone in.

  Stella was too embarrassed to turn around, even as footsteps approached. She stared wildly at Lola instead, making crazy eyes, hoping her friend would come to her senses and call off this obvious, obvious mistake.

  But Lola had on her game face now, impassive and stern. She had become Mistress Lola.

  Stella swallowed and took a breath, determined to turn and face whoever was behind that imperious voice, but she didn’t have a chance. A hand on the small of her back, another at her chin, and suddenly she was turned towards a broad figure, looking up directly into a set of hard black eyes.

  “Tell me your name,” the man demanded. It was the same booming voice, but now it was attached to a luminous, coffee-colored face. He had beautiful skin smoothed out over a set of rough-hewn, masculine features: a heavy brow, a Roman-looking nose, and a strong, hard chin. Only his lips looked soft.

  His eyes narrowed. “I said: tell me your name.”

  She said immediately, “Stella Spencer.”

  Stella had never heard herself sound so small. It was infuriating. Why had she answered him? This man, with the voice, and the face chiseled from beautiful rock, and the dark, hypnotizing eyes—this man was staring directly into her. He was holding her face, pressing her close to him, where she could feel the entire hot, hard length of his body. It felt like a small miracle that she could remember words at all. If she could only get out a few words, why didn’t she use them to stand up for herself, and tell him to back off?

  Why didn’t she want to?

  “Stella,” he said slowly, as though rolling it around on his tongue to get a feel for it.

  And, just as suddenly, he released her. It was like the sun going behind a cloud. He turned and faced Lola instead.

  “Is the paperwork complete?” he said.

  Lola pushed forward a set of papers on her desk. “Not quite,” she said.

  He scowled. “What is the difficulty?”

  Stella, trying not to flush, forced herself to find her voice. This was ridiculous; the two of them talking like she wasn’t even there. She said, “Um, the difficulty is that there’s been a mistake, Mr…?”

  Slowly, he turned to look at her. His gaze was intense, total, and completely unnerving. The silence alone was almost unbearable.

  “You may address me as Sheikh Bashir,” he finally said. “There has been no mistake.”

  “Yes, there has,” Stella said, hating herself for getting so flustered. She could still feel the heat of him where he’d touched her. “I wasn’t supposed to be there like that. I just barged in. I understand that I interrupted your scene, and for that I apologize. It was completely my fault, and totally inexcusable. I really, really am sorry, but it was an honest mistake.”

  Sheikh Bashir seemed unimpressed. He registered no expression. It was almost as though Stella hadn’t spoken. How could she say this without offending this god-like…Sheikh?

  Wait, he’s really a Sheikh? That’s an actual thing?

  “I’m not…” she said, struggling to find the words, “Look, I’m not one of the Volare. I’m sorry. It’s a mistake.”

  The Sheikh’s nostrils flared, and he turned on Lola, his massive hand falling on her desk.

  “She may not be a member of the Volare,” he said to Lola, “but there was no mistake.”

  He grabbed the sheaf of papers, and turned that gaze back to Stella. It was worse than being under a spotlight, she thought. She felt totally bare.

  “In this country,” he said, his voice tense, “at this time, I cannot purchase you outright. You will sign an agreement.” He turned again to Lola, who wore the mask of a professional. “She is the one that I want. Double the fee.”

  “Ok, seriously, this is ridiculous. I don’t know how to make this any clearer. I am not—” Stella began, but the Sheikh turned that stare back on her, and suddenly she lost her train of thought. His eyes flashed, and Stella had the distinct feeling that he was restraining himself. From…something.

  When he spoke, his tone left no room for doubt.

  “Do not feign outrage with me, Stella Spencer. I have little tolerance for pretension or dishonesty, as you will learn. I do not care who you think you are, or what you are determined to represent yourself to be. The fact is that you have turned your breasts towards me; your nipples are pert, even though this room is quite warm, and your pupils are dilated. You will sign the papers because you want to sign them, and you will present yourself to me in the room I have rented for this purpose, and you will do it now.”

  And with that, Sheikh Bashir threw the papers on the desk and strode out of the room.

  It was a moment before Stella could speak. It took her a few seconds to even realize that her mouth was open. Eventually, she turned toward her old friend.

  “I’m giving you the long weekend off,” Lola said.

  “Lola,” she managed, but it sounded desperate, rather than angry.

  “It’s fifty thousand dollars for the holiday weekend, Stella. Standard safeword arrangement, terminating the contract at a prorated rate. It will change your life,” Lola said, and her face softened. “And I’m not just talking about the money.”

  Stella blinked. Fifty thousand dollars?

  She thought about how she couldn’t even pay the taxes on the ridiculous apartment she’d been awarded in the quickie divorce settlement. She thought about the many empty rooms of that expensive apartment, all of them mocking the memory of the life she thought she�
�d had with her Robert before he’d dumped her. She thought about the pitying looks she’d gotten from people she might have described, once, as their “mutual friends,” and how now those people all made her feel like a pathetic, boring castoff. She thought about her totally barren social calendar.

  She thought about how shocking and immediate the Sheikh’s touch had been, reminding her that she was, in fact, a woman. It had been like a single frame of color in a black and white movie, like something you didn’t even know you were missing until someone showed you that it existed. Here was a man who actually wanted her.

  All in a rush, before she could change her mind or the Sheikh could come to his senses, Stella Spencer signed the papers.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sheikh Bashir al Aziz bin Said was not, generally speaking, an impulsive man. He was a passionate man, of course, but always controlled. Always, supremely, controlled.

  And yet he’d just been knocked senseless by this Stella Spencer. He had no idea how it had happened. It simply did not make sense.

  This was supposed to be his last hurrah, so to speak, a final extravagance before settling down to duty. Bashir had given up on finding a worthy match for himself, even at Club Volare, and was resigned to a lonely marriage and a lonely life, if it meant serving his country’s interests. There were far worse things in the world, Bashir knew. Still, he’d decided to indulge himself with one last holiday at Club Volare, where he might pretend for a little while before returning to the hard realities of life. He was prepared for that. But then, at the last possible moment, there was this Stella Spencer.

  He had not been prepared for Stella Spencer. She’d stumbled in with such unassuming beauty and authenticity, and then she appeared to actually challenge him.

  He suspected that she challenged everyone, in a way, perhaps without realizing it. So on her guard. So protected, even while unable to hide that authenticity. He’d never forget the way she raised her eyebrow when she’d said, ‘Excuse me?’ Such a simple gesture, nothing obviously remarkable about it, and yet, somehow, it drew him in.