by K. Bromberg
Dragging his eyes from me and my abnormal behavior, Teddy focuses back on Mr. Arrogant. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Immensely,” he muses, releasing his too-long hold on my hand. I have to refrain from derisively snorting. How can he not be enjoying himself? Arrogant bastard. Maybe I should get on the stage and take a schoolyard poll of women here tonight to see whom he has not debauched already.
“Were you able to get some food? Rylee was able to get one of the hottest chefs in Hollywood to donate his services,” Teddy explains, always trying to be the consummate host.
Donavan looks at me, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I had a little taste of something while I was wandering around backstage.” I suck in my breath, catching his innuendo as he moves his eyes back to Teddy. “It was rather unexpected but quite exquisite,” he murmurs. “Thank you.”
I hear someone call Teddy’s name, and he eyes me again with curiosity before apologizing. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere for a moment.” He turns toward Donavan. “It’s great seeing you again. Thank you for coming.”
We both nod in assent as Teddy leaves. Scowling, I turn on my heel to walk away from Donavan. I want to erase him and his memory from my evening.
His hand hastily closes over my bare arm, tugging me so my backside lands against the steeled length of his body. My breath hitches in response. I glance around, glad that everyone seems to be so absorbed in their own conversations that we’ve not drawn their attention.
I can feel Donavan’s chin brush against my shoulder as his mouth nears my ear. “Why are you so pissed, Ms. Thomas?” There is a biting chill to his voice that warns me he’s not a man to be messed with. “Is it because you can’t let go of your highbrow ways and admit that despite what your head says, your body wants more of this rebel from the wrong side of the tracks?” He releases a low, patronizing growl in my ear. “Or are you so practiced at being frigid that you always deprive yourself of what you want? What you need? What you feel?”
I bristle, trying unsuccessfully to pull my arm out of his firm grip. Talk about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. I still as another couple walks past us, eyeing us closely. Trying to figure out the situation between us. Donavan releases my arm, and rubs his hand over it instead, giving the impression of a lover’s touch. And despite my fury, or maybe because of it, his touch triggers a myriad of sensation everywhere his fingers trace. Goose bumps ripple in their wake.
I can feel his breath rake over my cheek again. “It’s very arousing, Rylee, knowing that you’re so responsive to my touch. Very intoxicating,” he whispers as he trails a finger across my bare shoulder. “You know you want to explore why your body reacted the way it did to me. You think I didn’t see you undressing me with your eyes, enjoy you fucking me with your mouth?”
I gasp as he puts his hand on my stomach and pulls me tightly back against him so I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing into my lower back.
Despite my anger, it’s a heady feeling to know that I can make this man react in such a way. But then again, he probably reacts this way to the numerous women who, without a doubt, throw themselves at his feet on a regular basis.
“You’re lucky I don’t drag you back in that storage closet I found you in and take what you offered. Make you cry out my name.” He nips softly at my ear, and I have to stifle the uncontrollable moan of desire that threatens to escape. “To fuck you and get you out of my system. Then move on,” he finishes.
I’ve never been spoken to this way—would never have thought I’d allow someone to—but his words, and the vigor with which he speaks them, unexpectedly turn me on.
I’m mad at my body for its unbidden reaction to this pompous man. He obviously knows the hold he can have over a woman’s body, and unfortunately, it is mine at the moment.
I turn slowly to face him and narrow my eyes. My voice is cold as ice. “Presumptuous, aren’t you, Ace? No doubt your typical MO is to fuck ’em and chuck ’em?” His eyes widen in response to my unexpected vulgarity. Or maybe he’s just surprised that I have him figured out so quickly. I hold his stare, my body vibrating with anger. “How many woman have you tried to seduce tonight?” I raise my eyebrows in disgust as guilt flickers fleetingly across his face. “What? Didn’t you know that I happened upon you and your first conquest of the evening in the little alcove backstage?” Donavan’s eyes widen. I continue, enjoying the surprised look on his face. “Did she play you at your own game, Ace, and leave you wanting for more? Aching to prove what a man you are since you couldn’t fulfill her? That you had to pick a frantic woman locked in a closet to take advantage of? I mean, really, how many women have you used your bullshit lines on tonight? How many have you tried to leave your mark on?”
“Jealous, sweetheart?” He raises his eyebrows as his grin flashes arrogantly. “We can always finish what we started, and you can mark me any way you’d like.”
I gently shove my hand against his chest, pushing him back. I’d love to wipe that smirk off of his face. Leave my mark that way. “Sorry, I don’t waste my time on misogynist jerks like you. Go find someone—”
“Careful, Rylee,” he warns as he grips my wrist, looking every bit as dangerous as his voice threatens. “I don’t take kindly to insults.”
I try to yank my wrist away but his hold remains. To anyone in the room, it looks as if I’m laying my hand on his heart in affection. They can’t feel the overpowering strength of his grip.
“Then hear this,” I snap, tired of this game and my warring emotions. Anger takes hold. “You only want me because I’m the first female who’s said no to your gorgeous face and come-fuck-me body. You’re so used to every female falling at your feet, pun intended, that you see a challenge—someone immune to your charm—and you’re unsure how to react.”
Despite his nonchalant shrug, I can see his underlying irritation as he releases my wrist. “When I like what I see, I go after it,” he states unapologetically.
Shaking my head, I roll my eyes. “No, you need to prove to yourself that you can, in fact, get any girl who crosses your path. Your ego’s bruised. I understand,” I patronize, patting his arm. “Well, don’t sweat it, Ace, I forfeit this race.”
He raises an eyebrow, a ghost of a smile appears on his lips. The muscle in his clenched jaw tics as he regards me momentarily. “Let’s get something straight.” He leans in, inches from my mouth, the gleam in his eyes warning me I’ve gone too far. “If I want you, I can and will have you, at anytime and in anyplace, sweetheart.”
I snort in the most unladylike way, astonished at his audacity, yet trying to ignore the quickening of my pulse at the thought. “Don’t bet on it,” I sneer as I hastily try to skirt past.
His hand whips out and grabs hold of my arm again, spinning me back toward him, so I’m standing intimately close. I can see his pulse beat in the line beneath his jaw. I can feel the fabric of his jacket hit my arm as his chest rises and falls. I glance down at his hand on my arm and glare back at him in warning, yet his hold remains. He leans his face in to mine so I can feel his breath feather across my cheek. I angle my head up to his, not sure if I’m raising my chin in defiance or in anticipation of his kiss.
“Lucky you, I’m a gambling man, Rylee,” his resonating voice is just a whisper. “I do, in fact, like a good challenge now and again,” he provokes, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He releases my arm, but runs his finger lazily down the rest of it. The soft scrape of his finger on my exposed skin sends shivers down my back.
“So let’s make a bet.” He stops and nods at a passing acquaintance, bringing me to the here and now as I’ve forgotten that we’re in a room full of people.
“Didn’t your mother teach you when a lady says no, she really means no, Ace?” I raise my eyebrow, a look of disdain on my face.
That smarmy smirk of his is back in full force as he nods in acknowledgement at my comment. “She also taught me that when I want something, I need to keep after
it until I get it.”
Great, so now I’ve acquired a stalker. A handsome, sexy, very annoying stalker.
He reaches out and toys with a loose curl on the side of my neck. I try to remain impassive despite my urge to close my eyes and sink into the soft touch of his fingers across my skin. His smirk tells me that he knows exactly what his effect is on me. “So, like I said, Ryles, a bet?
I bristle at his proposition, or maybe his effect on me. “This is asinine—”
“I bet by the end of the night,” he cuts me off, holding a hand up to stop me, “I have a date with you.”
I laugh out loud, stepping back from him. “Not a chance in hell, Ace!”
He takes a long swallow of his drink, his expression guarded. “What are you scared of then? That you can’t resist me?” He flashes a wicked grin when I roll my eyes. “Agree then. What do you have to lose?”
“So you get a date with me and your bruised ego is restored.” I shrug indifferently, wanting no part of this contest. “What will I get out if it?”
“If you win—”
“You mean if I can resist your dazzling charm,” I retort sarcastically.
“Let me rephrase. If you can resist my dazzling charm by the end of the night, then I’ll donate.” He flickers his fingers through the air in a gesture of irrelevance. “Let’s say, twenty thousand dollars to your cause.”
I catch my breath and look at him in bewilderment, for this I can agree to. I know that there’s no way in hell I’ll succumb to Donavan or his captivating wiles, the arrogant bastard. Agreed, I was caught in his tantalizing web for a few moments, but it was just because it’s been so long since I’ve felt like that. Since I’ve been kissed like that. Been touched like that.
Come to think of it, I don’t think that I have ever been made to feel like that. But then again, I know that a man has never kissed me while his lips were still warm from another woman’s.
I regard him impassively, trying to figure out the catch. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe he’s just so cocky that he really thinks he’s that irresistible. All I know is that I’m going to increase our contribution total tonight by twenty thousand.
“Isn’t this bet going to put a damper on your evening’s pursuit of other possible bedside companions?” I pause, taking a survey of the room. “It’s not looking too promising, Ace, considering you’re oh for two right now.”
“I think I’ll manage.” He laughs out loud. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good at multitasking,” he quips, trying to beat me at my own game. “Besides, the night’s still young, and by my count the score is oh for one so far. The second score has yet to be settled.” He arches his eyebrows at me. “Don’t over think it, Rylee. It’s a bet. Plain and simple.”
I cross my arms over my chest. The decision is easy. Anything for my boys. “Better get your checkbook ready, Ace. There’s nothing I like better than proving arrogant bastards like you wrong.”
He takes another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “You sure are certain of yourself.”
“Let’s just say that my self-control is something that I pride myself on.”
Donavan steps closer to me again. “Self-control, huh?” he murmurs, challenge dancing in his eyes. “Seems we’ve already tested that theory, Rylee, and it didn’t seem to hold true. I’d be glad to test it again, though … ”
The muscles in my core clench at the possible promise, the ache burning there, begging for relief. Why am I acting like a girl who has never felt a man’s touch before? Maybe because it has never been this man’s touch.
“Okay,” I tell him, sticking out my hand to shake his, “It’s a bet. But I’ll warn you, I don’t lose.”
He reaches out to take my hand, a broad smile lighting up his features, eyes sparkling a bold emerald. “Neither do I, Rylee,” he murmurs. “Neither do I.”
“Rylee, sorry to interrupt but we need you right now,” says a voice behind me.
I turn to find Stella, with a look of panic on her face. I look toward Donavan, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.” I feel awkward, unsure of what else I should say or do.
He nods his head at me. “We’ll talk more later.”
As I walk away, I realize I’m not sure if his response is a threat or a promise.
I AM SITTING BACKSTAGE IN the chaotic aftermath of the auction, but my mind is still reeling from it. The last hour and a half has been a blur. A successful blur in fact, but one that has come at a very high cost—my dignity.
At the last minute, one of our “date” auction participants had become ill. With no one else willing to partake, and programs pre-printed with a set number of participants, I begged, bribed, and pleaded with every member of my staff to step in and fill the role. Of all of the available people who were not physically needed for the facilitation of the auction, those left were either married or seriously attached to someone.
Everyone that was, except for me.
I whined, cajoled, pleaded even, but in an ironic twist that many of the staff took pleasure in, I became auction block Item Number Twenty-Two. So I had to suck it up and take one for the team, all the while ignoring a hunch that something wasn’t quite right, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
And believe me, I hated every fucking minute of it! From the beauty-pageant-style introduction, to the parading around on a stage like a trophy, to the whistling catcalls of the audience, to the vapid calling of bidders’ dollar amounts by the announcer. The lights were so blinding I couldn’t see the audience, just a vague outline of figures. My time in the spotlight was consumed by embarrassment, the sound of my heartbeat rushing in my ears, the fear that my sweating from the heat of the stage lights would leave dark marks on the underarms of my dress.
I’m sure if I’d been on the other side of the stage, I would have found the auctioneer’s comments entertaining, the participation of the audience endearing, and the silly antics of some of the women on stage trying to increase their bids amusing. I would’ve watched the contribution total rise and would have been proud of my staff for the successful outcome.
Instead, I’m sitting in the backstage area, taking a deep breath, and wrapping my head around what the hell just happened.
“Way to go, Ry!” I hear Dane’s amusement at my predicament as he makes his way backstage toward me through the twenty-four other women who were willing participants in the auction. They’re all exiting off the stage, gathering their bags of swag that we provided to thank them for their participation.
I glare at him, my annoyance evident. He gives me a wide, toothy grin as he grabs me in an unreciprocated hug. I’m beyond grumpy. I’m downright bitchy. I mean what a fucking night! First locked in the closet, then playing unknown sloppy seconds on the conquest list of Mr. Arrogant, and then enduring the humiliation of being purchased like prime beef at a meat market.
I cannot believe the giddiness of the women around me. They are chatting animatedly about their moment in the spotlight and bragging at how much they went for. I’m grateful for their participation, ecstatic at the outcome, but just simply bewildered by their enthusiasm.
His earlier accusation of being prim comes back to my mind, and I shake it off.
“That was fucking horrible!” I whine, shaking my head in incredulity as he laughs sympathetically at me. “All I want is a large glass—no screw that, a bottle of wine, some form of chocolate, and to get this damn dress and heels off, in no particular order.”
“If that’s all it takes to get you naked, I’d have brought you wine and chocolate a long time ago.”
I glare at him, finding no amusement in his comment. “Too bad I don’t have the right equipment to keep you satisfied.”
“Meow!” he responds, biting his lip to suppress his laugh. “Oh, sweetie, that had to have been horrible for you, Ms. Keep-me-out-of-the-spotlight-at-all-costs! Look at you ...” He sits in the chair next to me, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to him. I rest my head on his shoulder,
enjoying the comforting feeling of friendship. “At least you sold for above the asking price.”
“You asshole!” I pull away from him as he laughs childishly at me, rubbing in what he knows is a sore spot. To be honest, I still have no idea what amount my ‘winning bid’ was because I was too busy listening to the frantic pounding of my heartbeat fill my head.
To say that my ego doesn’t care how much I was auctioned for is a mild understatement. Even though I detested the process, what female wouldn’t want to know that someone thinks she is worthy enough to be bid money on for a date? Especially after my experience earlier in the evening.
“What are friends for? I mean between the bidding war and the ensuing brawl over your potential suitor...” he blows out a large breath, humor in his eyes “...and the all-out melee that ensued—”
“Oh, be quiet will you!” I laugh, relaxing for the first time at his ribbing. “No really, how much did I raise?”
“Listen to you! Most women would first say ‘How much did I go for?’” he mocks in a high-pitch, pretentious voice, making me giggle, “and then the next question would be ‘How hot is my date?’”
I turn to him and arch my eyebrows in the manner that always has the boys at The House answering quickly—or taking cover. “Well?” When he doesn’t respond, but rather stares at me in mock horror for wondering, I allow myself to become one of the whiney voiced women around me. “Dane, give me the details!”
“Well, my dear, you sold … ” I shiver in mock horror at his words. He continues, “Excuse me, your future date spent twenty-five thousand dollars for an evening with you.”
What? Holy shit! I’m dumbfounded. I know the starting bid was fifteen thousand for all entrants, but someone actually paid ten thousand more than that? Pride and a feeling of worth soars within me, repairing part of the damage Donavan inflicted earlier.
