Chapter 3

Three

Gideon

U nder the teachings of my father, I learned two things early in life.

One: Money doesn't make a man wise or buy him morals on any level. In fact, in most cases, money destroys them. But, I'm not here to serve as some prophet. We all have the right to our own mistakes. In hindsight, I'm sure my father wished he hadn't learned that lesson the hard way because it cost him his life.

Only his mistakes have now become mine to bear.

I smooth the length of my shirt sleeve and fold the snow-white cuff back once and pin it closed with a gold cuff link.

I'm not the type of man to think this world doesn't revolve around the number of digits sitting in a person's bank account either. That would make me foolish, and I'm no one's fool.

The second lesson was the hardest and one my father taught by example. I found you never know the caliber of a man until he wants his true self revealed. A lesson I had to learn in the hardest way possible. The day I discovered the depth of my father's depravities is the day I stopped believing in damn near everything for a long time.

It's because of him I like examining the human mind, seeing what makes people tick. You would be surprised by what goes on in the brain. That bubbly PTA mom isn't as sweet and innocent as you may think with all her smiles and cute little sweaters and matching shoes. Trust me. We all live behind walls and curtains; I know I do.

That is until her . Beautiful, untouchable Rosalee Johnson.

She's made me want to feel again, to trust, and it's hard to break a habit I've harbored for close to twenty years. But, Jesus, help me, she is as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. Creamy skin, bright green eyes that can disarm an army, curvy round hips, and perfect tanned legs I can't help but imagine wrapped around my head.

I've watched her over the last several months since taking over for Cobbs and can't find a flaw anywhere near her. Which scares the shit out of me, honestly. There's something about her that has me wanting to protect her from the world and drop to my knees between her thighs all at once.

And that's only on the outside. I read her term paper on clinical depression last night and never have I seen a woman her age pen a case study so eloquently and in detail as though she's lived it. She's as brilliant as she is beautiful, and that makes my cock stir just as much.

Fuck, what does that make me? A damn pervert is what.

The combination of long silky, dark honey-gold hair, large emerald eyes, and a kind smile have become my weakness, and I'm not sure how to proceed.

As a psychologist in my own right and an occasional professor at UB when the mood strikes, I've heard all the excuses a person can come up with to explain away their poor judgments and bad decisions. It's not big shocker not many like to own up to their actions or examine what drives them to step over a line they should not cross.

Or, crave what they can't have.

And right now I'm bordering on being guilty of the same damn thing. Because when that little black card with gold calligraphy fell from her bag yesterday, I nearly fucking died. The idea of Rosalee, the good girl next door with the perfect smile, walking through the doors of a place like this had my heart stopping cold and my cock hardening into solid steel at the meaning.

I came here with one thought in mind. The beautiful and alluring Rosalee Johnson is to be auctioned off tonight, and like hell any other man will walk off with what belongs to me. I'll purchase her and then promptly put her in a car and send her away from here.

A woman as innocent and inexperienced as Rosalee doesn't belong in a place like this—a club where most people masquerade behind a good cause and think money buys favors and replaces morals.

I straighten my cuff links, making sure they are secure in their tiny openings. A task I've repeated about a hundred times in the last ten minutes as I stand in my private suite at the Lux.

I'm not sure how she came by an invite, but I have my suspicions. A woman willing to take the risk of being auctioned off to a stranger has few options left, and I plan on being there to take her hand when she steps off that stage.

Every day I walk into my class and see her sitting across from me, with a fuck-me smile and her sweet Georgia accent has my dick hard every time she opens her mouth. The thing is, I can't have her. No one would want someone as damaged as me, and I'm not about to cross the lines that would put her in jeopardy of losing her scholarship or worse, mark her as anything less than the angel she is to me.

I'm stronger than to cave for a set of legs and pretty eyes, but there's more to her than that, which is what has my dick craving her and my hands burning to hold her tight. I'm a skilled man with a past that has honed my skills in patience and restraint.

My mind should be on the events of the evening and the dignitaries I have arriving from out of country. I promised to serve as a personal escort of the establishment, but all I can think about is her.

When I returned to Blackthorne, I intended to be here a couple of weeks, check on my investments and the university with my name on it and then return to Europe and not come back for another long stint. Not that I don't like Maine or Blackthorne University, but the bad memories drive me to spend most of my time in other parts of the world.

Rosalee changed that in one afternoon as I watched her pore over books in the campus library. She was like a swan among a flock of sparrows. Delicate and graceful.

I'm still not sure what overcame me, but that same day I announced taking over the psychology department for a short time so I could be near her. I tell myself it's because I want to study her brilliance, but it's more than that and I know it.

I finish situating my cufflinks and start on my bowtie, when my phone rings.

"Blackthorne."

"Sir, I hate to interrupt?—"

"Go ahead, Mr. Russell. I have a few moments before I'm needed," I state flatly.

"Sir, it's about the scholarship fund."

Half the wall of my private suite is a two-way mirror. Right now the lights in my room are dimmed, and I have a perfect view overlooking the main floor of the sex club. Three bells chime, signaling first show of the evening is about to start.

"What about it?" I ask a little impatiently.

Lights on the outer edges of the room dim as a plump, beautiful blonde, collared submissive is led to the middle of the stage between two equally handsome Masters who I know are her husbands. They like to play in front of others, and the club indulges their fantasies.

It's how all these evenings begin. A highly erotic scene aimed at getting everyone hot and horny and then auction off the willing participants to members willing to dish out thousands of dollars all in the name of one charity or some worthy cause or another. What they get in exchange is anything from a wonderful evening in great company or sex. Club rules leave the choice up to those being auctioned as long as consent is established.

I listen to the man on the other end of the phone tell me there's not enough money in the current scholarship program to go around as I watch through the glass.

This makes the fifth auction I've sponsored and hosted this year in name and face only. I never walk away with a prize. But my family's name draws in other wealthy donors all in the name of helping those in need, and that I can't walk away from.

I can only hope it helps to erase the black stain my father left on it before it's my time to stand in front of St. Peter.

"I'll raise the limit to twenty-five million. Funds will be available tomorrow afternoon. I need you to send me the first twenty applicants on the list directly. I want to review them myself."

There's a long silence on the other end. "But sir."

"But nothing, Mr. Russell. Listen and listen carefully. My money, my school, my scholarship all mean my way. I'm not in agreement with the little funding being given to students I personally see in need of the scholarship funds, and I want to know why. I want a review of all scholarships issued in the last five years. It's why my family established this place, Mr. Russell."

That's only half truth. My grandfather established this university nearly seventy years ago, but my father abused it cleaning dirty money. But that's a little-known fact and one I've worked damn hard in burying.

"While you're at it, gather all the information on a current student at Blackthorne. Her name is Rosalee Johnson. I'll be back in my office tomorrow morning. Have all the applicants ready and on my desk by that time."

I hang up before the head of the scholarship board can find his voice. I don't have a problem being the asshole boss and stepping on toes when a job is not done to my level of satisfaction.

A familiar Lux waitress dressed in nothing but black glittery pasties, heels that make her legs look endless and a leather thong strolls in and quietly places a fresh tumbler of whiskey in my hand.

I offer a tight smile of thanks, but my eyes are on the group of women in white robes standing along the back wall waiting to be auctioned off as the ménage sex scene comes to a close. One raven-haired woman, in particular, has my attention.

I won't let another man take her. I don't care if that makes me selfish. I'll purchase her time and then send her home with her cut of the money she came here seeking tonight.

Sara smiles up at me, batting her lashes as she draws her finger across my chest.

"All alone, Mr. Blackthorne? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Another time, sweetheart," I reply, taking her hand from me gently and giving it a squeeze. She gets the hint and withdraws, sashaying her naked ass to the door.

She stops turning back over her shoulder to say, "I'll hold you to that. In the meantime, five minutes for the auction if you'd like to join. I left your mask on the table." She points to a small table in front of a leather sofa that faces the mirror.

"Thank you, Sara."

I down the whiskey, tie on my mask and take my private elevator three floors down to the main floor.

My footfalls sound on polished white marble as I find my usual table in the far corner where the rim of the spotlight doesn't reach. Chandeliers dim overhead.

A delicate woman's voice rings out over the crowd, and all the whisperings and chatter hush into silence.

"Masters and Mistresses, ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a garden of beauties to entertain our senses and our purses. There's someone for everyone's taste and desires I assure you, so let's begin."

As the auctioneer begins, the women to be auctioned off are brought out one by one. The robes are discarded in favor of simple white thongs paired with nipple covers, and deep blue masks which cover half their faces. Swaying hips, ample breasts and beautiful smiles catch the eyes of every man and woman in this room. Though each just as beautiful the next, none hold my attention.

As the evening comes to a close, I stand, thinking I had been wrong about Rosalee coming here this evening, when the auctioneer speaks.

"Normally we only have ten wonderful flowers to auction off, but tonight I have a delicious treat for your eyes. Tonight I present to you a new addition to our garden. Ms. Lily."

There she is. Under the spotlight her eyes glitter like emeralds. Rosalee—Lily tonight—steps onto the stage, and fuck if I don't groan.

All that creamy, tanned skin on display. I hear the rumblings of men in the crowd and I have a number out of my mouth before I think about it.

I go straight for the highest bid ever given in one of these auctions. "Eight thousand."

"Eight and a half," the man who fancies himself a playboy to my right counters with a raise of his bourbon glass.

I could go higher in one swoop and be done with it, but I liked a little challenge.

"Ten," I counter.

"Fifteen thousand," calls a woman in the front row with two men at her side. I tip my glass her way with a smirk. I'm not losing tonight.

"Forty-five thousand." I watch the lovely Rosalee drinking in all the commotion and love the adorable smile on her face. "You know what, make it fifty thousand dollars." Not many will pluck that down for an unknown and I'm counting on it.

I drag my eyes over her curvy body until my gaze hits the blush of her cheeks. Those eyes. Mask or not I will recognize those beauties every day of my life. I can see her nipples harden behind the covers placed over them and the goosebumps climbing her skin, and my dick hardens until I can feel cum wet my pants.

Silence hangs heavy over the room even the auctioneer seems stunned. It takes her a second to absorb the number before she clears her throat. "I have fifty thousand U.S. dollars. Do I hear, fifty-five? No. Going once…twice…SOLD!"