by Mara Leigh
“We don’t actually sell tickets at the door.” I drag my teeth over my lower lip, wondering why I didn’t make a plan for same day admissions. “We don’t typically get walk-in traffic. Plus—” I gesture behind me “—dinner is over. You’ve missed everything except the live auction.”
“I’m not hungry.” He leans onto the table. “Not for dinner, anyway.” His words come off predatory, but his grin doesn’t, and both stir up whatever’s fluttering inside my body.
“To be honest,” he continues, “it was your saucy little auction that drew my attention.” He tips his head to the side. “Humans for sale? How very eighteenth century.”
“It’s not like that!” I blurt, but then I smile, as his eyes reveal he was teasing again, joking.
“Perchance,” he asks, “are you on the auction block?”
I shake my head.
“Aw, what a shame.” His chest expands under his white shirt and leather coat, as he heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Nevertheless, I’d love to attend your little soiree and, as I said, I will make a sizable donation.”
“Is there a problem?” Shana arrives beside me.
“This gentleman would like to attend the gala,” I tell her.
“And make a sizable donation,” he adds.
“He doesn’t have a ticket,” Henry interjects.
Shana clears her throat. “The tickets are $500.” She crosses her arms over her chest, clearly assuming this will close the matter and send him away. “We accept all major credit cards—and no discount because you missed dinner.” Shana is clearly hoping to get rid of this guy, and I’m shocked to find myself disappointed.
Ryker reaches into his jacket, pulls out a gleaming gold bar and sets it onto the table. “I assume this will cover it?”
“Is that real gold?” I ask, breathless.
“Sure is, luv.” Raising his eyebrows at me, Ryker runs a thick finger down its gleaming metal side, and the gesture is so sensual I can feel its effect on me.
“Sir.” Shana leans onto the table. “I’m afraid we can’t accept your stage prop or whatever it is. But as I said, we do accept all major credit cards.”
“Too generous?” His finger traces the markings on the bar. AU 999.9, 400 oz.
I’m not sure what an ounce of gold is worth, but suspect it’s a hundred dollars at least, so if I’m right and this is four hundred ounces of gold, it’s worth…forty thousand? Is that right?
“Is that really four hundred ounces of gold?”
He looks into my eyes. “Sure is, my very, very bonnie lass.” He taps the bar. “This puppy’s currently worth about seven-fifty, more or less.”
“Seven hundred and fifty dollars?” I inhale. It’s less than I thought, but still… “That’s very generous.” I turn to Shana. “At least fifty percent more than the ticket is worth.”
Frowning, she shakes her head. “He means, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”
I gasp, turning back toward Ryker. “Three quarters of a million?” My heart races; my head buzzes. I’ve never seen so much money.
“But it’s clearly fake,” Shana adds flatly.
“Madam.” Placing his hand over his heart, Ryker leans toward Shana. “I assure you, it is not.”
Shana’s eyes narrow. “You’re saying you carry gold bars around in your motorcycle jacket?” Her voice drips in disbelief.
“This, madam is most definitely not a motorcycle jacket.” He runs his hand over his leather coat, like he’s a tailor proud of his finest fares.
“Listen.” Shana’s voice rises. “If you and your fake gold bar don’t get out of here, I’m calling security.”
“Heavens,” he says in a mocking tone. “Not hotel security! What a terrifying threat.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.” Shana folds her arms over her chest. “If you prefer, we can skip past the hotel and go straight to the police.”
“Might I be of assistance?” says a deep warm voice from behind us.
I turn to find Zuben standing a few feet away, even more shockingly handsome in a tuxedo, one that fits him so well it looks tailored to the millimeter. The light from the hall sparkles in his dancing brown eyes and their attention is directly on me.
I back up, running into the table behind me, my body trembling at the close proximity to not one but two men I find immensely attractive. Two men who couldn’t be more different.
“Mr. Zuben!” Shana’s voice draws my attention and a grin spreads over her face. “No one informed me you’d arrived.” She glares at Henry, who’s now leaning against the wall and scrolling on his phone, so engrossed he doesn’t notice the reprimand.
“Just Zuben,” he says. “No need for the mister, and I arrived only moments ago.” He glares at Ryker. “Perhaps I was followed.”
Followed? Is Zuben the friend that Ryker claimed to be looking for? The vibe between them doesn’t seem friendly.
Zuben turns toward Shana. “Did I hear you were calling the police? Is something amiss?” Looking down at the table, his eyes open wider. “Is that LGD?” The two men make eye contact, distrust written all over both of their faces. Whoever they are to each other, they are not friends.
“Zuben,” I say, hoping to smooth the situation. “This gentleman offered to pay for his ticket with a gold bar, but we’re not sure that it’s authentic.”
“May I?” Zuben asks.
Shana steps to the side, a smug look on her face, like she’s glad to have an ally, and the two men stare at each other. It’s clear that something is going on, but I can’t make out what.
“Do you know each other?” I ask Zuben.
“Haven’t had the pleasure,” Ryker says quickly, extending his hand. “Ryker Stone, and you are?”
“An expert in gold bullion,” Zuben replies without looking up from the bar.
“Well now, that is helpful.” Ryker says, and then raises his eyebrows as he looks at me. “I’m very happy to have someone settle this.” He leans across the table, moving his lips close to my ear. “So that you and I can get better acquainted.”
A shiver races through me—the tremor a mixture of fear and something else—and I shift closer to Zuben, inappropriately closer I realize too late, but instead of moving away, Zuben presses his hip against mine.
Warmth, and what can only be called electricity, sparks from the connection, but Zuben acts as if he hasn’t even noticed as he picks up the gold bar and examines it, flipping it over, running his fingers over the indentations, holding it up to the light, testing the weight of it in his hands and examining some faint indentations on the back.
“Where did you get this?” he asks Ryker.
“None of your fucking business,” Ryker replies, and then he nods toward Shana and me. “Ladies, please pardon my French.”
Ryker captures my gaze and something stirs deep inside me. Something that leaves me uncomfortable, yet craving more. What is going on with me? Here I am pressing my hip against one man and flirting with another.
Perhaps this is why Mom warned me not to go out after dark. Maybe she cast some kind of nymphomania spell on me that only activates after dark.
I shake my head at that foolish thought. More than a decade after mom disappeared, I’m not even sure I believe in magic anymore. My childhood is like a bad nightmare, mostly forgotten.
“This bar is authentic,” Zuben says to Shana. “And based on today’s spot rate, I would estimate its value at…seven hundred and eighty-six thousand, four hundred and fifty eight US dollars, give or take.”
“You’re shitting me!” Shana exclaims, then raises her hand to her mouth. “It’s real? I mean—really?”
Ryker shrugs. His body reads, I told you so, but casually, like it’s no big deal, like his pockets are full of those bars. Maybe they are.
“And you want to donate this gold bar to Sanctuary House?” Shana’s voice is a mixture of wonder and skepticism.
“Sure,” Ryker says, “why the hell not.” His eyes flash wider, like
he’s had an idea, and he leans toward Shana. “And that isn’t the limit of my finances. In fact, I’m very much looking forward to your live auction.”
Shana tips her head to the side, considering the suggestion, then she turns to Zuben. “Are you absolutely certain this is real?”
“Yes. I am afraid so.” He glares at Ryker. “Very sure. And as your new benefactor, I would be happy to advise you whether you want to sell it, or store it safely as an investment.” He hands her the bar and she grips it in both hands as if it might run away.
“So…” Shana’s breathless.
“Yes. I have decided to pledge my funding in the amount we discussed.” Zuben nods sharply and his hip slides against mine, eliciting a sharp intake of breath combined with a tight contraction between my legs.
“For now,” he continues, “might I suggest the hotel safe for this gold bar? I will be happy to escort you there, if you desire.”
“Yes. Please.” Shana nods. Her hands are shaking, and she looks at me, wide-eyed. “Can you find the emcee?” she asks. “Tell her to get ready to start the live auction. We’ll begin as soon as Mr. Zuben and I get back.”
“Sure.” I say, my voice quivering with excitement. In the last few minutes, Sanctuary House’s financial problems have been erased by these two wealthy and handsome men.
Zuben gestures for Shana to walk ahead of him. Waiting for her to pass, he turns back and makes eye contact with me, and his gaze is so intense, so focused, that heat explodes inside me. Heat I can’t explain, but don’t want to end. I watch, agog, as he holds the elevator door open for Shana and then follows her inside. Even the way Zuben walks is a study in masculine elegance—the perfect fusion of grace and strength.
“Guess that means I’m in like Flynn,” Ryker says, snapping me out of my daze. Passing a bored Henry, he holds his elbow toward me. “Shall we?”
It takes me a moment to realize that he’s offering me his arm, like in an old fashioned movie, and I take it. The leather of his jacket is softer than I expect—but the arm under it firmer. This man just donated over three quarters of a million dollars to Sanctuary House, and then there’s the multi-year endowment from Zuben. This is going to be our best year for donations, ever. By a million miles.
“Ember,” Ryker says as we stroll through the ballroom. “That is a beautiful name.”
“Thank you. My mother claimed it was a family name, but I never got the chance to ask her more about it.”
“I’m sorry.” Stopping, he turns toward me. “Did your mother pass?”
“Yes. Well…” I draw a breath to push back rising tears that totally catch me by surprise. “I’m not totally sure, to be honest. My mom disappeared. She’s been missing for over a decade.”
“Oh, my.” He puts his hand over mine that’s still resting on his arm. “You must have been a child when she vanished. How terrifying.”
I nod, shocked that I’ve shared more with him than I’ve shared with anyone, ever. Shana doesn’t even know anything about my family. Ryker and I just met, but even though he stirs up a mixture of fear and desire inside me, the compassion in his voice and expression make me feel like I can tell him anything, like I want to.
“That explains your interest in Sanctuary House.” His fingers, over my hand, gently stroke. “Did you partake in their services as a teen?”
“No, but you’re right. I understand the plight of homeless teens.” Although I can’t begin to compare my experience to that of our clients.
I had money. A place to live. And living out on the farm, I was able to evade child services until I turned eighteen.
“And your father?” he asks, his voice soothing like hot chocolate.
“I never knew him.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
Only in my dreams. “I’m an only child.”
His expression is painted with what looks like sincere empathy. “We orphans make our own families, right? A beautiful young woman, such as yourself, must have many good friends.”
I look down, both embarrassed and sad as I’m hit by how totally alone I am in the world. I do know my fair share of people, but have never made any real friends—not before mother disappeared and definitely not after.
We were so isolated at the farm and now I avoid everyone. Mostly because it’s hard to explain why I don’t go out after dark. And I certainly don’t like to go into how my mother disappeared, or how crazy I probably am to believe the things that happened that day. By avoiding friendships, I can keep those things to myself.
“My beautiful Ember.” Ryker’s voice draws my gaze from his chin to his eyes.
“If you permit me,” he says. “I’d like to apply for the job.”
“What job?” My brain is scrambled, my attention distracted by memories, and now by the flecks of teal and ice dancing inside the sky blue of his eyes. His eyes are like twin glacier-filled lakes.
“I make a very good friend,” he says. “I’m loyal to a fault, understanding, and many find me amusing.” He leans forward. “I’ve even been called charming by some.” His expression has changed.
I step back, pulling my hand from under his and off his arm. I don’t want to offend this major donor, but with the way he’s looking at me…
I suspect he has something far beyond friendship in mind. I’m inexperienced with men, but no fool, and my gaze drifts back down to his bulge. Catching myself, I jerk my eyesight to the side. Clearly I have something beyond friendship in mind too.
“What are you drinking?” he asks, as if no awkwardness just happened.
“Drinking?”
He nods toward the bar. “Yes. What can I get you?”
“Oh, just water.”
He lifts his elbow for me to take again, and when I don’t, he shifts his arm forward as if he was simply gesturing for me to follow, and we head toward the bar.
“Good evening barkeep,” he says when we arrive. “We’ll take two glasses of your best champagne.”
“I’ve got a sparkling wine,” the bartender says, looking bored. “It’s got a twist off cap.”
“That will do,” Ryker answers.
“I’m not drinking—” My heart is already beating too quickly.
He holds up a finger to stop me. “Ember, as your oldest friend—”
“Oldest friend?” I laugh.
He grins. “Well, if I’m your only friend, then by definition I am also your oldest—not to mention dearest.”
I smile at his logic and boldness. And I admit that the danger vibe I felt earlier has morphed into charm. But charm can be dangerous in its own right.
He leans toward me. “A little birdie told me that your organization received a huge donation tonight. I say that’s cause for celebration, and you cannot celebrate with water. It’s against the law.”
I laugh. “What law is that?”
“The law of celebrations,” he says. “The law of parties.”
“And I suppose you’re an expert on this particular area of the law?”
He lifts the two flutes of sparkling wine, and hands one to me. “I’m an authority.”
“I see.” I take the glass and our fingers brush on the stem. “And where did you study law?”
“Study?” He tips his flute toward me. “I am the author of the party laws.”
Our glasses clink together, and he moves his toward his lips, pausing before he reaches the target. “Please, Ember,” he says over the rim of his glass. “I would very much like to be friends, and friends do not let friends drink alone. Especially when celebrating.”
He winks, and the effects of his charm spread through my body, making me feel drunk, even though I have yet to taste the beverage.
“To new friends,” I say raising my glass.
“To our friendship,” he responds. “One I hope will last forever.”
I take a small sip of the wine, hiding my smile in my flute.
His words are sweet, but nothing lasts forever. If anyone knows that it’s me.
Ember
“Distinguished patrons and guests,” Shana says over the sound system. “It’s time for our live auction!”
Completely engrossed in my conversation with Ryker, I snap out of my euphoric haze and turn toward the stage. My nerves are over-stimulated, my thoughts so fully immersed in his attention that I’ve completely forgotten I’m here for work.
“What is it?” Ryker asks.
My heart swells. We’ve only just met and he can tell when I’m worried.
“I should go up there,” I tell him. “I’m the accountant for Sanctuary House, so I need to make sure all the bids are properly recorded.”
“Stay,” he says in a way that stirs in my lower belly and makes me want to obey his quasi command.
But at the same time, his demand encourages me to run. This attention from him, and from Zuben, it’s all too much. I’m not used to it, especially not from two very different men, their apparent and inexplicable interest in me the only thing they have in common.
“Please excuse me.” I step away, but he touches my hand before I can escape and leans forward, moving his lips close to my ear.
Electricity wakes parts of my body I barely knew existed as he traps my hand, preventing me from running up to the stage.
“Come back to me.” His voice growls against my ear. “Soon.”
His voice vibrates into my body and his heat radiates, increasing the strength of the strange electricity already coursing.
My fingers still engulfed in his, I look up into his eyes but can’t fully read what I see there. This man is interested in me, of that I have no question, but I’m confused about the nature of his interest.
While we talked, his attention seemed romantic, and when he growled in my ear—unmistakably sexual—but right now, his interest seems more like curiosity, like I’m some kind of puzzle he’s not finished solving.
Dropping my hand, Ryker grins and winks in a charming, joking way that’s already starting to seem familiar. Perhaps I projected my own desire onto his earlier expressions and words. I overreacted to his friendly flirting. It doesn’t mean anything.
