Page 49

DALTON

The adrenaline buzz is back. Someone hugs me as I slip through the bachelor’s waiting area.

Ramona maybe? Hands slap my back, congratulating me on being the event’s highest bid in history as I weave through the sea of bodies with grunts that sound like thank you.

Every muscle strains with the urge to shove people out of the way, but I lock my jaw to keep it in check.

I have to get to the pay table before her.

As to what I’m going to say, no fucking idea. I just know I have to get there first.

Darting out a side door, I shoot a glance down the empty hall before jogging the opposite way of the lobby toward the pay station.

Damn these slippery as fuck dress shoes.

I take the corner too fast at a slide, catching the edge of the wall just before I eat shit in a glorious display of pants-ripping man splits on the bougie hotel carpeting.

Good thing yoga is part of my weekly training, or my groin muscle would be in two pieces right now.

Slow down. Get yourself together and freaking breathe, Ward. Taking a step back into the empty hallway I came from, I press my forehead against the wall and breathe. I’m two counts in when a panicked voice drifts down the hall. The words are hushed, forcing me to hold my breath to hear them.

“I’m so sorry. I was using my paddle as a fan and accidentally bid… Nope. There must have been some confusion with your auctioneer. It seems he thought I was bidding… Ugh, no.”

Straightening, I lean around the corner.

Tucked in an art alcove is a flash of red, curvy hips, and chestnut hair.

My miracle bidder. Mustering the smile my sisters call the Ward Charm Bomb, I step out.

A million words fly through my head as I debate the best way to woo this woman into keeping her bid.

I’m so caught up in my own selfish thoughts, my fingers are inches behind the smooth skin of her bare arm before what she’s muttering registers.

“Look, I’m just a broke ass intern who didn’t even want to be here!

I got a little drunk and accidentally won your largest auction to date!

Oh, and my boss pretty much runs the event, Ramona—you probably know her.

I was just filling an empty seat, and she’s totally going to fire me.

So I withdraw my bid, here’s all my rent money, first born and a drop of blood to get me out of this quietly.

By the way, your auctioneer is a moron and can’t tell the difference between a hyperventilating broke woman and a horny aristocrat slinging money around! ”

It’s such a spectacularly sexy meltdown, her hips swaying, delicate hands articulating, that I nearly forget I’m the guy she is trying to un -win. Mouth opening to say who the hell knows what, I inch forward just as she turns on her heels and plows directly into my chest with a startled oof .

The faint scent of lilac tickles my nose as I catch her instinctively, hands landing on her bare shoulders.

Soft skin, warm and trembling. Sends a thrill up my arms and straight to my cock.

The impulse to pull her close, to hold her until the tremors stop, to protect her is visceral.

Shit. I shouldn’t be turned on, not while her world is clearly crumbling and mine hangs in the balance, but damn, she is even more beautiful up close.

There’s a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, a flush to her cheeks that begs to be touched.

I would pay fifty grand just to get her to look up.

To see the eyes belonging to this beautiful creature.

Fucking hell. This woman is not the Silver Vixen I had been hoping for.

She’s trouble in the sexiest fucking way.

Men worship women like this. I want to worship a woman like this.

Before I can say a word, before I can even catch her eyes, she pushes away. Breaking my hold and leaving my palms on fire. She’s halfway to the payment table before I snap out of it.

“Wait!” I call, following. What the fuck am I going to say without looking like a lunatic? My fingers graze her elbow, just as she darts like a scared rabbit straight into the women’s bathroom and out of my reach. The door snicks shut as I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the styled ends.

Fuck. I’m such a fucking asshole. She’s not some rich housewife. She’s Ramona’s assistant. The gears in my head flip into overdrive. The conversation I had been planning going to shit.

We can make this work. I’m not sure if it’s a prayer or a mantra.

The bid can’t fall to Ellie. I won’t let that happen.

Splitting this halfway is out. I won’t risk this woman’s career and livelihood, and I have money in an offshore account.

One that can’t be traced back to me. The charity gets its money, I get out of the date from hell, and she doesn’t have to lose face with Ramona. Everyone wins, right?

A terrifying thought slams into the forefront of my mind. What if forty-eight is a puck bunny? Or worse, what if she’s even crazier than Ellie, OR working with my ex celebrity stalker?

A few months ago, those thoughts would never have crossed my mind.

But now, well, that’s just one more thing on a long shit list that Ellie’s fucked up in my head.

She’s made me question every connection I’ve had with women since.

But there’s something about the woman that won my bid, like if I can just look her in the eye, talk to her like a human being and not some hockey god, that I’ll be able to tell if she’s legit or not.

A plan unfolds slowly.

Yeah, we can make this work. I just have to get her to agree to the ruse. That, or I extort the gorgeous woman into going on a date with me. Fucking hell, this is a shit idea for all the right reasons.

Asking the attendant at the payment table for a piece of paper, I scribble down a note, then give her forty-eight’s number and my bank info. Bill paid, I head to the hotel bar for a much-needed drink and some hastily planned blackmail with the girl of my dreams.