by Eve Black
When her mother nodded, Helene finally smiled. “Deal!” Yeah, she was putting herself out there to be ridiculed and sneered at and hated—all because she couldn’t meet the ideal of what Babette LaRoque’s daughter should be, but at least she’d earn some money for a cause dear to her heart, a cause she alone couldn’t fund.
Helene and her mother were escorted from the green room and out into the backstage area of the ballroom. From where she was standing, hiding behind the thick velvet curtains, Helene could see scores of well-dressed, beautiful people, mingling, drinking bubbly champagne from crystal flutes, and looking like a million dollars each. The fear began to crawl up her back again, latching onto her spine and digging its claws in.
And that’s when she saw her… Amanda, resplendent in a blood red dress, was making her way to the tables just below the main stage.
What the hell is she doing here, and if she is here does that mean… From behind Amanda, a handsome man in a black tuxedo came into view. He was tall, blonde, and definitely not Helene’s husband.
He’s not my husband anyway, at least he won’t be once he sends those divorce papers. Sure, she could have gone straight to a lawyer to end her short and painful marriage, but…she couldn’t help but hold out hope…
“It’s time,” her mother whispered excitedly from beside her, and Helene’s stomach did a flip.
As her mother floated out on to the stage, to rounds of uproarious applause, Helene prayed that she could go through with it. She’d been looked down upon for years, never meeting up to anyone’s expectations—it was one of the reasons she’d shirked her mother’s world and created a life for herself outside the spotlight.
And look where that got you? Alone, betrayed, and homeless. I should never have answered that damn ad. Angry at herself for allowing her thoughts to de-evolve, she took a slow, deep breath and let it out just as slowly. She needed to suck it up and handle it. For the shelter.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the first annual Donovan Foundation fundraiser!”
Her mother’s words slammed into her like a wrecking ball. The Donovan Foundation? She closed her eyes against the rush of blood to her face. No wonder Amanda was there, she was there to support her fiancé.
As the applause died down, Helene’s heart sped up. She couldn’t do it, she couldn’t go out there to be auctioned off at a fundraiser her own husband had helped plan. And her mother—she had to have known about everything! How could she keep that from her? How could her own mother plan and plot behind her back like that? Did Michael mean to humiliate her in front of all of his friends? Was this the final blow before he tossed the divorce papers in her face, laughing at her like he did three years ago in that coffee shop?
Trembling, Helene made to turn and run from the stage, from the building, from the goddamn state, but her mother’s next words halted her.
“The first lady on the auction block is none other than Miss Amanda Billings, daughter of Thomas Billings.”
Amanda? She was being auctioned, too? But that would mean she was single… How was that possible?
She made herself stop thinking, because Amanda was sauntering up the stairs to the stage.
How much money would a sexy, beautiful woman like that get for Michael's foundation?
More than you would in ten lifetimes. As the pang of anguish settled in the pit of her belly, she watched as her mother began the bidding.
$15,000!
$25,000!
$75,000!
$115,000!
Sold!
Amanda had raised $115,000.
As dread spread through her, Helene watched as three other women came and went, going for $100,000, $65,000, and $50,000.
Damn, I’ll be lucky if I make enough to buy Subway for all the ladies at the shelter.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, I have a special treat for you. The final lady in this auction is none other than my beautiful, amazing, kind, and generous daughter, Helene Collins!”
Do it for the shelter!
Straightening her shoulders, Helene walked from the shadows and into the glaring overhead lights. She couldn’t see much of anything, which was probably a good thing. She could imagine she was in a big, empty room.
“Now, who will start the bidding? Do I hear $10,000?” Silence. It was then Helene realized what a huge mistake she’d made. She could practically feel Amanda’s smirk. She knew that Helene would never make as much as her, and she was wallowing in it.
“Come on, folks! The money is going to a good cause!”
“$10,000,” someone called from the middle of the room. She fought the urge to groan. It was her brother, Jaime’s voice. Hell, he felt so sorry for her, he was bidding on her himself. He’d probably slave her out to host one of his crazy themed parties.
Do it for the shelter!
“We have $10,000, do I hear $20,000—”
“One million!” a deep, silky voice called out over the dead silent room. Gasps echoed through the ballroom, but none so loud as hers.
“One million dollars!” her mother shouted. “Folks, we have a record-breaking bid! Dare I ask…does anyone want to offer two million?”
“Ten million,” that same rich, deep voice called. Helene fought back a shudder of panic.
Her mom came up to stand beside her, a huge grin on her face.
“Well, folks, I think we have a winner! Come on up and claim your prize!”
As if watching her life in slow motion, Helene stood utterly still as Michael Donovan materialized from the darkness, striding toward the stage. He was dressed in a fuck me now black tux that hugged his broad shoulders and trim waist. His black hair was glossy even in the dim lights, and his striking blue eyes were trained on her. She felt the power of his gaze all the way down to her bone marrow.
She held her breath, waiting for him to reach the stage, and once he did, he climbed the stairs with fluid grace and came to stand before her, staring down at her.
“Hello, Helene,” he murmured, and every nerve in her body fired to life. His eyes searched her face, coming to rest on her lips. She parted them, both thrilled and fearful. At the deep, dark desire burning in his eyes, Helene felt her core clench. God, how she missed this man.
But, why was he here? Why was he bidding on her and not Amanda?
Before she could ask, a thin arm looped around Michael’s waist. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have another treat—none other than Michael Donovan!” her mother exclaimed, drawing Michael’s attention from her. She sucked in a much-needed breath, willing her hands and legs to stop shaking.
Her mother handed Michael the microphone, and he stepped up into the strident spotlight.
“Good evening, everyone. I am pleased to see so many happy faces,” Michael announced, and Helene’s mother grinned like a fool before a king.
“How wonderful to have you, Mr. Donovan. Thank you for bidding on Helene—”
“She is worth every penny,” Michael said, turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. Time stood still. “Helene is beautiful, sexy as hell, funny, intelligent, thoughtful, compassionate, and one hell of a baker.” A few snickers bounced around the room. “If I had to, I would pay a billion dollars for her, she is worth so much more than I could ever possibly pay.”
Her heart stalled. Was he saying what she thought he was saying? Could he mean it?
Turning toward her completely, Michael met her wide-eyed gaze.
“Helene is more than just the daughter of Babette LaRoque, she is a blessing to all she meets, a friend to all she helps, and the voice of truth to those of us who need a swift kick in the ass.”
Michael stepped closer to her. "She's the reason I am who I am today…without her calling me a waste of air, three years ago, I never would have built Donovan Innovations. I would never have made my first million dollars, let alone a billion. She didn't just change my life that day in the coffee shop, she also stole my heart…"
Waves of longing and hope roared through her, makin
g her mind spin and her heart gallop.
“Helene, I fell in love with you, not because of who you are to them,” he said, pointing to the room, “but because of who you are to me. You are my greatest treasure, my most precious gift.”
Taking a final step toward her, he was standing over her now, his eyes boring into her, pleading, begging, desperate. Michael dropped the microphone, which rolled off the stage and thudded onto the ballroom floor, and cupped her face in his hands, tilting her face up and holding her there.
“Helene, I know what Amanda told you, and she was right, my father told me I had to get married to keep my company. That’s why I used the bridal agency. I was angry, frustrated, and I thought that anyone I ended up with would be a gold-digging burden. So I wrote in the non-consummation clause. I didn’t want to have to have sex with someone I wasn’t attracted to—wife or not. But…then I met you,” he murmured, drawing her closer, “and I knew I was fucked. I knew that no matter how much I fought it, we would end up together…I would end up falling for you. And I did, Helene, so goddamn hard.”
Speechless, Helene let his words filter down, through the fear and the sorrow and the anguish and the confusion…all the way down to her heart.
“Um…you two,” her mother’s voice sounded from behind her. “I think you should take this private conversation somewhere…private.” Suddenly remembering that they were standing on a stage at the front of a packed ballroom, heat flooded her cheeks.
“Come on, we can talk in the car,” Michael said, grabbing Helene’s hand and pulling her behind him, off the stage. As the sounds of thunderous applause and whistles filled the air, Helene and Michael exited the building through a side door. The car was waiting there for them, and Michael opened the door, ushered her in, and then closed the door behind him as he slid onto the seat beside her.
There, in the silence of the private car, Helene didn't know what the hell to say or do. She was at a loss; there were too many questions, emotions, thoughts, and feelings swirling around between them. But one thing was for certain…her mother would have to cough up $20 million dollars for the shelter!
She was there, right in front of him, he could reach out and touch her, take her into his arms and kiss her. But he could see by the paleness of her face and wideness of her eyes that she was confused, scared, and uncertain. He'd just unloaded a lot, telling the whole world how he felt about her. And he'd meant every word.
“Helene,” he began, watching the play of emotions in her beautiful chocolate eyes. “I know you have some questions—”
Her eyes sparkled, a pink rose to her cheeks. "You're damn right I have some questions! What the hell was that, Michael? Did you set all of this up just to get me here so you could say all of that stuff?" she asked, throwing her hands into the air. "There's radio silence for a month, then, all of a sudden, you're there, bidding ten million dollars on me—like I am some kind of priceless vase at Christie's."
He chuckled. God how he missed her fire, her sass, those sexy, lush lips. Before he could stop himself, his gaze dropped to the creamy tops of her bountiful breasts. His cock jumped at the sight. God, she would taste so good right now, lying on the seat of the car, moaning as he ate his fill of her.
“You are priceless, and, yes, I set everything up—with the help of my father, who was more than happy to help recapture the woman who’d finally claimed his son’s heart,” he explained, eager to make her see, to make her understand.
She snorted, rolling her eyes at him. Did she really think so little of herself? In a burst of anger and desperation, Michael reached for her, pulling her into his chest, and holding her there with an arm around her back.
“What the hell did I just say? Weren’t you there when I told every single one of those jackasses that you were worth more than the whole lot of them? Didn’t you hear me when I told you that you helped me become the man I am today? Can you not get it through that beautiful, intelligent, head of yours that I am more in love with you than I ever thought was possible?”
As the words left his mouth, he could see them register on Helene’s face, the flush on her cheeks deepened, and her breathing turned ragged. She licked her lips, her gaze dropping to his mouth.
“I heard,” she finally said, her voice husky. “I just…well…”
He hooked his finger under her chin, lifted her gaze up to meet his.
“I saw the pictures on your Facebook account—” He placed a finger over her mouth to silence her protests. “You left your laptop open on the counter the morning you high tailed it. I was curious, I’ll admit. I wanted to know more about the woman I have fallen in love with, so I took a peek at the pictures.”
Her narrowed eyes dared him to continue. Challenge accepted!
“I saw the pictures your brother had uploaded, some party in Malibu. You looked…unhappy. Like you’d rather be anywhere but there, at this party where everyone knew you as Babette LaRoque’s daughter, and no one knew you as Helene.”
Shock registered in her eyes, and he knew he had her. He removed his finger.
“You saw all that in the pictures?” she asked, awe in her voice.
He cocked a lopsided smile. “It helped that you, kind of, sort of said most of that when we first met.”
"In the coffee shop?" she asked, her eyebrows arching.
A chuckle escaped his throat at her incredulous look.
“No, I guess it would be our second first meeting. When you told me you wanted to get married so that you could finally feel that you were worth something to someone. You. Not Babette’s daughter.”
She pulled her face away, trying to turn and hide the glimmer of tears in her eyes. He wouldn't let her. He tightened his grip around her waist and brought her face back around to him. With utmost care, he brushed his lips over hers, and the rush of air from her nose told him she was just as unnerved by his nearness as he was by hers.
“So, you were listening?” she remarked, a tremor of something—dare he say—happy in her voice.
“Absolutely.”
“And you mean everything you said out there on the stage?”
“Definitely.”
“And you mean everything you said in here?” she asked, looking at the ceiling and then the seat. His wife was avoiding his gaze…
“Helene,” he drawled, then waited for her to look at him. “Helene…” he let his voice deepen, thicken, and he watched her tremble. “I love you, Helene.”
Her trembling increased but she finally looked at him. The heat and purity of the fire in her eyes stole the breath from his body.
"I love you, too," she murmured and placed her hand over his heart.
With a groan made of pent-up desire and yearning, he leaned down and kissed his wife. But she pushed back, stalling their interlude.
“But what about Amanda? You guys were supposed to get married,” Helene rasped, and Michael grunted. “And I know she was in your apartment the night before she caught me making breakfast. She said I was pity sex.”
It was Michael's turn to snort. "That was all in her head. I never asked the woman to marry me, and I would never have. She's been grasping after me ever since I cut ties with her. She wasn't the woman I really wanted, the woman I needed. That's you, Helene. It always has been."
And with that, she reached up and pulled his head down to command a kiss from him, and he did as his love demanded. Happy wife…happy life.
About the Author
Eve Black is a lover of all things sexy, naughty, dirty, filthy, and chocolate.
She loves to write all the sexy scenes she wishes were in the books she reads, and so she writes sexy books!
When Eve isn't writing, she is reading, and when she isn't reading, she's drinking tea and coloring in her adult coloring books.
Connect with Eve: Website | Facebook | Goodreads | Amazon
Eve Black Books:
Filthy Hot Mess
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