CHAPTER ONE
Callie
Regrets.
Sinatra might have had a few, but Callie Rose could fill a book with hers.
On a scale of one to ten (with a one being duck waddling across the bathroom floor with your pants around your ankles to get a roll of toilet tissue that you stupidly forgot to replace the last time, and a chart-topping ten for falling in love with a heartless bastard who wrecked your life and destroyed your world), tonight's escapade was at least an eight.
A very strong eight with the potential to become a nine.
If she needed her attorney to make bail.
Because she was going to kill Bastion Baines.
Technically, it would be justifiable homicide since killing her business partner was entirely justified. After all, he had been the one to convince her to participate in the charity bachelorette auction. Since she had founded the charity, Callie was willing to do anything to help the cause, except selling herself to the highest bidder.
The only reason she had agreed was because Bastion had promised to be the highest bidder. The problem was that he hadn't bid on her. Not one damn time had he lifted his paddle. It hadn't even twitched! She knew because she'd been glaring daggers at him the entire time she'd been standing on the damn stage.
Even though she had taken a sedative, Callie was still so nervous that she was sweating balls. Okay, so she didn't actually have balls, but she did have boobs, and sweat was pooling between them. Boob sweat. Ugh. She hoped it didn't stain her gown. Hmm. Maybe she should add some type of boob sweat absorber in her designs from now on.
That wasn't a bad idea.
She was certain that other women must experience the same thing, so it could be very practical. It would need to absorb and retain moisture. Something disposable would be best. With adhesive to hold it in place. Like a miniature version of a maxi pad. Wait, wouldn't that make it a mini pad? Ick!
Her creative mind consumed with thoughts of disposable sweat absorbers, Callie damn near jumped out of her skin when the gavel came down on the podium with a bang. While the auctioneer thanked her and congratulated the winner, her addled brain comprehended that the bidding was finally over.
A fervent prayer of thanks died abruptly when she noticed Bastion's expression turn menacing. A chill of apprehension slithered down her spine leaving gooseflesh in its wake. Shifting her wary gaze in the direction that her partner was looking, her heart skipped a beat or three when it landed on a silhouette of the man walking toward the stage.
Callie stood frozen in place, the spotlight shining in her eyes obscuring his facial features. What she could see was that he moved with the easy confidence of a man who knew his place in the world. That the understated elegance of his handmade Italian leather shoes and bespoke suit exuded wealth and power, as well as enhancing the muscular body they had been tailored for.
She sucked in a shocked gasp when his handsome as sin face came into view. The hastily indrawn breath lodged in her throat as a lethally sexy smile curved his sensuous lips. Dark, fathomless eyes held hers with an intensity that she could not look away from. His expression was so deliciously wicked that she went weak in the knees.
Jesus Christ.
She'd been sold to the devil!
Ford
When the invitation to the charity bachelorette auction arrived, Rutherford Prescott Hammersmith II had tossed it aside. All he had to do was smile at a woman to have her on his arm, and in relatively short order, in his bed. The idea of him bidding on a female was laughable. At least it had been until he'd seen the list of participants. After that, winning a date had been his only objective.
Because one of the bachelorettes held him enthralled.
When the hammer dropped after his last bid, he had no idea how much the date had cost him, nor did he care. She was worth every penny. The opportunity to finally get to know Callie Rose was priceless beyond measure. A triumphant smile curved his lips as he walked to the stage to claim his prize.
What a prize she was.
Ford had been rendered speechless when she stepped on the stage in her signature color of amethyst. The sexy as fuck evening gown clung to every delicate curve that his mouth watered to taste. It had obviously been designed to make a man want to peel it off of her, slowly revealing every delicious inch.
The woman was absolutely stunning, hotter than hell, and his. At least for a night. Stepping up onto the stage, the flash of panic he saw in her amethyst eyes dimmed his pleasure, but not his desire. Lifting her cold, trembling hand to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss to it and said, "Mine at last, sweet Callie."
Her luscious lips opened and closed soundlessly before she turned on her bejeweled four-inch heel to walk backstage. The fact that he had yet to relinquish his hold on her hand did little to deter her headlong flight. Once behind the curtain, she tried shaking him loose to no avail before finally turning to face him.
Those arresting amethyst eyes flashed purple fire as she demanded in a fierce whisper, "What the hell are you doing?"
"Claiming my prize," Ford responded with his most charming smile. The narrowing of her eyes assured him that she was not pleased with the situation. Since he had every intention of pleasing her, in every position known to man, he asked a tad anxiously, "How soon are you available for our date?"
"We are not going on a date," Callie hissed vehemently and managed to twist her hand free of his hold.
"I beg to differ," he replied confidently. "I paid a hefty sum for the privilege."
"I'll reimburse you," she spat and escaped into an adjoining lounge area.
There was no way in hell that he was letting her escape that easily. Ford followed; his eyes glued to the enticing sway of her shapely ass. If he'd been paying attention, he would have realized the room was packed with females waiting their turn on the auction block. Most of whom he'd either dated or fucked.
Determinedly making his way through the press of women who called out to him, he barely acknowledged their greetings while continuing to stalk his prey. Once Callie retrieved her purse from the attendant, he grasped her wrist before she could try to evade him again and turned to lead her out of the room.
A surprised cry of "Pussycat!" had him groaning aloud. Before he could take evasive action, small hands slid around his waist and a petite body plastered itself against the length of his. The hard as granite erection he'd been sporting since Callie stepped onto the stage died a swift and painless death.
"Tell me you're here to bid for me," Bimini Teller enthused as she wrapped around him and clung as tenacious as ivy to brick.
"I've already claimed my date," he imparted and tried to extricate himself from her grasp. The little vixen was stronger than she looked and damned if he wasn't afraid he'd have to bruise her to get loose. Since Callie was also trying to free herself from his grasp, there was a good possibility that he was going to bruise her while trying to hold on to her.
It was a damnable fix.
The very spoiled daughter of a shipping magnate had been blatantly pursuing him for months, but she was too fucking young and immature for him which was why he avoided her like the plague. Her green eyes widened before she batted ridiculously long fake eyelashes and cooed, "Are you trying to make me jealous, pussycat?"
God, give me strength.
Bimini was a quintessential dumb blonde who had been sheltered and pampered by a doting father old enough to be her grandfather, and this ridiculous infatuation she had with him was more damned annoying than flattering. "We've had this conversation," Ford reminded with an edge of impatience.