by Cathryn Fox
I hate to admit it, but Jennie was right. She told me the second I walked onto the stage I’d enjoy it. Normally I’m not one to flutter under a man’s gaze, and I don’t seek out validation for my personal appearances, but it’s oddly titillating to be the object of so much attention. I almost snort. The last time I was the sole focus of any guy’s anything, I stabbed him in the back. I hate myself for it. I really do. But when I heard all the horrible things he said about me—Londyn is nothing but a silly joke—I stopped fighting my father and let him pursue stolen ideas that nearly destroyed the guy I was in love with. I should have been the better person, and while I never stopped caring for Cason Harrison, I learned a valuable lesson in trust—mainly, who to let in and who not to.
Someone in the back of the room, with a deep husky voice that slides down my back and awakens some dormant part of me without warning, ups the ante, and I peer out. Who just bid three million dollars on me, and what is it about his muffled voice that intrigues me? Dammit, I wish they’d dim the lights up here so I could see who’s outbidding everyone else. A man near the front, his voice deep, scratchy and gruff, a side effect from years of smoking, increases it to three and a half million, and I nearly falter in my too-high heels. The money will go a long way in helping my father regain control over his businesses. More important, it will stop him from trying to marry me off.
At least this is all aboveboard, and really, providing companionship to a lonely man isn’t the worst thing in the world. Still, my father might not be proud of the way I’m getting paid, but it will show him I’m a girl who will do what it takes to succeed—within reason of course. It’s not like I’m going to sleep with the guy who wins me. This is about friendship, and sort of reminds me of the app Cason created back at Penn State.
But I don’t want to think about him. Every time I do it creates a huge knot in my stomach. I push him to the recesses of my mind as the gentleman at the back of the club bids fiercely. Slow whispers go around the room and chairs scrape the floor as everyone turns to see exactly who is refusing to be outbid. I hate that I can’t see.
With the audience distracted, the announcer steps up to me and lowers his microphone, his words for me only. “You’ll have to come back, Desiree. You’re causing quite a disturbance out there.”
“Probably because I’m new,” I say.
“Maybe, maybe not, but Mr. Laurent’s guest sure is hell-bent on winning you.”
“Mr. Laurent as in the famous designer Luis Laurent?” I ask, blinking rapidly. Good God, am I really in the presence of one of my idols?
His smile is big and toothy. “The one and only.”
I narrow my eyes and strain to see into the crowd. “Who is his guest?”
“A new member. First time here, actually. Perhaps you know him. His name is Mr.—” he begins, but stops when a loud voice gains our attention.
“Five million,” the man at the back of the room says flatly.
A hush falls over the crowd, signaling the end of the bidding. I have no idea who just bought me, all I know is his voice is low and sexy, filling me with deliciously dirty images of him taking me up against the wall while doing depraved, corrupt things to my body.
Whoa, what the heck is the matter with me?
I turn to the announcer, and work not to sound breathless. “This is all safe, right?”
“You’re in charge, Desiree,” he assures me with a pat on the arm. “The power is in your hands. If anyone so much as lays an unwelcome finger on you, or even looks at you the wrong way when you leave here, they’ll be banned from the club. Don’t worry, everyone knows the rules and I’m quite certain you’re about to have a couple luxurious weeks in the hands of your host.”
I relax. Two weeks of luxury. Wouldn’t that be nice. Heck, I haven’t had a luxurious anything in far too long. I’ve been too busy trying to prove myself capable, and applying for fashion jobs. If only Mr. Luis Laurent had bid on me. To be in his brilliance would be a dream come true. I could pick his brain about the industry and learn so much.
Then again, who’s to say his guest isn’t also in the fashion industry. A fresh wave of hope pushes back those last remnants of worry, and I suddenly can’t wait to meet my new companion.
I leave the stage and find Jennie, or rather Chanel, there waiting for me.
“Ohmigod, Londyn. You went for five million dollars. That’s incredible!” She pulls the curtain back slightly and scans the crowd. “Who was that? Do you know? I usually know everyone out there.”
“No idea.” I stand there, still trying to wrap my head around the five million, half of which I receive now, half when the contract is fulfilled in two weeks.
“Well, come on,” Jennie urges. “Let’s get changed and go meet our hosts.”
“Jennie?” I ask as I follow her down the hall to the change room.
“Yeah?” she says as she enters. She takes off her lingerie and slides into a little black cocktail dress.
“Have you ever...”
She plants her hands on her hips and meets my gaze in her makeup mirror. “Slept with my host?” she asks.
I chuckle. God, I am such an easy read. “Yeah.”
“Once,” she says, turning to face me. “He was midthirties, looking for a companion to a fundraising gala. I liked him, and he liked me. It happened on his yacht one night. But you should know, I was the one who made it happen. These guys know better.” Her eyes go wide. “Wait, are you thinking of sleeping with your host?”
“No, I don’t even have any idea who he is,” I say and give a casual roll of my shoulders to shrug off all the dirty thoughts that raced through my mind when I first heard his voice. “I was just wondering.”
“Well, sweetie.” She pulls a tube of lipstick from her purse and swipes a layer of bright red cream across her lips. “If he’s young and hot, I say go for it. You work too hard and play too little.”
I don’t disagree, and the thoughts of a man’s big warm hands on my body does sound nice, but I’m not the type of girl to jump into bed with a stranger. Heck, I’ve only ever slept with a few guys who were lackluster at best. My first was Jackson Freeman, a guy my father insisted I date after I’d been spending too much time with Cason Harrison in college. I’d given Jackson my virginity out of spite, I think. I wanted my first time to be with someone I loved, but Cason had said some horrible things about me behind my back. I guess in the end I’m glad I didn’t give him my body. Unfortunately, he’s been holding on to my heart for quite some time now. Damned if I don’t want that back.
“Here, try this,” Jennie says and hands me a fresh tube of lipstick. “If your guy is young and hot, he’ll go crazy for this color red. Oddly enough, it’s like an aphrodisiac for men,” she says with a chuckle. “It hasn’t failed me yet.”
“Thanks.” I slide the lipstick into my purse and change into a jumpsuit, stylish yet comfortable and, more important, designed by me.
A big man in a short-sleeve T-shirt that shows off muscles covered in tattoos sticks his head into the room. “Ms. Desiree, your car is here.”
I suck in a fast breath but it does little to settle my sudden bout of nervousness. Am I really doing this? Going home with a stranger who just bought me? Hell yeah, I’m doing this, and you know what, I have two weeks away from home, away from all the stresses and parental pressures to marry me off to a man with a pedigree. For the next couple weeks, I get to spend my time with a man who is going to dote on me, and I damn well plan to take advantage of it.
Jennie blows me a kiss. “Go have fun, Desiree,” she says. “I mean it.”
“Yeah, I will, Chanel.” I tease but mean it, as well. “You, too.”
I gather up my small suitcase and my purse, then slide into much more comfortable heels before following the bodyguard down the long hall. We make our way through the massive building, and I take in a rejuvenating breath when I find my
self back outside, standing on the top step in Cannes’s downtown core. It’s quite breathtaking, actually, and for a brief second I wonder if we’ll be staying in the French Rivera. Apparently, the hosts come from all over, and I pray mine isn’t from New York. This place is straight out of a fairy tale, and I am not ready to go home just yet.
“You have a good night, ma’am,” the guard says as he hands me off to the concierge, who takes my luggage and leads me down the stone steps toward a rare sports car. I shouldn’t be surprised by my host’s wealth, considering the amount he paid for my companionship. We circle the vehicle and he opens the door behind the driver’s seat and I’m a bit disappointed. I was hoping I’d be in the front, or on the other side of the backseat, to get a glimpse of the man who fought for me. It’s almost like he purposely positioned me behind him. Does he not want me to know who he is? I mean, sooner or later I’ll find out, right?
“Good night,” I say to the concierge as he closes the door behind me and puts my belongings into the trunk. I shift, buckle my seat belt and angle my head, trying to see into the rearview mirror. The driver taps restless fingers on the dashboard as I situate myself.
“Are you comfortable?” he finally asks, his hushed voice deep and rusty, thick with something I can’t quite identify. There is something so familiar about it, though. Do I know him?
“Yes, thank you.”
He starts the car, and I look out into the night, admire the bright lights and the Christmas decorations on the lampposts. It’s such a pretty sight. But if he wants the full two weeks with me, I won’t even be home for the holidays, not that my absence will be noticed. Mom will likely be off to some fancy ski resort with her friends, and my father will be buried in business as usual. Jennie won’t even be home this year. She’ll be enjoying Cannes with her new host. Her folks always celebrate the season in a big way. They always invite me over and when I was younger, I’d go. A part of me longs for big family dinners, opening gifts around the tree at the crack of dawn, and passing the day away with laughter and board games. I sigh inwardly as I recall those joyous days with Jennie’s family. But she’s been working and traveling, and we’re not kids anymore. Last year I didn’t even bother to put up a tree. But as much as I want a loyal man in my life, and a big happy family, I refuse to succumb to parental pressure and marry for any other reason than love.
Good God, I wish I wasn’t such a romantic at heart.
I shake off my loneliness—my stupid wish that happily-ever-after really did exist—and when the driver puts on his signal and takes a left, I peer into the vehicle’s side mirror and try to get a look at him. The dim light of the dashboard highlights the hard, yet sexy angles of his face as well as the light dusting of whiskers on his chin. That dark shadow, combined with a full head of thick chestnut hair warns me that he’s young.
Warn?
Maybe that’s the word that jumped to mind because of my current mood. But maybe it’s a warning for him, and not me. It’s been so long since my body has been touched that there is a part of me that might not only accept all to come, but let go and really give myself over to this man—in ways that might even shock him. A little shiver goes up my spine, and once again I ask myself the question, am I really doing this?
Yes, I’m doing this.
He drives a few more blocks and pulls into a private villa overlooking the gorgeous Mediterranean Sea. It’s absolutely breathtaking. I almost can’t wait to get inside and make myself at home.
“We’re here, Ms. Harding,” he says, his muffled voice an octave lower.
He exits the driver’s seat and goes to the trunk to retrieve my luggage. As I watch the way he moves, something niggles in the back of my brain, although I can’t quite figure out what’s suddenly bothering me. But then alarm bells ring loud and clear, and fight-or-flight instincts kick in as understanding hits like a punch to the gut.
He just called me by my real name.
My thoughts race, and I take a minute to recall his voice, his age and those hard yet sexy angles of his chin. The second the tumblers fall into place my jaw drops open.
Oh. My. God.
No.
It can’t be.
Can it?
CHAPTER THREE
Cason
I THOUGHT SHE would have recognized me long before now. Then again, I was purposely keeping my features hidden and my voice muffled. Hell, if she knew it was me, she would have bolted. But two seconds ago, when she finally figured out my identity, her resounding shock buzzed through my body like a million angry hornets.
I close the trunk, and the sound reverberates in the quiet night and ripples along the rocky shoreline below my villa. I lift my head, and find her glaring at me through the back window, her mouth slightly open, her eyes bulging out of her head. Keeping my calm, despite the raging storm sweeping through my gut, I step up to her door and open it.
“Are you coming?” I ask in an even tone, but she doesn’t move. Instead, her mouth opens and closes, and I can almost hear the wheels spinning in that brilliant brain of hers. “I asked a question, Londyn. I’d appreciate a response.”
“I...what the hell is going on?” She glances around and scans the quiet neighborhood. What is she looking for? An escape route? She’s safe with me, despite our history and anger toward one another. Or rather, my anger toward her. What does she have to be angry about? She’s the one who stabbed me in the back and her daddy made a fortune from it. I open my mouth but she blurts, “What the hell am I doing here? What is this all about, Cason? What the...” Her words fall off and she lowers her head in thought.
I give her a moment, and when she remains silent, I say, “It seems pretty obvious to me. You were at the auction house, and I bid on you. Now you’re here, mine for the next couple of weeks.” I narrow my eyes, take in the flush of color on her heated cheeks. Honestly, if she thought I was going to let her go home with any other man, then she doesn’t know me at all. I almost scoff at that because I’m the one who really doesn’t know her. Yet, the second I saw her up there and felt a hint of her trepidation I would have emptied my entire bank account to bring her home. I understand there is nothing sexual in this arrangement, but I didn’t like the vibes I felt off a few of the men around me.
Or maybe that’s just a damn excuse.
“What exactly is it you don’t understand?” I ask.
“Never mind.”
Her eyes flare hot, the blue turning a cold shade of ice, and I hold my ground. If she thinks this is some revenge plot on my part, she’d be wrong. I think. Truthfully, I have no idea what I’m doing. All I know is that there was no way in hell she was going home with any other man than me. Everything about her on that stage tonight, from the nervous way she studied the crowd to the excitement at that first bid, warned that this was a new experience for her. Unlike those other women who do it for the thrill, my gut tells me she has other reasons, and I damn well plan to get to the bottom of the matter.
Don’t think of her bottom, Cason.
“Are you coming?” I ask.
She lifts her chin an inch and I fight back a grin when her glare turns venomous. “I’m coming,” she says, each word punctured with a sureness that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You don’t have to be such an ogre. A lady needs time to get from the backseat of a car like this.”
“An ogre?”
She stands, and shakes out her long blond hair. The curls fall down her back and as much as I don’t want to remember, my mind instantly goes back to the nights I held her while she fell asleep in my arms. So much was lacking in her life, and she was so incredibly lonely. I’d lie beside her, smooth her hair from her face, run those long strands between my fingers and fight the urge to kiss her as she drifted off.
She wronged you, Cason.
I can’t forget that. Ever. My sister and I have been through so many battles and I made a childhood promise to her. Si
mply put, I’m completely overprotective of Peyton, and if anyone tries to stand in the way of my career goals, which prevents me from fulfilling my pledge to my sister, they become the enemy.
Londyn Harding is the enemy.
“Yes, an ogre,” she says and reaches for her bags but her hands are shaking. She’s as rattled by this unexpected turn of events as I am and working hard to hide it.
I move the bags from her reach and she nearly stumbles into me, nearly pressing that soft warm body of hers into mine. Jesus, after all these years I still can’t get her sweet citrusy scent out of my brain. When I walked her home, or held her in bed, it would wrap around me, tease all my senses. Since I’m still a man, and she’s still a beautiful woman, the want hasn’t vanished, but succumbing to it would be disastrous in so many ways. She’s the last woman on the face of the earth I plan to sleep with.
“I’m sure there’s no need for name-calling,” I state flatly, portraying a calmness I don’t feel, and it gives me a measure of satisfaction when it rattles her even more. That probably makes me a complete asshole.
She regains her balance and stands before me. While she might be many inches shorter, she lifts her head like she’s a mile taller, but the confidence is feigned. “What is there a need for, Cason?” she says.
Oh, for me to fuck you and get you out of my system once and for all. But that is not going to happen. Ever.
“We’ll figure that out over time, Londyn,” I snap back, adding emphasis to her name, the same way she did with mine.
“There are rules you know.”
“Fully aware of them,” I say, and pat the pocket of my suit. I was briefed on the rules while she was brought to my car. They were simple enough, and the only one who can break them is Londyn. I might have bought her, but she’s holding all the cards.
