“The rules—” Winston snarls.
“Fuck your rules,” Jack growls. “I want to make sure she gets the money.”
“You don’t trust me?”
Jack just laughs at that. “Where is the viewing area, as you so romantically named it?”
Winston gestures to the room. “We’re not done with the auction.”
My stomach turns at the word auction. Gina and Darlene still have their turn ahead. And I wish they wouldn’t put themselves through this. I wish there was an easier way for them to make money, but I also understand why they’ve made the choice.
I wish I’d been given the same one.
“Continue your auction,” Jack says. “I’m taking a few minutes alone with her. Before.”
Winston waves a hand toward the back of the house. “You’ll know it when you see it.”
That ominous statement makes me shiver.
Jack seems relieved to get me out of the room, away from the armed men, further confusing me about his character. Is he a good man underneath all that arrogance?
No. I have to refuse this notion that we’re on the same side. We’re not. He is paying to have sex with me. He is one of them.
Although…did he join this club just for me?
I don’t understand why he would do that. We’ve never met. So I sincerely doubt he’s aware that my mother is his housekeeper. Even if he knew about the relation, he certainly wouldn’t pay ten million dollars to rescue the daughter of the cleaner.
Especially one he underpays.
We round the corner into another oblong lounge, this one overlooking the backyard, complete with pool and tennis courts. At the end of the lounge, a red light glows from a high, arched doorway. Jack hesitates before guiding me toward it. The closer we come to the ominous red glow, the more my nerves start to jangle, my thin slip dress an insubstantial defense for whatever lies on the other side.
I realize I’ve skidded to a halt when Jack turns and looks down at me with a flash of concern. “It’s going to be all right, Maisy.”
An alarm bell peels in my head. “How d-do you know my name?”
He tilts his head slightly, a line forming between his brows. “One of your friends called out to you as we were leaving. Didn’t you hear her?”
“No.”
“Hmm.”
I have no choice but to believe him. How else would he know?
Slowly, Jack brings my wrist to his mouth and kisses my pulse, his lips hard, warm. His body is outlined by the red glow of the viewing room and confusion dances in my bloodstream, along with…reluctant heat. Who is kissing me? A savior? Or the devil himself?
“Don’t be scared of me, angel,” he whispers, kissing the soft inner skin of my forearm now. “Trust me to make this good for you.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh, there’s no way to make this good for me.”
A single brow ticks up. “Is that a challenge?”
Jack doesn’t give me a chance to answer.
He simply scoops me up in his arms and carries me through the glowing red doorway.
Through the doorway is a den of depravity. There is no other way to put it.
The décor is decadent, just like the rest of the house. Luxurious wall hangings, thick Aubusson rugs, a high ceiling. But the entire space glows with a dark, sultry red.
In the center of the room is a flat, undecorated bed, fitted with a white sheet. No pillows. No blankets. The red light is more concentrated on the center of the room, while the outskirts are more shadowed. Leather armchairs are positioned in a circle around the bed, no less than five feet from the mattress. So close. These men are going to be so close. Watching me. Hearing everything. Seeing everything. Seeing me.
Even Jack seems taken aback by the blatant debauchery of it all, but he carries me toward the bed and sits me on the edge of the mattress. He shrugs off his jacket and tosses it casually over one of the leather armchairs. I get the odd sense that he’s nervous, but that can’t be right. I’m just trying to make him my savior again, because I’m vulnerable here, in this place.
“Maisy.” In the process of unbuttoning his shirt, Jack comes to stand in front of me, close enough that I can feel his body heat on my knees. “I wouldn’t have chosen to…meet you like this—”
“Then why are you meeting me like this? Why did you bid?” I shake my head. “You weren’t even a member of the club before tonight.”
“Yes. That’s true.” His hands pause in the act of releasing his buttons and he seems to search for an explanation. “Would you believe I’m a vigilante? I hear a virgin is in danger of being slobbered all over by a Centrum Silver-popping grandpa and I show up to save the day.”
“No. I wouldn’t believe that.”
He winks at me. “It was worth a try.”
Don’t laugh. This is not funny.
He finishes his task of button popping, then eases the sides of his dress shirt open, slowly peeling the garment off his body. Putting on a show, I realize. Flaunting for me. Stubbornly, I try to keep my eyes above his neck, but there’s no ignoring his physique. It’s a work of art. A deep natural tan lovingly hugs his thick rolls and slabs of muscle. Big, meaty pecs and cantaloupe biceps. His abdomen is drum tight and these thick veins spear low, low into the waistband of his black pants.
My toes protest and I realize I’ve got them curled tightly enough to hurt.
Jack steps closer to me, his hips pressing to my knees and I find myself gallingly short of breath. Very…very short. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal.” He brushes a loose strand of hair off my bare shoulder and gives me a lopsided smile. “But if you had to sleep with someone for two million dollars, couldn’t you do worse, angel? I’m basically a fucking stallion.”
A laugh trips over my lips.
I can’t believe it.
He made me laugh.
When Jack hears the sound, he exhales in a rush, some of the tension leaving the corners of his eyes. “There you go, Maisy. It’s okay to relax. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, all right?”
Is it okay to believe him?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
“I think it’s about time we introduce ourselves properly, right?” He plants his fists on either side of my hips, his sharp eyes traveling over my face, my shoulders. “I’m Jack Lincoln. Thirty-one. Hedge fund owner. Tequila enthusiast. Vintage video game collector. Rock climber. Purest asshole you’ll ever meet. Your turn.”
This whole situation is ludicrous, but I can’t deny the conversation is making me feel better. Distracting me from what’s to come. “I’m…Maisy. Just Maisy. I’m eighteen. I clean offices, but I want to narrate audiobooks someday—”
“You do?” Jack asks, sounding surprised. As quickly as he interrupts, he shakes himself. “I mean, that’s interesting. Please continue.”
“I, um…I can only fall asleep at night if Friends reruns are playing in the background. I hate exercising on purpose, it has to happen spontaneously. I’ve never had tequila. I’ve actually never had a drink at all.”
“Would you like one now? It might help you relax.”
“Yes, please,” I whisper back quickly enough to make him laugh.