Chapter 2

Clara

It’s bad enough when you have to stand in front of a crowd of people, displaying wares, while they look you over like meat. I had to pay my models more, I thought dully, as I fought my embarrassment, and forced myself to stand my ground. Even worse than the cattle-market-like inspection was the fact that no one was bidding on my pieces.

That hurt.

I’d poured pieces of myself into my jewelry collection. I was a new designer, just starting out, and I didn’t have tons of throwaway pieces I didn’t mind giving away at auction for free. Everything I’d made had been a labor of love. The cause was so worthwhile, I’d wanted to participate, despite knowing that my stuff wasn’t the eye-catching, show-stoppers others would be putting in.

It just wasn’t my style. You didn’t grow up with my mother, a woman who prided herself on her old-money family name, and the many traceable influential and wealthy figures we had in our family tree, and end up as anything other than restrained in your tastes.

Still, it stung. I eyed the crowd. I wasn’t known for being shy and retiring, despite my respectable mother, and I wouldn’t let all those familiar faces in the crowd evade my eyes.

Many did though, looking at their phones or companions. No one wanted to be the first to take a chance on an unproven designer. Except one.

When I met his gaze, a jolt went through me, from head to toe. He was older than me, in his late thirties maybe, while I was mid-twenties. Despite that, his hair was still dark, just a sprinkling of silver at the temples, and he was staring at me so intensely, I felt like his gaze could leave a mark.

He looked out of place in the crowd. He was too tall, too burly looking. There was nothing of the soft and refined physique of the usual society man in this guy. He looked like he could bench-press me, and maybe I’d like it.

He was leaning forward, elbows braced on strong, thickly muscled thighs. The auctioneer continued to drop the price when suddenly, the intense guy raised his paddle.

Mr. Dawson, the auctioneer called him. The name tugged a corner of memory. My father talking about some new money tech billionaire who was putting companies like his out of business. Jack. Jack Dawson. The name Jack seemed to suit this man who looked far too robust and manly for the room full of inbred society sycophants.

The bidding picked up. It seemed endorsement from Jack Dawson did wonders for the value of my jewelry, which was incredibly insulting. All thoughts of being insulted at having to have a rich man’s endorsement before gaining any traction were pushed to the side, as the billionaire himself stood up and spoke. His dark eyes never left mine, as he said the words that would change my life.

“One million for her.” His voice was just as deep as I’d imagined it would be. His words made my brain stall. Everyone turned to look at him, whispering furiously together. The auctioneer mopped his brow, he seemed to be sweating profusely.

“Excuse me, Mr. Dawson?” he asked.

“I said one million dollars, for the woman on stage,” Jack Dawson repeated, cool as a cucumber, as though he hadn’t just offered to purchase a person.

“To do what with? This isn’t a cattle market, contrary to appearances,” I bit out, my voice spearing across the room and hitting him in the chest. His full lips, lined by some delicious-looking stubble, pulled upwards in a one-sided smirk.

“I’m not sure what use I’d have for a cow at home,” he replied, “but I’ll donate one million dollars to this cause right now, to have dinner with you,” he continued. I blinked at him. I felt hyper-aware of everyone watching. I felt complimented like I never had before. The last date I’d gone on had been a man that my mother had wanted to see me with. For her, this meant we could go on a couple of dates, while she pried up any and all information about him. Usually, the more she found out the less she liked and this one had been no different.

Under Jack Dawson’s warm gaze, I felt desired in a way I hadn’t before. I was reasonably sure he had no idea who I was, which only made it more tempting. I don’t remember the last time I went out with someone I didn’t suspect was angling for a shot at the family fortune. Not that Jack Dawson would need Winter money, he had more than enough of his own. Despite that impressive fortune, my mother would hate him. She would hate this display and find it vulgar and attention-seeking. No amount of freshly minted millions would render this acceptable to Emily Winter.

“Dinner for one million dollars?” I repeated critically. Jack shrugged, rolling those huge shoulders, covered in a bespoke suit.

“The amount is immaterial. Shall we say two?” he offered, cocking an eyebrow at me. Daring me.

“That’s insane,” I told him, “but it’s a good cause, so if you can pay it, I’ll do it,” I said.

“Oh honey, I can pay it,” Jack Dawson said, with a smile that made me suddenly aware of my entire body. How I was standing, the way I held my arms… everything felt touched by that grin.

“Fine, for two million,” I said, grabbing the gavel from the slack-jawed auctioneer, and banging it. “Sold.”

* * *

Jack

“Mr. Dawson! What made you bid on the model and not the jewelry?” Questions flooded me as I left the auction house. The paps weren’t able to get close to me, given the muscle I employed to ensure they didn’t, but it didn’t stop their insistent voices from reaching me.

If I’d thought my little jewelry model interesting before, that was nothing compared to how I felt now. The way she had negotiated me up in price, and caused quite the scandal had been amusing.

I reached the car and got in.

“Wait for Miss Winter at the doors,” I told Sawyer, head of my security team. I unbuttoned my coat, counting down the minutes until I could take off the suit and tie.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw the numerous missed calls from my publicist.

It rang again as I looked at it.

“Rachel,” I said, as a greeting, already expecting a blistering tirade about the scene I’d caused.

“Hi Jack, how’s it going? Bought any people recently?” Rachel snapped over the line. There were plenty of billionaires who would never put up with the cheek I did from my closest staff, but at this point, they were more family than employees. Anyway, I don’t think people do the best work when they are tiptoeing around egos.

“Just the one, I’ll let you know if there’s to be more,” I said with amusement at Rachel’s sharp exhale over the line. This was her new thing, yoga for stress management. So far, she had snapped two stretching bands in half and thrown a yoga mat out the window. Rachel wasn’t programmed for relaxation. She thrived on stress, just like I did.

“Of all the people to make such a scene over… a Winter? What do you think the press will make of the competition angle?” Rachel asked. Edward Winter, Clara’s father, had a dinosaur-like company that was on the verge of going under. My investors and I were looking at buying it off and breaking it apart.

“There is no competition, or if there was, he lost,” I said arrogantly, as I watched Sawyer moving toward the car in a cloud of flashes, with Clara’s diminutive figure hidden at his side. “That’s business and this isn’t. I don’t mix the two. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have something personal to get to,” I said and hung up without waiting to hear her curses.

The door opened, and Clara Winter slid in on a sea of exotic perfume and honey blonde hair. My body tightened immediately. She pushed her hair back from her face and seemed to take a moment to catch her breath, before looking up and meeting my eyes. It was a visceral reaction, the punch to the gut I felt when pinned with that amber stare.

“Wow, the paps love you,” she said with an elegantly cultured voice, one that told of private finishing schools and the very best education money could afford. She really was the most stunning woman I’d ever seen. “That must be…” she trailed off, looking out the tinted window at the crowd outside the car, just as the driver pulled out into the evening New York traffic, on my instruction to circle the block. “-terrible,” she finished and gave me a smile that I had to clear my throat to get over.

“It is. I’m not one for the spotlight,” I told her.

“Yeah, I guessed that. Jack Dawson, likes money, hates people, right?” She said. I shrugged, my eyes watching her every move, as she pulled a bottle of water from her bag and took a sip. Her long, elegant throat bobbed as she swallowed.

“How about you?” I wondered how she would answer that. The Winters were infamous for being that particular set of high society who abhorred drama and gossip and did their best to remain out of tabloids. I didn’t think her family was going to like the headlines tomorrow when the auction scandal was bound to be featured. It only made her acceptance more intriguing. “How do you feel about the spotlight, being a model?” I bated her. It was a test, of course, I wanted to know what she was going to say about her family. She gave me a long stare and then crossed her arms over her chest.

“Are you going to pretend that you don’t know who I am?” she asked in a cool tone.

“Should I?”

“What would be the point? I might never have met you, but I know off you, and the same goes for you,” she said tiredly, sinking back against the seat.

“Yes, with great money, comes a whole host of people who know you, while you’ve never even met. The insane tragedy of being immensely recognizable and yet-,” I trailed off, unsure how honestly to finish that sentence.

“-As lonely as can be?” Clara finished, stunning me into silence. I looked at her, really looked at her. Under the glam and polish, and the rigorous good manners, there sat a real woman who had caught my attention across a packed room, without a word. Loneliness. That great burden affected the poor and the rich alike. The feeling that all the money in the world couldn’t erase. I felt a bond that was more than lust string between us, silently, in that world that we made for a moment, just the two of us. Two people who knew exactly what the pain of being truly alone felt like. Misunderstood, isolated, beaten down, put on a pedestal, it was all loneliness when all was said and done, and it was crushing. I could be lonely in a room filled with a hundred people, and I had the sudden, immediate understanding that Clara Winter knew exactly how that felt.

It was intimate, that sudden understanding between us. As though the words were spoken, was how our alikeness sounded between us. After a moment, Clara broke my gaze, and that soft look hardened on her face again, hiding her feelings.

“You know, we don’t have to have the dinner.” She said briskly, trying to put that startling connection that had just forged between us back in the box. “We can just say we did.” She said.

“Straight back to my place then? It’s direct, but I like confidence in a woman,” I teased her. I wouldn’t let her put her attraction, emotional or physical, out of her mind so easily. A bright flush blossomed over her neck and cheeks. I had the sudden image of seeing that pretty pink color on the rest of her skin and rubbing my lips across her embarrassment and desire.

“That is not what I meant,” she muttered and looked vaguely shocked by my crude teasing. It suddenly struck me that Clara Winter had never been propositioned that way. She was young, and not only that, knowing of her family, she had no doubt been sheltered beyond belief growing up. It shouldn’t make me as hard as it did. I was too old and jaded for a girl so sweetly innocent, but I can’t deny it only made me want her more.

“No need to be embarrassed, we are both adults.”

“I don’t sleep with men I just met,” she stated coolly, but her icy demeanor was betrayed by the look in her eyes, darting to the side and evading mine. She was lying about something or hiding something. I intended to find out what. Clara Winter was getting more and more interesting by the moment.

“In that case, why are you offering to skip dinner?” I teased her. Her amber eyes shot to mine, and her mouth opened to object until she saw my expression.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said stiffly.

“Relax, sweetheart, I’m just playing with you. Doesn’t anyone ever play with you?” I asked her, and somehow the last part sounded dirty as hell. As if every filthy thought I was having about her was suddenly being broadcast with a loudspeaker.

“No, I’m not a kid,” Clara settled for saying. She leaned back against the seat and crossed her legs. She had knockout legs.

“I am well aware, honey, believe me.” I told her, “and those aren’t the kind of games I’m talking about,” I continued. “So, when are you free for our two million dollar date?” I asked her. She blinked at me.

“Date?” her voice rose on the word.

“Date, what else would it be?” I asked, settling my arm across the back of the seat, which brought my fingers close to her loose ribbons of hair.

“I certainly don’t know. A PR stunt?” she suggested.

“Considering how annoyed my PR person is, I’m sure she’d disagree,” I grinned. Clara fidgeted. I was making her nervous, somehow. Or maybe it was the idea of the date.

“I bid on you, Clara Winter, because I wanted to get to know you better,” I said quietly. She swallowed hard, a slight crack in her polished veneer.

“Why?” she almost whispered. There was a vulnerability beneath her words that drew me in.

“Why not? You interest me.” It was the most I felt I could say not to scare her off. Telling her that she felt like the partner to my lonely soul felt a tad dramatic at this point, even if I felt it. I was an impulsive, passionate kind of guy. I wanted something, I went for it, all in, balls to the wall, don’t stop until you succeed. I’d never turned the ruthless tactics on a woman before, but then, I’d never felt drawn to a woman as I felt drawn to Clara.

“You don’t know me.” Clara challenged.

“Hence the date,” I continued. She held my gaze a long moment, before she looked away, shoving a hand through her hair again. A nervous gesture.

“Fine, call it a date if you want, but you should know. Nothing can happen between us,” she said stiffly, as she checked her watch and frowned. I felt that tiny slither of fun she was having slip away, and whatever was weighing on her shoulders settle back down like a mantle.

“Why? Because your mother would hate me?” I guessed. The deepening color in her cheeks and the tight line of her mouth confirmed that for me. “Let me tell you something, honey. I couldn’t care less about your mother. I couldn’t care less about your father, or PR or your family’s reputation, or my own, come to that,” I told her. She was looking at me with a rapt expression. I leaned in, and couldn’t help touching that plush velvet skin on her neck, just above the point where her pulse was beating rapidly. That cool fa?ade she adopted betrayed by a tell. “When I want something, I don’t stop until I get it, and I don’t let anyone get in my way,” I told her.

“Is that a threat?” She attempted in a light tone, but the way her eyes were sticking to me, and the deeply buried longing within called to me.

“It’s a promise.”