Bought (A Real Man, 24)

by Jenika Snow

  “Do I hear one twenty-five? One twenty-five?” the announcer called out, and another man shouted out the number. Then other, and another, until my bid was up to five hundred.

  I felt frozen in place, my head light and fuzzy, my hands sweating. I might pass out from how anxious and nervous I was.

  “One thousand.”

  “Two thousand.”

  There was a moment of silence as I realized two men were in a. bidding war.

  Over me.

  Over me?

  I couldn’t make out the two men, but they were standing at the front of the stage. I could make out that much.

  “Two thousand and fifty,” one of the men said, and there was another pause. I assume that was it, the sum of what I was worth to these people, which in all honesty I didn’t think I’d get much of anything, and how sad was that? How insane was it that I allowed what these people thought about me to control how I felt?

  “Going once,” the announcer said. “Going twice.”

  “Ten-thousand dollars,” the second man said with such authority, such determination, I felt like what I heard in this moment was… possessiveness.

  There was a second of hushed silence after the man spoke, and then there was a rush of murmurs, as it was clear the amount the bidder just shouted out was obscene for this type of event.

  My heart was racing, my breathing coming out shallow, but it wasn’t because of the price tag someone had put on me, but the fact that I recognized that voice.

  It was the voice of the man outside, Logan, and he’d just bid ten grand to have one date with me.

  Chapter Seven

  Logan

  I didn’t know what made me follow everyone into the room that held the auction. I had no desire to bid on a woman. I’d come to the decision well before I’d seen Beatrix and became obsessed and transfixed by her that I’d just donate a nice sum to the charity and be on my way.

  I didn’t know if I’d see her again at this party, but I was determined, a hunter when I wanted something. And I wanted her. I’d find out who she was. My connection ran long and deep, and despite only having her first name, I had no doubt I could find out who she was and where she lived.

  I’d be a fucking stalker if it came down to it.

  But here I was, watching as female after female stood on that stage, heard bidder after bidder call out amounts for a night with them.

  Although this wasn’t a sexual exchange, I had no doubt the winning bidders would get a nice ending after it was all said and done, for the simple fact alone money called to money.

  And in all honesty, a part of me hoped the woman who captured my heart with just an innocent glance—and that’s exactly what Beatrix had done as she looked into my eyes—would be on that stage. It would be the perfect setup, as if fate were interceding on my behalf. I’d never believed in destiny or soulmates, or whatever you wanted to call it, but then she’d literally fallen into my arms, and I swore the world tilted on its axis.

  Woman after woman stood on that stage, and I had absolutely zero fucking interest in them. I was just about to leave, to wait out by the bar until the party ended, hoping to see Beatrix again, when they said her name, and everything in my body stilled. I slowly turned and stared at that stage, watched as she walked out. I could tell this was uncomfortable for her, and the protective side of me rose up. I wanted to go to her, to wrap my arms around her, shield her from any discomfort she felt. It felt like cement filled my veins, this heaviness wrapping around me as I stared at her.

  I took a step closer, then another one, until I was close enough to the podium I swore I smelled that flower fragrance.

  The auctioneer started giving her details, pieces of information I had been yearning to know, now all of it given to me on a silver platter. She was young, her twenty-five years over a decade younger than me. And she loved to read, something I wanted to experience with her. Hell, just let me sit in the same room with her and gaze at her as she devoured her favorite novel.

  The first bid was cast, then another, several men interested in her, which pissed me the fuck off.

  No one would have her but me. I’d make sure of that.

  And then a thousand dollars was thrown down, and I looked at the man who rattled off the current highest bid.

  Antonio Francouix.

  My lip curled in distaste. He was a wine connoisseur, collected countless bottles of the shit and served it to the elite in his private restaurant in Milan. Fuck him if he thought to collect something else, and I knew that’s what he’d do with Beatrix. I had no doubt he sensed her innocence, the same way I did.

  If this fucker thought he was winning Beatrix, he was in for a lot of fucking disappointment.

  I made a counterbid, and then he spouted off a higher amount as I glowered. The interest in his eyes for my woman was pretty damn clear. And it infuriated me.

  And yes, Beatrix was mine whether she knew it or not.

  I did another counterbid. I wanted to look at Beatrix, stare at her, even though I knew she couldn’t see me, but I focused on Antonio instead. I wanted the fucker to know who he’d lose to.

  And when he did glance my way, I saw the smug look on his face falter as our gazes locked. Antonio was rich, but he wasn’t richer than me. My pockets went fucking deep, and I’d pay any amount to have Beatrix.

  But he held steady with that damn expression as he said another bid. While staring him right in the eye, I said, “Ten thousand dollars.” It wasn’t nearly as high as I’d go. But I wanted Antonio to understand money was no object when it came to me getting what I wanted.

  Beatrix.

  I was prepared to pay twenty, fifty, hell, one million fucking dollars for her.

  But Antonio wasn’t stupid. He could have outbid me again, making me go even higher, but he didn’t. He lost the fucking smirk, took a step back, and surrendered.

  Good, because I had no issues playing dirty in the game of winning Beatrix’s heart.

  Chapter Eight

  Logan

  One week later: The date

  I’d booked out an entire Italian restaurant for ourselves, something I’d never done, something I would’ve never thought of doing before. But I wanted to impress Beatrix, even if the core part of me knew she probably didn’t give a shit about money being flashed around.

  But it wasn’t just to impress her, to see the surprise and wonder on her face, but because I wanted her all to myself. And taking her back to my place to cook her a meal so we’d have that intimate experience might have been something too fast for her.

  We’d been here for the last hour, and in that time, I hadn’t been able to take my gaze off her. Hell, the way she’d eaten her spaghetti, one noodle at a time, how she’d slowly sucked it between her teeth, had my cock so fucking hard I should have been ashamed.

  I watched her as the minutes went by and she drink one, then two, then three glasses of wine. I could tell the alcohol was starting to get to her by the way her voice became more animated, her blush deepening. She was nervous. She was so damn nervous, and I hated that. I didn’t want her to feel anxious around me, but now that she was on her fourth glass on Pinot, her easiness coming more naturally, her cheeks flushing even more from the alcohol, I felt myself falling deeper into her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her cheeks still that pretty shade of pink, her lips red and slightly glossy from the sip of wine she’d just taken. “I keep talking, going on and on.” She glanced up at me shyly from underneath her dark lashes. “The wine is getting to me. You’re probably sick of hearing me talk.” She laughed softly, and that sound had my heart racing.

  “Never,” I said instantly. I picked up my own glass of bourbon, the same one I had for the past hour, and took a sip. I’d been nursing it, seeing as I’d be driving home, and although I didn’t care much for the flavor of alcohol, it did warm me. It gave me something to focus on. Because if I didn’t focus on the square-cut glass in my hand, or the way the flavors from the alcohol laced my
tongue, or the way it slightly burned as it moved smoothly down my throat, I’d keep thinking about kissing Beatrix.

  And that’s what I really wanted to do.

  “I like hearing you talk.” I like hearing your voice. I kept that last part to myself. I saw her cheeks become a little bit redder at my words, and I knew it wasn’t from the alcohol but because of my words. I like that I affected her, that I could say something sweet, a compliment that was every bit the truth as I’d ever spoken in my life, and she reacted to it. “Tell me more about yourself.”

  She stared at me with this innocence, this vulnerability that called to my basic, primal male urges. “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Anything.” I hadn’t meant to say it like that. But it was the truth nonetheless.

  Again, her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink.

  And so for the next half hour, I listened to her tell me about her family, that she was raised by her single mother, that she had no siblings. I listened to her time at the community college, how she secretly hated it.

  “Tell me about your love of reading.”

  She could tell me about folding laundry and I’d be transfixed, mesmerized. I just wanted to hear her speak, to let her voice travel through me and further cement my need to claim her.

  She told me about her love of Shakespeare, how she’d fallen in love with Poe at a young age. She enjoyed romances, historicals, and all nonfiction books.

  Beatrix fascinated me to no end, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that letting her go was not an option.

  Chapter Nine

  Beatrix

  My mouth was dry as Logan helped me down the steps of the restaurant. It was strange to be the only ones here, and even weirder that Logan had all but bought the place for the night so we could be alone. He’d gone above and beyond for one night. Did he always go to these extremes for a date, or maybe he was just really making this night memorable, because he could sense what a homebody I really was, and because this was for charity?

  Or maybe I’m just overthinking things.

  I’d seen the way he watched me the entire time, tracking my movements as I ate and drank. His eyes had been locked on my mouth, this hungry look in his expression. And I’d been so nervous that I’d consumed far more wine than I should have. A nice buzz swam through my body, the alcohol moving swiftly through my veins.

  Logan had hung onto every word I’d spoken, and the fact that he seemed so genuinely interested in what I said had me telling him more, far more than I’d ever told anyone. We stayed at the restaurant for over two hours, and most of it had been me talking, running on and on, because that’s what happened when I drank. And the truth was, I was so nervous, because of my attraction to him, this connection and pull I felt as I looked into his eyes. Even now, I remembered just last week when he’d been the winning bidder. Ten thousand dollars he’d spent on me, for two hours of dinner and me gorging myself on spaghetti and wine.

  I forced myself to shut up during part of the meal, wanting to know more about him, what he liked, his dislikes. I knew the gist of him, his professional life, his advertising company, that he was wealthy, that he was smart. Of course, he went to an Ivy league school. Of course, he’d grown up in this lifestyle. But he didn’t fit the mold of the rich I’d also come across. He wasn’t snobby or pretentious. He was kind and genuine, and the looks he gave me had my core heating.

  I glanced at him, his profile showing a square-cut jaw, clean-shaven skin. His nose was masculine, his lips full. He was brutal in his beauty, yet I wouldn’t call him classically handsome. I couldn’t explain why I felt this attraction to him. It was instant, powerful. I’d never felt anything like it before. It scared me but excited me, and although I should be hesitant with this arousal, with the fact that a simple touch from him felt like an electrical current shooting up and down my body, I didn’t want to push it aside. I wanted to explore it, see how far I could take it, how good it could feel.

  Because as it was right now, I felt high and drunk, floating yet falling. It pulled me in so many directions I didn’t know what was up from down. This certainly wasn’t normal, and we only had this one date… the one he won.

  But, God, I wanted this to last a lifetime.

  The wind picked up, causing my hair to flutter around my face. I didn’t bother pushing the strands away and instead watched him still. He had his hand in mine, and although it was such an innocent touch, one he’d done to help me down the stairs so I couldn’t fall, it felt like so much more to me.

  And then he glanced at me, and I felt my step falter before I quickly righted myself, before I felt him pull me in a little closer to steady me. The intensity in his gaze sent a chill up my spine. Logan Mathis was so large and powerful, with wide shoulders and muscles I could see clearly pronounced through the expensive material of his suit. I thought about the car ride here, how his form seemed to dwarf the interior of the limo. Yeah, he’d gone and picked me up in a limo, as if I were Cinderella.

  I was far from it.

  He helped me into the limo, the driver holding the door open for us, not speaking, almost appearing like a statue. I would never know or even understand this kind of lifestyle. I didn’t come from money, didn’t have wealth. I was just a simple girl living in the city, being raised by a single mother who worked her ass off to keep us afloat, but never really tasting life because it was about surviving, not the frivolous things.

  But I knew Logan had traveled the world, had amassed a fortune and a successful business in his mere thirty-six years. I admired him, not because of that wealth, but because I could see it hadn’t gone to his head.

  And underneath the façade of having it all together, of the prim and proper wordage he used, the almost stiff composure and business-like aura he had, I saw this sadness that resided deep within him.

  I moved all the way to the other end of the limo and watched as Logan climbed in. His body barely fit in the confines of the car, and his long legs, stretched out in front of him and slightly spread, showing just how muscular he was. He shifted enough so he could remove his suit jacket then draped it on the seat beside him. I didn’t want this night to end. I didn’t want my time with Logan to be over already. But we were out of time. Our night was finished, his charity obligation over.

  I don’t know why that had this pang of distress settling in my chest.

  Logan rolled up his shirtsleeves, the white material pushed up to show his muscular, tanned forearms. He appeared relaxed and in control as he stared out the window. The car started moving, and I knew I was being taken home.

  This wild, insane image came to my mind, one that had me acting totally out of character, had me just throwing caution to the wind and going after what I wanted.

  And that was Logan.

  I’d never even thought about being so wanton, but God, staring at him just sitting there, his body so masculine, had every part of me lighting up. I was aroused, wet between my legs, my nipples hard and pressing against the material of my very simple dress. Compared to him, I was as plain as they came, probably reminiscent of his help.

  And then, as if he felt my gaze locked on him, he turned his focus to me. I didn’t miss how his eyes became hooded, or the fact that he lowered his attention to my lips. I licked them again on instinct. I had a good half-hour before we arrived at my apartment. A lot could happen in thirty minutes if I was brave enough. Because the truth was, I doubted Logan would advance anything. I doubted he’d make the first move. Even if he wanted me, which I hoped he did because of the looks I caught him giving me, he seemed like a man in control. Always.

  And if the looks he’d been giving me were nothing more than my overactive imagination, my inner needs and desires being projected, then the worst that could happen is a moment of humiliation. I’d never have to see him again. I probably wouldn’t no matter what.

  But I found myself averting my gaze and staring out the opposite window, too nervous to be so wild and bold. My hands shook, an
d I clasped them together on top of my lap, trying to still them. I was too inexperienced to try anything like this, to want anything like this. And as the seconds moved by, as I still felt his gaze on mine like a thousand fingers skating over my body, I remembered seeing him from across the room at the auction. The sensation had been the same, so pronounced it left me breathless, just like right now.

  “Beatrix,” he said my name deep, low. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe, telling myself not to let the simple act of him saying my name make me come unhinged. “Look at me, Beatrix.” His voice possessed a rough timbre that had my nipples tightening even more. There was no way I could disobey him.

  I slowly looked at him, trying to calm my breathing, but with each passing second, my desire became stronger, taking control of me.

  “Mr. Mathis?” I said softly, trying to be formal, hoping it would ease some of these wild, inappropriate thoughts in my head. This is a business agreement, an arrangement. Nothing more.

  “Mr. Mathis was my father,” he replied, his stare so hard, so dark, I felt it to my core. “Call me, Logan, Beatrix.”

  I liked the way our names sounded right next to each other.

  I’m crazy. I’ve gone insane.

  I nodded. “Okay. Logan.” I swore I heard this low, deep sound leave him, but at the same time, the city right outside the limo was frantic, cars honking, motorcycles revving by us. Maybe I imagined the noise leaving him?

  “Did you enjoy tonight?”

  I nodded right away then promptly licked my lips. He lowered his gaze to watch the act. “I did. Thank you, and thank you for helping with the charity.” I didn’t even touch on the fact that he’d spent a small fortune to have dinner with little old me, a nobody from nowhere. Compared to the women he was probably used to seeing and socializing with, I was as ordinary as they came. But he didn’t look at me like I was nothing. He looked at me with this heated, almost obsessed expression covering his face.