Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  “You’ve got yourself a deal,” he whispers through the kisses.

  * * *

  THE END

  Indebted (Book 2)

  When unemployed college graduate Annabelle receives a mysterious job offer from a company to which she has never applied to, she can't say no. But the job comes with a complication.

  Her boss is a sexy and arrogant soon-to-be billionaire playboy who always gets what he wants. He likes to play games and he's keeping a secret: he's Annabelle's one and only one night stand.

  As they get locked into a game of seduction, both are shocked to find themselves falling for each other...

  **WARNING: Steamy scenes, NO Cheating, HEA!

  1

  I came here so that no one would hear me scream. The redwoods surrounding me are muffling my sobs. Birds are flying away frightened, and rabbits are running for their lives.

  I have been here for a few days already, all alone, surviving on energy bars and bags of dried fruit and nuts. I brought real food – dried soups and pasta – and a tiny camping stove for heating up food and water, but I just don’t have the energy for all that.

  I haven’t had much of an appetite in weeks, actually. Not since it happened. A part of me thought that my appetite might return here. But it hasn’t. Now, the forty-pound bag stuffed with all the food and supplies that I have no use for serves no purpose except to make my shoulders raw.

  But there’s nothing to do. I’m lost and angry and self-destructive, but not self-destructive enough to throw away food. I’m in the backcountry of the Yosemite National Park. I haven’t seen another human in four days. Who knows what awaits me in the five days to come. My supplies could mean the difference between life and death, and I am not throwing them away.

  * * *

  Looking down at my topographical map, I try to figure out how much longer it will take me to get to the lake. I have been hiking for five hours, and I want to get there before the sun dips below the horizon and the chill of the night returns. I haven’t had a shower in days, and I need to wash off the thick layer of dirt covering every inch of my body.

  According to where I think I am on the map, the lake is still about half an hour away. But I’m wrong… I take a few steps around the bend and see it right in front of me.

  Majestic and elegant, a thick forest of pines surrounds the lake, which cradles it as if it’s a gem.

  I drop my bag and run down to a barely-existent path through the pine trees. As I run, I peel off my clothes piece by piece until I step out of my panties and jump into the ice cold, glacier water.

  “Oh my God! Oh my God!” I yelp.

  The water rushes over me and through me and, for a brief moment, I forget everything that has happened. My mom isn’t dead. I didn't spend two years of my life nursing her. I didn't hate my dad for leaving her right before she got sick and never returning.

  * * *

  I rise out of the water. The warm sun feels nice on my erect nipples, comforting even. I dip back down, this time submerging my head. Freezing water rushes over my head, and I scream under water.

  “Fuuuuuuuuuuck!”

  I scream. The water is so cold I feel like my lungs are collapsing within my chest. I scream again. I had to be a rock for two years, and I just can’t take it anymore.

  The temperature difference between the air and the water is probably more than 50 degrees, and I can’t get enough of the water. It’s focusing my mind. Nothing else exists except right here and now.

  It’s quite a change from the world where I came from. That world of anxiety over the future and the depression over the past makes me wish that I were the one who had gotten cancer instead of her. It would've been easier for me to handle.

  Here, I don’t dwell on the past or worry about the future. My mind doesn’t spin in circles on what could’ve been or what might be. Rising out and diving back into the crystal-clear water centers me.

  Alive.

  Awake.

  Aware.

  I’m present in this moment, and this moment is all that matters. It’s all I have.

  * * *

  “Hey! Hey, there!” A deep voice pierces my solitude.

  Who is this asshole infringing on my one moment of fun and hope? I turn around.

  “Mind if I join you?” he yells from the shore. “You’re the first person I’ve seen in two days.”

  “Whatever,” I yell back and dive under the water.

  It’s going to be okay. I’m not going to let this stranger invade my fun. The lake is more than two miles across. There’s room for both of us here.

  When I come back up for air, the stranger is waist deep in the water. His body is tan and strong. He descends into the water and comes back up again. When he comes up, every defined muscle in his body glistens in the sun as if he is a Greek god.

  “Wow, it’s cold,” he laughs. I smile and try to look away from his toned stomach and all six clearly defined muscles that form his six-pack.

  My fingers sweep over my thighs. Suddenly, I come to my senses. Somewhat.

  I am naked. Completely naked. Shit.

  “This feels amazing, doesn’t it?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” I nod. Are we really going to talk about the temperature of the water?

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, coming closer.

  He submerges into the water up to his shoulders. My mind focuses on his face. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, but his jawline is strong and powerful. His eyes are piercing blue, the color of the cloudless sky. Long strands of light brown hair fall into his face.

  He dives under the water. I wrap my hands around my body as if there is anything I can do if he opens his eyes under the water.

  He rises out of the water a god. He tosses his head and all hair from his face dances and falls into place. A beautiful, friendly smile forms on his lips.

  * * *

  “I’m Tristan,” he says. “What’s your name?”

  I want to lie but lose my train of thought. “Annabelle.”

  “Annabelle? I’ve never met anyone by that name before,” he smiles. His white teeth sparkle in the sunlight.

  “I’ve never met anyone named Tristan before,” I mumble.

  I’m flirting. I haven’t flirted in who knows how long, and something about saying those words reminds me that I am a woman. It’s a nice feeling.

  “Tristan? Where’s that from?”

  He smiles again. It takes everything I have to not reach out and brush my fingers along his luscious, soft lips.

  “From a lot of places, but really it’s from an old English story about star-crossed lovers, Tristan and Isolde.”

  Of course, I know that. I wrote a term paper on Tristan and Isolde junior year in college. I meant why the hell he has that name.

  “Sounds like your parents were romantics,” I smile.

  “You can say many things about my parents,” Tristan says, “but I’m not sure you can say that.”

  I nod. My arms are no longer shielding my body. I spread them out wide around me. It’s not deep enough in this spot that I can’t reach the ground, but I like treading water. I bob up and down, periodically exposing my collarbones and a bit below that, all the while still staying decent.

  “And what about you, Annabelle?” He smiles. “Annabelle is kind of a literary name too, wouldn’t you say?”

  I roll my eyes. He is, of course, referring to the famous Annabel Lee from Edgar Allen Poe.

  “Yes, it was as if my mom wanted me to become depressive.”

  I don’t mean to mention her, but I do. And the very thought of her makes my throat close. This is why I have come here – to get away from thoughts of her. To get away from a world that is made up of her.

  “Oh no, not at all,” he laughs.

  There is a sweetness in his smile. The type of kindness I have never seen in people out in the real world. He is real, true, and honest.

  “I think it’s simpler than that. I don’t know
your mom, of course, but she probably loved Edgar Allen Poe, and he loved Annabel Lee, and so she fell in love with his love for her and everything that that name represented.”

  “You think it was as simple as that?”

  “Yes, I do,” he nods. “Things typically are.”

  That isn’t even a bit true – things in the real world are complicated and complex, full of layers and emotions and misunderstandings. Yet here, with Tristan, the world seems simple. Black and white. Easy to navigate. I nod.

  “So how are we going to do this?” Tristan asks.

  I have no idea what he is talking about.

  “Get out of the water.” He smiles.

  I look down and remember that I am naked. I look up at him. Through the crystal-clear water, I can see that he is completely naked as well. But I can’t make out any details. I feel a strange tingling in the area between my legs. If the water wasn’t so cold, I know that I would also feel warm and moist.

  * * *

  2

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be a gentleman, I’ll get out first. But you have to look away.”

  Look away? Why? I don’t want to look away.

  “Because it’s cold here. I have a lot more to offer than what you’ll see coming out of this glacier water.”

  I smile and turn around. “Okay, I promise.”

  I hear him rise out of the water and splash on his way to shore. I have every intention of keeping my promise, but then I don’t. I turn around slightly and sneak a peek.

  Tristan’s back is to me, but I can see his perfectly toned legs and firm buttocks walking toward the shore.

  “Okay, I’m done,” he yells, his voice echoing across the lake.

  I turn around. “Okay, don’t look!”

  Tristan turns his back and disappears into the woods.

  I climb out slowly, suddenly well aware of my body and its various shortcomings. My legs are a little too short, my stomach a bit too big, my breasts a little too small. But as I get closer to shore, I feel a strange kind of confidence building up within me.

  I have been hiking in the woods by myself for days, and I have not seen a mirror in close to a week. And yet, looking down at my body, I can see that I am wrong. My stomach is flatter and somewhat defined. My arms are strong and my shoulders powerful. My breasts are firm and small, but pleasant to look at.

  Infused with an unfamiliar sensation of confidence, I feel my shoulders straighten out. This is my body, and I am okay with it. In this moment, I want Tristan to look. I hope that he too will break his promise.

  I don’t see Tristan on the way to my backpack. Dripping wet, I search my bag for something clean to wear. Finally, I find a thin white dress, which I packed in case it got really hot and I had to wash all of my clothes. It seems perfect for the occasion. I put it on, gather all of my discarded clothes from the path leading to the shore and leave to find him.

  I find Tristan around the bend. His tent is already set up, and he’s busy stirring something that smells amazing on a tiny camping stove.

  “Annabelle, I’m glad you’re here.”

  I nod. I am glad I am here too.

  “I was wondering if you will join me for dinner.”

  I smile. “Yes, of course. That sounds nice.”

  He flashes his beautiful pearly whites at me and brushes his hair out of his face with the back of his hand.

  “What are you making?”

  “Vegetarian chili. From a pouch. Hope that’s okay.”

  “That’s better than what I’ve been having for almost a week now.”

  “How’s that?”

  I laugh and pull out a handful of energy bars from the top of my backpack.

  “Oh, that’s not good. Did you not pack anything more substantial?”

  “Yes, I did, actually.” I shrug. I don’t want to get into this. “But I wasn’t really in the mood to cook.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, I hope you’re in the mood for this.”

  I nod. For the first time in what seems like ages, I am in the mood to eat a hearty and filling meal.

  * * *

  As Tristan continues to stir the pot, he tells me about his life. He’s 27-years-old, three years older than I am. In the winters, he works as a ski instructor around California – Tahoe, Mammoth, and even Big Bear, here in Southern California. In the summers, he works as a rafting guide in Colorado.

  As we talk, we discover that we both attended the University of Southern California and were there at the same time but majored in different things. He was a Communications and Business double major because his family had wanted him to follow his father and pursue a career in business. But he didn’t feel like that was right for him, so he skies and rafts instead.

  I like the way that he stood up to his family, pursuing his dreams and living his life on his own terms.

  I like the straightforward way in which he speaks to me. I try to be honest with him as well. As honest as I can be without mentioning anything personal.

  I tell him that I graduated a couple of years ago with a degree in English and work as a freelance editor. What I don’t tell him is that I work freelance because I can’t find anything better. I don’t tell him that I have been looking for a full-time position for over a year now, sent out over a hundred resumes and cover letters and have only been asked to come in to interview for five positions. I don’t tell him that no one will hire me for anything and that I am already four months behind on my student loan payments and would be out on the street were it not for my wonderful and generous roommate.

  There is a world of things that I don’t tell Tristan, and I feel bad about every single one of them.

  “So why vegetarian chili?” I ask. I’m trying to distract myself from all the things that I want to tell this perfect human being.

  “Why not?” Tristan’s blue eyes twinkle when he smiles.

  “No reason, just wondering,” I say. “I like vegetarian chili better than regular chili, anyway.”

  “Well, that’s good,” he says. “Me too. But I also don’t eat meat.”

  The words surprise me. My brows furrow in disbelief. I’ve always thought of vegetarians as weak and slight in stature. I’ve never met a guy who was a vegetarian, but I always imagined them to be boring and unattractive.

  Tristan is none of these things. He’s powerful and solid and defined, both in personality and body. His arms and hands are strong and capable, and yet he’s supposedly a vegetarian?

  “Really? That’s hard to believe.” I smile.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because…because vegetarians aren’t…” I can’t think of a word that is both inoffensive and appropriate.

  “Aren’t manly?” he fills in the blank.

  I nod.

  “Well, I am manly, and I’m a vegetarian. I don’t see why someone has to eat animals to be considered a real man.”

  His words blow me away. I’ve never given vegetarians much thought except that I’ve always thought of them as a bit too self-obsessed and egomaniacal and weak. But Tristan isn’t that at all.

  “Oh, I see.” I nod.

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Annabelle. It’s just something that works for me, and that’s why I do it. It doesn’t mean that I think there’s something wrong with you.”

  “I hope not,” I mumble, hating myself for thinking that there is something wrong with him. When there isn’t. He’s the most perfect human that I’ve laid my eyes on. And the fact that he is a vegetarian on top of that, someone who cares about the well-being of those who are weaker than him, makes him even more attractive.

  Tristan pours me a bowl of the chili. I grab a spoon and eat more than I’ve eaten in weeks. It tastes so delicious and wonderful that I feel completely powerless in stopping myself. Once I finish one bowl, he pours me another and another. He doesn’t stop me from filling myself, and he doesn’t ask questions as to why I’m so hungry. He simply eats his bowl of food in silence, occasionally looking up at me with an inquisit
ive look in his eye.

  After dinner, we make s’mores. I haven’t had a s’more in a decade. I love peeling off the burned parts of the marshmallow and licking the gooey, stretchy filling. After ravenously consuming two s’mores, I look up at Tristan and catch him staring at me. With the sun setting, his eyes turn a deeper shade of blue but do not lose the innocent and yet mysterious quality that draws me to him.

  Suddenly, he reaches out and brushes his fingers along my bottom lip. His fingertips feel rough but soft at the same time. Slowly, he leans in close to me. I can feel his breath on my face, and I lick my lips.

  He cradles my face as he buries his fingers in my hair. When I close my eyes, our lips touch.

  3

  His lips are soft and effervescent. His tongue feels both foreign and familiar at the same time. He tilts my head back and drops his. His lips are on my neck. He’s kissing me so slowly that I can feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  Our legs touch, and his hands slowly caress the top of my shoulders. I feel him pushing me backward onto the ground, and I let him. My legs open on their own, and we intertwine as one.

  “Wait, wait,” I whisper.

  Reluctantly, Tristan pulls away. His face is so close to mine that his hair falls into my eyes, and his eyelashes are giving me butterfly kisses.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispers. “Do you want to take things slow?”

  Yes, I do, I say to myself. This isn’t right. I’m not the kind of girl who has one night stands. I’m careful and cautious. I am the girl who has boyfriends and who always waits until at least the third date to sleep with a guy.

  And yet, there’s something about Tristan that makes me feel safe and comfortable. I feel like I’ve known him my whole life. Like we belong together. I don’t feel as if I’ve just met him; I feel like I’ve known him forever.

  “No,” I decide and shake my head.