by Jenika Snow
Luxury cars and limo scenes pulled up to the front, the doors being opened up by attendants waiting to do their job. Gorgeous people climbed out, the air of money surrounding them strong enough to choke you.
I took a deep, steadying breath, the air coming out slowly. I had a tiny clutch in my hand, my cell phone, ID, and some money tucked away inside. I wouldn’t need any of these things, but having them gave me a semblance of feeling like I was in control.
And in my other hand was my mask.
I took another deep, calming breath and slipped the mask over my face. It was all black with crystals beaded around the eyes and a little feather detailing around one corner, accenting it. It was a contrast to the green gown I wore.
I had to focus on not tripping over the dress, so I gathered up a section of the bottom in my hand and lifted it up. As it was, I couldn’t even walk in the damn thing, let alone the stilettos that were already killing my feet, so concentrating was taking extra effort.
I got to the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the main doors, a continuous stream of people walking by me, their chatter drowned out by the sound of my blood rushing through my veins. I really didn’t know why I was so nervous. This was a temporary situation, not a lifelong commitment.
But I had a feeling one of the main reasons I was so nervous was because I worried no man would find me attractive enough to bid on me. The anxiety that I’d be left standing on that stage, crickets sounding, not one dollar being thrown out for an evening with me, had me feeling lightheaded with worry.
I shook my head to clear the thoughts and tightened my grip on the dress. I took the first step and focused on the two men dressed in suits standing on either side of the open double doors, their matching expressions stoic. They looked like those guards in England that protected the queen, the ones who were like stone and didn’t even seem like they breathed.
I took another step, and another, and when I was nearly to the top, it was like the next moment slowed. My heel got caught on the back of the gown, and I felt myself going forward. I felt my eyes widen and my mouth part as I saw the ground rush up to greet me. My clutch fell from my grasp, because I reached out to brace myself for the impact. But before I face planted, I felt a strong grip on my waist pulling me back, my body moving farther away from the stone.
My heart was racing, and I felt adrenaline rush through my veins. I felt dizzy, my throat tight, beads of sweat starting to dot my temples. I was shifted on my feet so I was facing the person who’d saved me.
At first, my focus was trained on a very broad, very muscular chest wrapped up in an expensive tuxedo. My body was pressed against an all-male physique, and I instantly felt fire lick across my body.
I tipped my head back, let my gaze travel along his neck, over a clean-shaven, square-cut jaw, over full, masculine lips, up a straight, almost aristocratic nose, and gazed into eyes so blue they seemed to contradict his short, immaculately styled black hair. He had an olive complexion, Mediterranean in appearance, like the sun came down and kissed him personally.
“Thank you,” I said and blinked a few times. His expression was stoic, and the only thing that seemed alive, on fire, were those ice-blue eyes. The shade of his eyes was a starling contrast to his tanned skin, but the two complimented each other perfectly.
I lowered my gaze back down to his chest and felt embarrassment flood me. I had my hands gripping the lapels of his tux jacket. I quickly let go and moved a step back, so our chests were no longer touching—although that sensation of not being pressed up against him seemed so abhorrent.
“What’s your name?” he asked in this deep voice.
I glanced down, feeling my face heat, thankful for the mask that would hopefully hid the very physical reaction of my humiliation. He still had his hands on my waist, and his touch felt hot and cold, electrifying yet grounding.
“Beatrix,” I whispered, unsure why I freely gave it to him.
He didn’t say anything for long seconds, and I wondered if he was rolling my name around inside that gorgeous head of his. “I’m Logan, Beatrix.” I didn’t miss how he lowered his eyes to my lips. “You’re steady?” he finally asked in a deep and thick-sounding voice.
I looked up at him from under my lashes and nodded before licking my lips nervously. “Yes. Thank you,” I whispered. He let go of my waist, but I was well aware of how his hands slid along my body, as if he too didn’t want to let me go.
But then again, the most rational reason was it was all in my head.
For a second, we just stared at each other, and I could imagine it was just the two of us, that there weren’t people all around us, that I wasn’t about to auction off myself to the highest bidder.
I wouldn’t mind it if he bought me.
That random, out-of-the-blue thought slammed into my head, and I cleared my throat. “Thank you again,” I said a little louder this time, offered him what was no doubt a very awkward smile, and turned to ascend the rest of the stairs and head inside. But I felt his gaze on me the entire time and chanced a look over my shoulder before entering the house.
And as our gazes clashed again, as it was clear he hadn’t taken his focus off of me this whole time, I felt a strange sensation move through me, this undeniable desire I’d never felt before.
I didn’t know what it was about this man that drew me so instantly, but a part of me said it had to be dangerous if it was this potent.
Chapter Five
Logan
I could still feel her pressed up against me, could still smell that light, floral fragrance that clung to her. It hadn’t been artificial, was no doubt her natural scent.
It intrigued me… aroused me.
It had taken every ounce of willpower and self-control not to get an erection as her very feminine form had been up against me.
I had seen her instantly as I made my way toward the front doors, this unique creature walking alone, her nervousness evident. She wasn’t used to these functions; that was clear in the way she kept swallowing, and the fact that her eyes darted left and right, as if she were afraid she was in the wrong place and someone would notice.
And someone did notice. Me. And I fucking grew intoxicated by it, addicted to finding out who she was.
I picked up my pace so I was closer to her, watching her ascend the steps, taking in her curves, how her green dress formed to her body. I’d been surrounded by so many fake women my entire life, the socialites, ones who lifted their noses at anyone who they felt were beneath them. My mother had been like that, my first experience on how our life really worked.
I strived to not be like that, to not let wealth or status cloud who I was or change my basic need to be a good man.
And this mysterious, out-of-place female drew me like a lighthouse amidst a storm, this beacon of hope and warning, so I didn’t crash against the rocks.
This pull I had to her made no fucking sense. I’d seen her from afar but right away felt this invisible string connect us. It was insane, unrealistic. That’s what people would say. But maybe they’d only think that, because they never experienced it before. Maybe they’d know how real love at first sight was if they’d actually felt that emotion grip its warm, powerful fist around their heart and squeeze until there was no doubt it was real.
After our encounter, I followed her in the house, but she’d been swallowed by the sea of bodies. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I searched for her from the moment I stepped foot inside. But here we were an hour after that, and I wasn’t any closer to seeing her again.
But I wouldn’t give up. I wasn’t a man who stopped going after what he wanted. If I were, then I never would be in the position I was in, not have the success I did.
I leaned against the wall, the women elegantly dressed, their attitudes screaming snobbery. Despite this being a charity event, these people were here to mingle, to make business connections, to gain something for themselves. Oh, they’d donate, reach deep in their pockets for a good cause, but they weren’t doi
ng it because it was the right thing. They only did it to advance their own goals.
I brought the champagne glass to my mouth and took a long drink, my gaze scanning the crowd, searching for her. I slipped on my mask as soon as I entered the St. James residence. It had been redecorated for the evening, the mansion having silk slung from the chandelier as ethereal-looking lights accenting the walls. It gave it all a dream-like quality.
Everyone wore masks, some more elaborate than others. But I could still make out the identities of those around me. When you were around the same types of people who had a certain air, a posh quality to them, you picked up on who they really were.
Like Mr. Brackets, CEO of Brackets Industrial. He was married, had been for twenty years, but the woman he was with most certainly wasn’t the missus. His date was half his age with enough plastic in her body she gave Barbie a run for her money. He always had his hand on her ass at these events. That was what gave him away, like right now.
Then there was the French diplomat, Jacques Florentes. Or Madame Genesia. They were in a relationship, had been for the last two years, but refused to acknowledge it publicly despite the fact that everyone already knew they were banging. Instead, they attended these events and eye-fucked each other from across the room before “coincidentally” disappearing at the same time, no doubt to fuck in a darkened corner.
I finished off my champagne, setting it on a passing tray held by a waiter before grabbing another one. I started making my rounds through the room, my sole purpose finding my mystery woman.
I didn’t even know anything about her aside from her first name. I didn’t even know what she fully looked like, because she’d been wearing her mask. But I’d never forget her scent, never forget the way she felt pressed up against me. I’d never forgot the feeling of her body, her heat, as it seeped into me, or how clear and blue her eyes were as she looked up at me with surprise.
And I wanted to think that I saw arousal filter across her face, move through her body. The way she tightened against me, clutched at me. The way her pupils dilated, the sound of her breath coming out a little shallower. It all made me hard. Needy. Desperate.
I wanted to think all those things were real and not just an overactive imagination, a fantasy that I wanted as my reality.
I should have controlled my consumption of the champagne, but I found myself finishing my third glass and heading toward the bar that had been erected in one of the great rooms.
I scanned the room, my one mission so focused.
I had to find her.
I hadn’t wanted to bid on a woman, despite it being for charity. It seemed barbaric, primal. But thinking about Beatrix up on that stage? Fuck, if she was up there… I’d want no one but her. Only her.
I was transfixed by her... obsessed. And all it had taken was this one moment in time where we connected, cementing deep in my body that there was something realer out there.
And just as I was about to turn and search the rest of the house, a flash of emerald green caught my gaze. Bodies elegantly dressed mingled, slightly blocking her from my view. It pissed me off. I was like a starving dog, and she was the finest piece of meat amidst a sea of garbage.
Then the crowd parted, and I could fully see her now.
There she was, standing off to the side all alone. She held a champagne glass in her hand, her stance telling me she was uncomfortable, still fell out of place. She was a diamond amongst all these other dull rocks. Whereas everyone else was used to these events, used to the money being thrown around, the false sense of giving a shit filling the room, she was so different.
And I fucking craved that.
I found myself moving toward her instantly, unable to stop myself. It was like I was on autopilot.
I had to get to her.
I could practically smell her scent, and I was still feet from her. My throat tightened, my tongue swelling. I wanted to tell her all the things, all the words, yet I didn’t even know what the fuck I’d say. I wondered what she felt like fully pressed against me. I wondered how she tasted in the throes of passion.
God, I needed to clear my thoughts, because I was starting to get hard, my dick digging into the zipper of my tux slacks. I didn’t dare adjust myself and draw attention to the fact, so I prayed like hell my jacket hid my arousal.
I took another step, and another. She hadn’t noticed me yet, but I’d make my presence known soon enough. I had to find out who she was.
But a man in a tuxedo stepped up to her side, and every muscle in my body tightened. I instantly felt jealousy move through me at the sight of him touching her bare elbow. This possessive, aggressive sensation overtook me.
I didn’t want anyone touching her but me.
I took a step toward her and realized it was menacing, threatening. My stance had gone rigid, and I felt the blood rush to my muscles, as if I were about to fight, the adrenaline moving through my veins, my body preparing itself for the inevitable. I didn’t care who saw me act all primal, like a caveman. I wanted them to see the lengths I’d go.
God, I’m losing my fucking mind.
This guy had done nothing but gently grab her elbow, but I wanted to break his hand, the one that he touched her with.
She still had yet to see me, and before I could make my presence known, place some kind of unrealistic claim on a virtual stranger, she was being carted away. My heart started racing in this panicked beat. I just found her again, and here she was leaving.
I started following them, unsure why this need overcame me the way it did, but I was unable to stop it. And then she was taken down a long hallway, the crowd swallowing up the space between us. I lost her again. I didn’t like the feeling that settled within me at that thought.
But one thing was for certain. I was not about to let her go, not until I fully explored this strange and powerful emotion she conjured within me.
Chapter Six
Beatrix
I’d been drinking my third glass of champagne when a man from the auction led me away to join the other women.
And here I sat, elegant and beautiful women surrounding me, waiting for their turn to head on stage and let the highest bidder win.
Each woman was called up to go on stage, and the closer it got to my turn, the more my nervous were starting to take over. I’d only seen Patrice once since arriving, and it was clear she was neck-deep in charity business affairs. She’d been running around almost frantic, making sure everything was organized, where it should be.
I didn’t know how long had passed, maybe minutes, maybe only seconds, but I was ushered up to the front before I knew what was happening. I would be called upon next.
Everything was a haze as the announcer said my name, as someone gently pushed me from behind, so I started moving forward. I stepped onto the stage, forcing myself to take steady, even steps. To go slow. The last thing I wanted was to fall. My heels clacked on the wooden floor, but it wasn’t as loud as my pulse beating in my ears.
The lights shown on me, momentarily blinding me so I wasn’t able to see the audience right away, to see exactly how many people stood below, watching me, judging how much my worth was. I stopped in the center of the stage, unsure how far to go, not even sure where they wanted me. And then I turned my head to the right and saw a man standing at a podium, his tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his expression stoic, almost clinical.
I reminded myself this was a business affair, that I was the one who made things seem like this was some barbaric act of “selling a female.”
I turned my focus back to the crowd, my vision adjusting more so I could see the many people standing below and watching me. Although I couldn’t really make out their faces because of the angle of the light and the shadows surrounding them, I could imagine what they were saying, wondering why I was up here. I knew I no doubt stuck out like a sore thumb with how anxious I was.
Beatrix Bernard.
Twenty-five years old.
Graduate o
f Mount Plymouth Community College with an associate’s degree in English.
Enjoys reading in her free time.
The sound of the announcer reading off my stats and credentials, all the stuff they had me write down in a questionnaire they’d given me earlier this week, surrounded me. Mine was so plain in comparison to everyone else’s. Women who went to Ivy League schools, who had awards, major academic merits. They had humanitarian successes under their belts, scholarships, and wealth. And here I was, my only real success being my ability to read a novel in one day if I was really into it.
I’d never really felt less than adequate in my life. I’d always felt happy and content, pleased with what I accomplished. But as I stood here amongst wealthy, high-class society, it was painfully obvious that I was very out of place. And that made me uncomfortable and a little bit pissed.
It wasn’t Patrice’s fault I was here or felt this way. She didn’t force me to do anything. It was for a good cause, I told myself. Despite that, it still was a little disheartening, because I swore I could hear everyone’s thoughts, how my dress and jewelry were borrowed, and even if it wasn’t, I’d never be able to afford something so luxurious.
I don’t know how much time passed as I idly listened to the announcer, as I heard him start the bid at one hundred dollars. He started at that price for everyone. The most anyone paid for one evening with a woman standing up here had been five thousand dollars. I’d never come close to that.
I knew my worth, knew I was worth that and more... but to these people? I scoffed internally. I’d be lucky to hit five hundred.
“One hundred,” a male voice shouted out, and I felt my heart jerk in my chest.
