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But the number keeps going up and up and knowing my percentage is the only thing keeping me from running off the stage. Maybe Gran and I could move away and I could start over. Get a job in a city far, far away. I love it here so much, but at least we’ll have a roof over our heads.
The shouted bids blur into one another as I try not to show how shaken I am. When it’s over, I barely register that it’s Mr. Stanhope who’s won. I try to give him a grateful look before the owner of the club leads me backstage, but when our eyes meet again, his are ice cold.
He’s so noble and good; he must have been trying to rescue me from this awful mistake. Just thinking about the amount I cost him makes it difficult to breathe. Even if I give him my percentage, it would take several lifetimes to pay him back.
Backstage, the other girls congratulate me, but I can’t answer or smile. Dread fills me as Mr. Stanhope meets me in the hallway and wraps his coat around my shoulders. The warm material surrounds me, covering me almost to my knees. He grips my wrist in his big hand to guide me to his car. I want to explain, but there is nothing I can say to make this better. Complete silence fills the car as drives with his eyes straight ahead, getting further out of town. The ride seems like it will go on forever, but he finally turns onto a long, private drive that ends in front of an immense mansion. We’re in the middle of nowhere, and I realize I don’t really know him at all.
Maybe he’s not noble and good…
After he parks in the white gravel driveway, he comes around and tugs me out of the car toward big double doors with tall pillars on either side. I finally find my spine and dig in my heels.
“Why did you bring me here?” I ask, pleased that my voice doesn’t shake as much as my knees are.
He laughs, his dark eyes flashing. “You belong to me, Sloane. At least for tonight. Now come inside.”
I follow him in and, when he snaps on the lights, a crystal chandelier overhead illuminates a long hallway. Placing his warm hand on the small of my back, he guides me to a living room full of luxurious leather couches. The walls are adorned with huge, modern oil paintings. It feels like a museum and I want to take it all in, but my nerves cause me to flit from object to object. He fills a glass with amber liquid, asking me if I’d like a drink.
“I’m not old enough,” I say, making him wince. “But if you want me to, I’ll have a little.”
Instead, he pulls a bottle of sparkling water from a refrigerator near the inlaid wood bar and pours me some of that.
“Sit with me,” he says, nodding toward one of the plush couches. I sit down first and he sits a foot away from me. “First off,” he starts, his eyes softer now, not nearly as icy as before. “I’m not going to take anything you don’t want to give.”
I blink a few times as his handsome face relaxes into a smile and I find I can breathe again. “Even though you’ve bought and paid for me?” I ask.
He nods and pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle touch of his fingertips on my cheek surprises me. “Yes, even though I’ve bought and paid for you.”
“Mr. Stanhope,” I whisper, locked in his gaze.
He shakes his head, not letting me finish what I want so badly to say. “Please call me Easton. It’s the only thing I’ll demand tonight.”
“Thank you, Easton,” I say, the name feeling right on my lips. “I don’t know what—I just—” I hate admitting how low I’ve sunk in my life, but I want him to know I had a reason. I still respect him and want him to respect me.
Once again, he stops me with a brisk shake of his head. “You don’t have to explain anything. Maybe later if you want. But I can see it’s making you upset.”
“Thank you,” I say, edging closer.
Even though I’ve always thought he was attractive, the intensity in his gaze as he looks at me up close causes my skin to flush with heat. Seeing the other men at the club who were bidding, it’s hard to believe any of them would have been so patient or kind.
He slides his finger down my cheek again, making me lean even closer. “Do you want me to kiss you, Sloane?” he asks, reaching for the collar of his coat that I still wear. He nudges it aside to continue sliding down my chest. Heat pools in my core and I squeeze my thighs together as I tip my chin up to him.
“I think so,” I say, closing my eyes.
His lips touch mine, warm and firm. When his tongue gently slides across my lower lip, I part them, my hand reaching for his chest. He’s hard beneath his soft shirt and I can feel his heart beating under my palm. His kiss is better than my silly daydreams. The storm I thought was brewing from his silent demeanor in the car is now a summer rain that I want to dance in.
His kiss grows more insistent as his hand trails over my breast, making heat pool between my thighs. I move closer to him so that our legs touch. He said he wouldn’t take what I didn’t want to give, but all I want is him. I probably owe him, but the more he touches me, the less obligated I feel.
Before I know it, I’m pulling away to shake off his coat, needing his hands on more of me. His eyes darken as he takes me in, from the plunging neckline, down the sheer fabric, all the way to my bare legs.
“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he says, sliding a finger under the strap.
“Really?” I ask, incredulous. He barely looks at me at the office.
He laughs, a low rumbling sound that makes my fingers curl into his shirt. “To the point of distraction. But now… I can barely breathe, Sloan. Your body is so damn gorgeous.”
Suddenly I want to show him everything, give him everything. I lean in, my lips parting eagerly for more of his kisses. But he holds back.
“Are you sure you want more?” he asks.
