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“Fifteen.” A man sitting close to where I’m standing lifts his hand.
That’s when she does it. When she reaches up and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. As she does, she tucks her chin, teeth sinking into her lip. How many times have I witnessed that gesture and told myself I should stop staring? I’ve memorized every part of her, gone over every one of our brief encounters in my head hours later. Lying in my room, alone, taking a shower, whenever I have a moment’s downtime, the only thing that fills my thoughts is the gorgeous blonde now up for bid.
A virgin. She’s selling her virginity. Another man will buy her, use her, and maybe hurt her, all because she needs money.
She should be with me. I’m the man who should be taking care of her. I’m the man those legs of hers need to be wrapped around, and her lips, holy fuck, those lips I’ve imagined wrapped around my cock while I stroke that gorgeous hair. I should be her first.
“Twenty thousand.” That strident, almost shouted figure draws my attention and pulls my gaze away from the girl of my dreams. I know that voice. I’ve heard it more times than I can count.
Marco Sanders sits directly across from Emma, facing her head-on. I can’t see his face from where I’m standing, but I don’t need to. I’ve seen it enough, and I know the nasty way he smiles when he sees something he wants. I doubt he would recognize me on sight, but I would know him anywhere.
And I would know his reputation, too. The thing about being the bookkeeper nobody pays much attention to is you get to overhear things you shouldn’t. Like about the lengths Frank Sanders goes to in order to keep his son out of trouble. He raised a fucking psychopath with no consideration for other human beings. As far as Marco’s concerned, he’s the only person in the world who matters.
And he wants Emma. My Emma. Disbelief is quickly replaced by outrage, simmering in my chest until I’m sure there must be steam coming out of my ears. No fucking way is he going to put his hands on her. Not when the last girl he got involved with ended up in the hospital.
“Twenty-five thousand,” the original bidder counters.
“Thirty,” Marco grunts. No way anybody is going to outbid him. Maybe the other bidder doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, but I hate to tell him he’ll never win. Not against a man with limitless resources at his disposal.
“That’s thirty thousand,” Nick calls out. “Do I hear thirty-five thousand?”
I wait for the other guy to counter Marco’s bid, but he’s shrinking back in his chair. He can’t bid higher or knows he shouldn’t bother. Maybe he recognized his opponent. So Marco’s going to win. He’s going to buy her. Use her. Fuck her.
“Thirty-five.”
Nobody could be more surprised than I am that the last bid came from me, but now that I’ve said it, nothing has ever felt so right. She’s mine. My Emma. Nobody is going to touch her but me. Especially not Marco.
“Forty.” Marco looks over his shoulder and finds me standing here, staring right back at him.
“That’s forty thousand. Do I hear forty-five? Forty-five thousand to be the first man to ever touch this gorgeous piece of ass.”
I could rip Nick’s head off for talking about her that way, like she’s some piece of ass. The girl is brilliant, bright, and curious. Sure, she has the kind of body a man would mortgage his life for, but there isn’t a man in here who deserves to put a hand on her. Nobody but me.
“Forty-five,” I confirm, staring at Emma. She’s trembling, for fuck’s sake. Probably scared out of her mind. I’m here for you. I’ll help you. I’ll get you through this. I wish I could say the words out loud and help her a little, but I doubt my efforts would be appreciated.
“Fifty.”
How much do I have in my account? I haven’t checked it in a while. I’m pretty sure there’s at least sixty grand in there, though I sincerely hope Marco decides to quit bidding before we reach that number. I’ll spend every penny so long as it means keeping her away from him. I don’t think I could stand to see the broken look in her eyes that I’m sure I’d find after he used her for his pleasure.
“That’s fifty thousand. Do I hear fifty-five?” Nick looks around the room, but I get the feeling the other men understand who they’re up against and are too smart to engage him. They’re smarter than me, for sure, but I know what I’m doing. I know her.
Silence hangs over the room for a breathless beat. I can almost hear electricity crackling through the air when Marco meets my gaze. He’s used to getting his way, this guy. An angry look, a snarl, and his opponents usually back down without a fight. Is that what he’s waiting for? For me to back down?
“Fifty-five thousand,” I say without blinking, without looking away. Can he see how my nerves are shredding? I can’t go much higher than this. If he doesn’t give up, Emma is fucked—figuratively and literally.
There’s movement at the far corner of the room, and one of Marco’s bodyguards heads straight to his chair. He leans down and murmurs something to Marco, who waves a dismissive hand like he doesn’t want to hear it.
“I have fifty-five. Do I hear sixty thousand?” Nick stares expectantly at Marco, but Marco is busy having a quiet argument with his guy, who’s now jerking a thumb toward the door. Something’s happening, and he’s needed elsewhere. Oh, please, get the hell out of here. Go.
“Fifty-five going once.” Nick looks around the room. “Twice.”
This is it. I hold my breath, waiting for Marco’s reaction. What’s he going to do? He doesn’t keep me waiting long. His fist slams against the arm of the chair before he stands and adjusts his jacket.
“Sold for fifty-five thousand dollars to the gentleman in the back.” Nick extends a hand toward Emma, helping her down from the platform before giving her a nudge toward a door leading elsewhere. Probably the place where the winner claims their property.
Before I can join her, I lock eyes with Marco. Something tells me he’s not going to be satisfied, leaving things this way. If he’s smart, he’ll let it go.
But nobody ever called Marco Sanders smart.
And considering I just bought the girl he had his eye on, I’m starting to wonder how smart I am.
