He grinned, filing away the information for later. “Three fifty.”
Duchanes jumped in at $360,000, and then another bidder offered $400,000. Dorian’s pulse kicked up with each new bid.
This is more like it.
He leaned forward, eager to keep his head in the game. His mystery woman might feel differently about what made these events bearable, but Dorian loved this part—the hunt, the strategy, figuring out when to jump in and when to ease up, knowing exactly when to deliver the final blow.
But by the time the bidding reached $600,000, the other bidders bowed out, leaving only Dorian, Duchanes, and his woman.
“Six fifty,” she said.
Dorian narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out her game. This wasn’t a tag sale. You didn’t show up at an exclusive art auction to browse the shelves, pick up a bit of this-and-that for the summer cottage.
What are you playing at, darling?
“Do I hear six seventy-five?” the auctioneer asked.
“Seven,” Dorian said.
“Eight,” the woman countered.
“Nine.”
“Nine fifty,” Duchanes said.
Dorian’s heart banged in his chest. He didn’t know what the woman was after, but Duchanes was clearly antagonizing him.
“One million dollars,” Dorian said.
The woman held her bid card against her chest, nibbling her lower lip, contemplating her next move.
Dorian leaned in close, whispering hotly in her ear. “Is that all you’ve got for me, love?”
Her eyes blazed. She waved her card with renewed vigor. “A million five.”
“Two million,” Duchanes said, sucking the last of the fun out of the game.
Dorian was already well past his intended max, but he couldn’t quit now. Not while Duchanes held the winning bid.
“Three million dollars,” he said firmly.
Everyone held a breath as they awaited another volley.
“Three million dollars for the Hans Whitfield,” the auctioneer said. “Do I hear three million five? three four?” She scanned the room, waiting for another bid that never came. “Going once. Going twice. Sold, to bidder twelve for three million dollars.”
The room erupted in applause, and Dorian closed his eyes, momentarily lost in the rush of victory such conquests always brought him… and a wave of relief they usually didn’t.
By the time he regained his senses and turned to face her again, his mystery woman was gone.
“Ah, but they fly the nest so quickly.” Duchanes flashed a smarmy grin Dorian wanted to carve from his face. Then, with a slight bow of his head, “Mr. Redthorne, I’d like to request an audience.”
Dorian didn’t bother hiding his displeasure, but Duchanes kept right on grinning.
Since he’d issued the request on neutral ground, honor and tradition prevented Dorian from refusing—especially in the presence of other vampires.
But he didn’t have to like it.
“What do youwant, Duchanes?”
