Sold to the King Read online

  “Congratulations. You got a nice offer,” Jackie said.

  Izzy looked around the room, a nice mini-office furnished with a dark oak desk, chairs, and a wet bar. A champagne bottle chilled inside a crystal bowl filled with ice cubes. “Thanks.”

  She’d done her research, and only agreed because former auctionees remained safe, sound, and rich after the experience. Hell, she wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Madame Alexa seemed to…care about women in a twisted way. She wasn’t doing much for the feminism cause per se, but at least a few of them got some money from those bad choices, and didn’t have to deal with abusive pimps. They’d opened small businesses or invested the money to pay for college tuition.

  With trembling fingers, she reached for the clasp of the necklace and removed it, afraid she’d forget to give it back then be billed for it later. She handed it to Jackie, her palms still clammy. “Please give this to Madame Alexa.”

  “Will do. I’ll bring the buyer shortly,” Jackie said, then turned around and closed the door behind her.

  Izzy drummed her fingers on the top of the chair. Maybe I should sit. She shook her head, anxious. No. Sitting would give him even more of an upper hand. She smoothed her hand over the corset, wishing she’d thought of picking up the dress and slapping it on. Some extra fabric would be great right now.

  Damn it. Anticipation zipped through her body. A part of her wanted to get it over with, while realizing that meant dealing with that alluring man up close. Her pulse spiked at the idea, and she reached for the champagne bottle. With a loud pop, she opened it, and poured some for herself.

  She drank it quickly, the chilly, bubbly liquid rolling down her throat and offering some temporary comfort. Flushed, she was about to lift the bottle and get some more when someone knocked on the door. A short and imposing tap just to announce their entry rather than ask for her permission.

  I guess the price of my permission was the one mil and five hundred.

  She straightened her shoulders, placing her flute on the desk, hand perched at her waist.

  He strode inside, and the oxygen disappeared from her lungs. She took a step back, a part of her knowing that man occupied the entire space. A smile formed on his full lips, and she chewed on her lower one.

  Holy fuck. Her clit throbbed, awareness making its way down her body. She cleared her throat, wanting to look away from those mesmerizing dark brown eyes. An energy passed between them, crackling in the air.

  “I see you started without me,” he said, pointing at the champagne bottle. His voice was rich, deep, and…accented. A shiver raced down her spine. His accent reminded her of the same one belonging to the man who had fooled her stepmother. She’d heard it when they Skyped and would never forget it. So he was African. Could he be from Gwokon?

  “I was thirsty. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’m good at catching up.” He lifted the bottle from the ice and filled the flute with lipstick print, hers, then his. He gave it to her, and their fingers accidentally brushed. An arrow of lust shot up her arm.

  “Where are you from?”

  “A country you probably never heard of.”

  “Try me.”

  “Gwokon.”

  She swallowed the throbbing lump forming in her throat. To dispel her reaction, she took the flute to her lips and had a sip. “Never heard of it. Can’t wait to hear all about it though.” Yes! If he was from Gwokon, maybe he could help her find more about what had happened to her stepmother. Of course, she had to be smart about it—no sharing details until she knew him better.

  “I’ll do better. I’ll show you,” he said, then he took a swig, his sexy eyes on hers.

  Show me? As in, visit his country? Madame Alexa had warned her about the possibility of traveling, but she’d imagined a guy would take her somewhere in the country. Maybe Los Angeles or Miami. But to be able to go to the very place she was saving money to visit? Excitement moved through her. The universe was sending her a clear sign—she’d get what she wanted. Sooner than expected, hopefully. “Yes. I’d love to see it.”

  “You’ll see a lot. What’s your name?” He angled his head, and she noticed the cleft on his chin. Dryness expanded in her throat, and the crazy image of her stroking his chin with the tips of her fingers popped into her mind.

  “Izzy.”

  “Izzy.” The sultry way he pronounced her common name turned it into a ripe, delicious, forbidden fruit. “I’m Nassor.”

  Nassor. A common name in his country, from what she’d studied. Gwokon was still a somewhat closed nation, hard to get information on when you didn’t speak the language.

  “Nice to meet you.” She stretched out her hand; he lifted it and kissed her knuckles.

  A tremor thundered through her, and she disengaged her hand a tad harshly, the temporary lack of oxygen in her brain confusing her.

  “No, my dear, the pleasure is all mine,” he said in an intimate, deep voice.

  Flecks of silver gleamed in the depths of his eyes, warning her he meant every word. Pleasure. A tingle raced down her spine and she swallowed. She’d been so focused on the selection process and getting the money to avenge her stepmother that she neglected one crucial detail—what happens next?

  …

  “This way.” Nassor gestured for her to enter the limo he’d rented for the week. She slid inside, and he followed her, closing the door behind them.

  With a nod of his head, the driver lifted the partition and turned on the ignition.

  Soon, they drove away from the place where he’d just bought time with this amazing virgin for a whole month. He sat across from her, needing to see the reactions on her face.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I have a penthouse in town. Thought we could grab something to eat.”

  “Sounds good. I had to starve all day to get myself into this thing,” she said, pointing at the corset. “I bet you never had to worry about impressing a room full of women,” she said, a trace of irony in her voice.

  “I participated in a couple of bachelor auctions back in the day,” he said, hiding the fact that both times they were able to fund a good amount of money to help a children’s hospital in his country. “But sex wasn’t in the mix.”

  She lifted her chin. “How much would you have charged?”

  A chuckle floated up his throat. Back home, no one talked to him like this—so freely, without weighing the repercussions. The women from his social circle, the ones raised to marry a man like him, certainly wouldn’t dream to be bold or confrontational.

  “Tough question. Maybe you’ll be able to answer once you’ve tried the goods.”

  She blushed. Interesting. His pulse spiked. Besides her straight shoulders and the confident glint in her eyes, Izzy blushed. Hmmm. “Will you trust my judgment? I’m not sure our deal entails my honesty.”

  “I’ll trust my skills. You’re an interesting woman, Izzy. Is it short for Isobel?”

  “Isabela.”

  “Why don’t you go by Isabela?” The feminine name suited her lush form and sexy eyes.

  “I prefer Izzy.” She drummed her fingers on her chest, visibly uncomfortable. “Why did you bid on me? I doubt you need to pay to bed a woman.”

  “Or a virgin.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shifted in the seat. “However you want to call it. You’re easy on the eyes and clearly have lots of money.”

  “Are you trying to make me change my mind?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. According to the rules, even if he returned her now—intact—he’d still have to pay in full. His gut clenched. Not that he had any plans of returning her.

  “No,” she answered quickly. “Just curious.”

  “Well, pretty soon I’ll take on a lot of responsibilities. Can’t get much into it without involving other people.
I see this little adventure as a send-off before I start my new job,” he said. If he mentioned he was about to become a king, she could use that information against him. Sure, they’d signed a confidentiality agreement, but if she broke it, she’d bring him a headache. Besides, wouldn’t it be more liberating to act as an impulsive man than a dreading king-to-be?

  One night. Even though he had her for a month and asked her if she could fly with him, he planned on spending the night with her and seeing where it led. Hopefully, one night would suffice. Then, he’d fly back to his country the next day, and back to the life he was supposed to live. Bile rose up his throat and he cleared it, resolute. The shunned bastard had become a king, and he had a lot of people to make it up to.

  She whistled. “New job. You make it seem like you’re an accomplished undercover agent.”

  “Would that make me more appealing?”

  She smiled. “Depends on what side you’re on.”

  He scooted back on his seat, taking a good look at the impressive woman in front of him. Killer sex appeal and snark made her completely irresistible. His gaze slid from her face to her neck, to the swell of her generous breasts, strolling down to her hips. In his culture, they appreciated women with child-bearing hips.

  A stir of lust rushed through him. When his eyes found hers again, he didn’t miss the spark of interest in her eyes. A wave of excitement washed through him, and he wished they were already in his penthouse hotel suite, naked. Easy, man. She’s a virgin.

  The limo came to a halt, and the driver opened the door. He’d instructed him to park inside the underground garage, eager to avoid any distractions. Thankfully, the paparazzi hadn’t caught wind of his presence yet. Of course, he wasn’t famous in the United States, but if people from his country recognized him, anyone with a brain would want to take a picture for sale. Izzy was his dirty secret.

  He got out of the car and stretched his hand to help her out. She stood next to him, a zingy energy passing between them. His palm burned from the touch, from the mere contact with her flesh. He motioned for her to enter the elevator and followed her inside.

  “Are you from Nevada?” he asked, remembering how many girls traveled from other states for the chance at the auction.

  “Born in Brazil. My father was a missionary who adopted me when I was ten and brought me to the States.” She shrugged.

  “You hardly have any accent.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How about you? Have you always lived in your country?”

  “Yes. I lived in the United Kingdom for a year to learn English, but other than that, I’m a committed citizen.” A committed royal. Well, he had to prove himself. Being the son of his uncle’s sister, the one who had a child out of wedlock, didn’t make him a favorite to the crown. Yet, according to sexist laws, he was the next in line. His mother couldn’t be a queen because policies mandated a man must rule.

  The door opened and he led her through the foyer. “What would you like to drink?” he said, heading toward the wet bar.

  “Anything,” she said to him, then glanced around, seemingly fixated on the grand decor, accented with different shades of gold and top-notch furniture. She studied a tall vase standing on the floor that looked like an abstract version of a flower.

  He opened a bottle of red wine and poured the smooth drink into two glasses. He removed the distance between them, then handed it to her. “Cheers.”

  She lifted the glass to her lips. “Cheers.”

  He grabbed his phone and, using the app for VIP guests, texted the concierge, asking them to send dinner to the suite. After he finished, he sat the phone on the table. Sighing, he removed his jacket and undid his cufflinks.

  Izzy glanced at the sparkling water of the pool in the terrace. He basked in her feminine shape, or hell, her feminine presence in his suite. She didn’t know anything about his title or, better yet, his country. During the days he’d met with a few dignitaries in the United States, more women than he could count approached him and flirted with him.

  But he declined any implied or explicit offer. What if one of them had been a journalist, determined to get a scoop on the impending change of power in Gwokon? He couldn’t. His mother had dishonored the family, and he had a lot of making up to do. His days as a free man were over.

  He walked up to her. “Tell me why you’re a virgin, Izzy.” Not the smoothest ice breaker, but certainly a woman her age living in the States had to have had opportunity for sex? Curiosity stabbed at him.

  She didn’t turn to him, but the planes of her back stiffened, stretching the corset. “Does it matter?” she said in a clipped voice.

  He nudged her shoulder, making her spin on her heel and stare at him. “I don’t do well with bullshitting. You’re a young, attractive woman. Just tell me.”

  She clutched the wineglass in her hand, studying the red contents. Then, she took a generous amount of it, so much a little bit dribbled down the corner of her mouth. A knot formed in his throat, and he wanted to reach out for her, kiss her and lick her lips. “I never met my biological father. My mother was an addict and gave up on me, and, unfortunately, my adoptive father died a few years after he adopted me. I learned to be self-reliant and my focus was on studying, and finishing high school, then college.”

  Though she spoke with the nonchalance of a much less important subject, the vein in her neck pulsed. His heart clutched a bit. Damn. He could feel her pain, even if she tried so hard not to show it to him.

  “You’re a survivor. I admire that.” His father had always been an absent loser, and now more than ever, Nassor appreciated his mother—she’d done her best, after she’d been shunned by her family for years, and had no emotional support.

  “Boys were never my priority.”

  “What about the auction? What made you change your mind?” Besides money.

  She caressed the rim of the glass. “When I heard about it, I thought I’d never make it. A lot of women are far prettier than me. I wanted to see if I’d get picked.”

  Because she’s not used to getting picked. Sadness clogged his throat. Hell, growing up, he hadn’t been the family’s favorite, either. The bastard son got shunned from most royal events, until recently when his mother married his father—after decades of a dysfunctional relationship.

  “What’s on your mind?” She put the glass on the table and studied him. For the first time, a pang of insecurity laced her voice.

  He shook his head, eager to will the naive thoughts about their similarities aside. Don’t feel bad for her, a voice inside him warned. Despite her difficult childhood, she’d managed to get a degree and would have access to a lot of cash after this thing between them ended. A lot of people weren’t so lucky—like his late friend Jonah.

  “You.” He took a swig of his wine. Best to keep reality in check. He touched her cheek, outlining her jaw. She quivered under his touch, and he leaned closer, enjoying her response.

  Desire gleamed in her eyes. He cupped her face, looking deep into her soulful gaze.

  He dipped his head down and covered her lips with his—in that instant, a thread of arousal powered through him with an intensity he’d never experienced from such minimal contact. She parted her mouth, and he thrust his tongue inside. Izzy squirmed against him, softening and leaning into him. Blood pounded through his veins, rushing down his cock, swollen and hard.

  She circled her arms around him, and he took advantage to dive deeper into the kiss, exploring the corners of her mouth, meshing his tongue with hers, and stoking the fire brewing in his gut. This woman…

  She caressed his hair, making his scalp sizzle with awareness. The burning sensation traveled down his body, fast tracking all his cells. Unable to resist, he sucked her lower lip, releasing it with a pop. Her sexy moan filled the air.

  His heart thumped, and he kissed her again, this time hungrily, as if she’
d be taken away from him if he stopped. She matched his passion, plastering her soft, warm body against him. Adrenaline boiled in his veins, giving him the sense of being alive he’d missed for the past weeks—maybe even longer.

  The sound of a clearing throat made him slowly disengage from her. With his breath still labored, he turned around to find the uniformed server standing by the immaculate cart filled with silver trays of food.

  “I apologize for interrupting, Your Majesty. Would you like me to serve you?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She stepped forward, her gaze colliding with his. “What does he mean… Y-Your Majesty?”

  Chapter Three

  Your Majesty.

  Izzy tugged on one ear, eyebrows squishing together. Couldn’t be, could it?

  A shiver of apprehension coursed through her, and suddenly she felt a cold draft that had nothing to do with the temperature. “What does that mean?”

  “Your Highness, I’m sorry if I have…” The server trailed off, touching his chest, visibly uncomfortable.

  Nassor reached for his wallet and grabbed a few bills, handing it to the blushing man. “No problem. We’ll serve ourselves, thanks. You may go.”

  The server left the cart and closed the door behind him.

  Nassor opened the first two buttons of his white shirt and rubbed his neck. “I didn’t want to publicize my title yet. The server must have heard some gossip.”

  “You’re the king of Gwokon?” How is he the king? Shit, him being a citizen of the country she wanted to expose was one thing—but the leader and maximum authority? Not so much. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. As far as she knew, King Feruzi still ruled. The man had no sons, only an estranged sister…hmmm.

  “Not officially. My uncle has been sick and has agreed the best thing for the country is to retire from the title and let me rule. Coronation is in a few days.”