I snort in the most unladylike way, astonished at his audacity, yet trying to ignore the quickening of my pulse at the thought. “Don’t bet on it,” I sneer as I hastily try to skirt past.

His hand whips out and grabs hold of my arm again, spinning me back toward him, so that I’m standing intimately close. I can see his pulse beat in the line beneath his jaw. Can feel the fabric of his jacket hit my arm as his chest rises and falls. I glance down at his hand on my arm and glare back at him in warning, yet his hold still remains. He leans his face in to mine so that I can feel his breath feather across my cheek. I angle my head up to his, not sure if I’m raising my chin in defiance or in anticipation of his kiss.

“Lucky you, I’m a gambling man, Rylee,” his resonating voice is just a whisper of sound. “I do, in fact, like a good challenge now and again,” he provokes, a mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He releases my arm, but runs his finger lazily down the rest of it. The soft scrape of his finger on my exposed skin sends shivers down my back.

“So let’s make a bet.” He stops and nods at a passing acquaintance, bringing me to the here and now as I’ve forgotten that we’re in a room full of people.

“Didn’t your mother teach you when a lady says no, she really means no, Ace?” I raise my eyebrow, a look of disdain on my face.

That smarmy smirk of his is back in full force as he nods in acknowledgement at my comment. “She also taught me that when I want something, I need to keep after it until I get it.”

Great, so now I’ve acquired a stalker. A handsome, sexy, very annoying stalker.

He reaches out and toys with a loose curl on the side of my neck. I try to remain impassive despite my urge to close my eyes and sink into the whisper of his fingers across my skin. His smirk tells me that he knows exactly what his effect is on me. “So, like I said, Ryles, a bet?

I bristle at his proposition. Or maybe it is at his effect on me. “This is asinine—”

“I bet by the end of the night,” he cuts me off holding a hand up to stop me, “I have a date with you.”

I laugh out loud stepping back from him. “Not a chance in hell, Ace!”

He takes a long swallow of his drink, his expression guarded. “What are you scared of then? That you can’t resist me?” He flashes a wicked grin when I roll my eyes. “Agree then. What do you have to lose?”

“So you get a date with me and your bruised ego is restored,” I shrug indifferently, wanting no part of this contest. “What will I get out if it?”

“If you win—”

“You mean if I can resist your dazzling charm,” I retort, my voice laced with sarcasm.

“Let me rephrase. If you can resist my dazzling charm by the end of the night, then I’ll donate,” he flickers his fingers through the air in a gesture of irrelevance, “let’s say, twenty thousand dollars to your cause.”

I catch my breath and look at him in bewilderment, for this I can agree to. I know that there’s no way in hell that I’ll succumb to Donavan or his captivating wiles, the arrogant bastard. Agreed, I was caught in his tantalizing web for a few moments, but it was just because it’s been so long since I’ve felt like that. Since I’ve been kissed like that. Been touched like that.

Come to think of it, I don’t think that I have ever been made to feel like that. But then again, I know that a man has never kissed me while his lips were still warm from another woman’s.

I regard him impassively, trying to figure out the catch. Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe he’s just so cocky that he really thinks he’s that irresistible. All I know is that I’m going to increase our contribution total tonight by twenty thousand.

“Isn’t this bet going to put a damper on your evening’s pursuit of other possible bedside companions?” I pause taking a survey of the room. “It’s not looking too promising Ace, considering you’re oh for two right now.”

“I think I’ll manage,” he laughs out loud. “Don’t worry about me. I’m good at multi-tasking,” he quips, trying to beat me at my own game. “Besides, the night’s still young, and by my count the score is oh for one so far. The second score has yet to be settled.” He arches his eyebrows at me. “Don’t over think it, Rylee. It’s a bet. Plain and simple.”

I cross my arms across my chest. The decision is easy. Anything for my boys. “Better get your checkbook ready, Ace. There’s nothing I like better than proving arrogant bastards like you wrong.”

He takes another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving mine. “You sure are certain of yourself.”

“Let’s just say that my self-control is something that I pride myself on.”

Donavan steps closer to me again. “Self-control, huh?” he murmurs, challenge dancing in his eyes. “Seems we’ve already tested that theory, Rylee, and it didn’t seem to hold true. I’d be glad to test it again, though … ”

The muscles in my core clench at the possible promise, the ache burning there, begging for relief. Why am I acting like a girl who has never felt a man’s touch before? Maybe because it has never been this man’s touch.

“Okay,” I tell him, sticking out my hand to shake his, “It’s a bet. But I’ll warn you, I don’t lose.”

He reaches out to take my hand, a broad smile lighting up his features, eyes sparkling a bold emerald. “Neither do I, Rylee,” he murmurs. “Neither do I.”

“Rylee, sorry to interrupt but we need you right now,” says a voice behind me.

I turn to find Stella, a look of panic on her face. I look toward Donavan, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.” I feel awkward in the moment. Unsure what else I should say or do.

He nods his head at me. “We’ll talk more later.”

As I walk away, I realize I’m not sure if his response is a threat or a promise.


CHAPTER 3


I am sitting backstage in the chaotic aftermath of the auction, but my mind is still reeling from its events. The last hour and a half has been a blur. A successful blur in fact, but one that has come at a very high cost—primarily my dignity.

At the last minute, one of our “date” auction participants had become ill. With no one else willing to partake and programs pre-printed with a set number of participants, I begged, bribed, and pleaded with every member of my staff to step in and fill the role. Of all of the available people who were not physically needed for the facilitation of the auction, those left were either married or seriously attached to someone.

Everyone that was, except for me.

I whined, cajoled, pleaded even, but in an ironic twist that many of the staff took pleasure in, I became auction block item number twenty-two. So I had to suck it up and take one for the team, all the while ignoring a notion screaming in my subconscious that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

And believe me, I hated every fucking minute of it! From the beauty-pageant-style introduction, to the parading around on a stage like a trophy, to the whistling catcalls of the audience, to the vapid calling of bidder’s dollar amounts by the announcer. The lights were so blinding I couldn’t see the audience, just a vague outline of figures. My time in the spotlight was a haze of embarrassment, the sound of my heartbeat rushing in my ears, and the fear that my sweating from the heat of the stage lights would leave dark marks on the underarms of my dress.

I’m sure if I’d been on the other side of the stage, I would have found the auctioneer’s comments entertaining, the participation of the audience endearing, and the silly antics of some of the women on stage trying to increase their bids amusing. I would’ve watched the contribution total rise and would have been proud of my staff for the successful outcome.

Instead, I’m sitting in the backstage area, taking a deep breath, and wrapping my head around what the hell just happened.

“Way to go, Ry!” I hear the humor at my predicament in Dane’s voice as he makes his way backstage toward me through the twenty-four other women who were willing participants in the auction. They’re all exiting off the stage, gathering their bags of swag items we provided as a token to thank them for their participation.

I glare at him, my annoyance from my first-hand involvement evident. He gives me a wide, toothy grin, as he grabs me in an unreciprocated hug. I’m beyond grumpy. I’m downright bitchy. I mean, what a fucking night! First locked in the closet, then playing unknown sloppy seconds on the conquest list of Mr. Arrogant, and then enduring the humiliation of being purchased like prime beef at a meat market.

I cannot believe the giddiness of the women around me. They are chatting animatedly about their moment in the spotlight and bragging at how much they went for. I’m grateful for their participation, ecstatic at the outcome, but just simply bewildered at their enthusiasm.

The evening’s earlier accusation of being prim comes back to my mind, and I shake it off.

“That was fucking horrible!” I whine, shaking my head in incredulity as he laughs sympathetically at me. “All I want is a large glass—no screw that, a bottle of wine, some form of chocolate, and to get this damn dress and heels off, in no particular order.”

“If that’s all it takes to get you naked, I’d have brought you wine and chocolate a long time ago.”

I glare at him, finding no amusement in his comment. “Too bad I don’t have the right equipment to keep you satisfied.”

“Meow!” he responds biting his lip to suppress his laugh. “Oh, sweetie, that had to have been horrible for you, Ms. Keep-me-out-of-the-spotlight-at-all-costs! Look at you, ” he sits in the chair next to me, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to him. I rest my head on his shoulder, enjoying the comforting feeling of friendship. “At least you sold for above the asking price.”

“You asshole!” I pull away from him, as he laughs childishly at me, rubbing in what he knows is a sore spot. To be honest, I still have no idea what amount my ‘winning bid’ was because I was too busy listening to the frantic pounding of my heartbeat fill my head while on stage.

To say that my ego doesn’t care how much I was auctioned for is a mild understatement. Even though I detested the process, what female wouldn’t want to know that someone thinks she is worthy enough to be bid money on for a date? Especially after my experience earlier in the evening.

“What are friends for? I mean between the bidding war and the ensuing brawl over your potential suitor,” he blows out a large breath, humor in his eyes, “and the all-out melee that ensued … ”

“Oh, be quiet will you!” I laugh, relaxing for the first time at his ribbing. “No really, how much did I raise?”

“Listen to you! Most women would first say ‘How much did I go for?’” he mocks in a high-pitch, pretentious voice, making me giggle, “and then the next question would be ‘How hot is my date?’”

I turn to him and arch my eyebrows in the manner that always has the boys at The House answering quickly—or taking cover. “Well?” When he doesn’t respond, but rather stares at me in mock horror for wondering, I allow myself to become one of the whiney voice women around me. “Dane, give me the details!”

“Well, my dear, you sold,” I shiver in mock horror at his words. He continues, “Excuse me, your future date spent twenty-five thousand dollars for an evening with you.”

What? Holy shit! I’m dumbfounded. I know the starting bid was fifteen thousand for all entrants, but someone actually paid ten thousand more than that? Pride and a feeling of worth soars within me, repairing part of the damage Donavan inflicted earlier on my ego.

I try to rationalize someone I don’t know spending that kind of money on a date with me, and I can’t. It had to have been one of the chair people who worked closely on the board with me. This was the only plausible explanation. Most of the other women on the stage had been part of the elite Hollywood charity circle—they had friends and family in the audience to bid on them. I didn’t.

I can only deduce that it’s someone I’d worked with in making this benefit happen. It’s the only logical explanation for the amount of money spent. I’m flattered that one of the people on either the Board or the organization committee had thought highly enough of me to bid that kind of money. I sigh and relax a bit with the knowledge that I will probably have to go on a date with a widowed elderly gentleman or possibly none at all. Maybe the person just wants to donate to us and will let me off the hook. What a relief! I was worried about the date part. Some loser expecting something in return for his generous donation—ugh!