Chapter 3

3

Maisy

Idon’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.

Both. Definitely both.

My mother’s boss just paid ten million dollars to sleep with me.

I can barely wrap my mind around that fact. The fact that my twenty percent cut is going to make me rich at the end of tonight is something I’ll have to think about—to marvel over—later. Right now, I can only stare at Winston Creed in horror. Did he just say…?

The highest bid of the night is consummated in the viewing area.

Where we can all watch.

There’s no way. I won’t live through the humiliation. These men and the lecherous way they stared at me tonight will tax my memory forever. My skin is still crawling, the fear still weaving through my nervous system. To have my first sexual experience in front of them would not only tarnish it forever, but it would traumatize me.

“Yeah,” laughs Jack Lincoln, his eyes hard. “That isn’t going to happen.”

Cool relief coasts into my stomach and I step closer to Jack, recognizing him as my ironic savior. This is a man who pays my mother peanuts to clean his twenty-bedroom, eighteen-bathroom mansion. He’s the reason she can barely afford to put food on the table. The reason I had to take a job cleaning, instead of starting classes at the community college this fall. In our apartment, his name is synonymous with the devil.

When the man in the audience started calling out bids, claiming his client—Jack freaking Lincoln—was on the way, I thought it had to be joke. I’ve never even met Jack. And I definitely, one thousand percent would recall meeting this man. He’s nothing like the bitter old man I’ve been picturing. No, he’s young. Maybe thirty. He’s charismatic and wildly arrogant.

To say he’s good looking would be an understatement, with his wind-whipped black hair, a square jaw and piercing blue eyes. All that abundantly muscled height. If I didn’t know for a fact how poorly he treats my mother, I would call him a romance hero in the flesh, but facts are facts. He’s a romance villain.

He’ll pay to deflower a virgin, but he won’t pay the help a proper salary.

Those priorities tell me all I need to know about him.

However, he is the lesser of two evils here.

And he’s just told Winston Creed that there’s no way he’s collecting on his prize while this roomful of men watch it happen.

“It is going to happen,” Winston says, with deceptive calm. “This club has been meeting for decades and we follow the rules. To the letter. If you’re refusing to have her in the viewing area, I’ll have no choice but to offer her to the second-highest bidder.”

A line jumps in Jack’s cheek. “I wouldn’t suggest you try that.”

If I wasn’t a believer in Stockholm syndrome before, I definitely am now. Jack is paying to have sex with me, yet I’m granting him sainthood for wanting to do it privately. Have I lost my mind? Every man in this room is morally corrupt, including Jack.

So why am I putting my hand in his?

Why am I twining my fingers through his much larger ones and moving into the protective heat of his side? It makes no sense.

When our palms meet, Jack jolts a little, his arrogance slipping. He looks down at our hands, visibly shocked for a number of seconds, before tightening his grip and pulling me closer. I curl into him almost automatically, hiding my face in his chest, and now it’s my turn to be shocked. Since arriving, his attitude has almost been blasé. Yet his heart is stampeding like a pack of wild horses.

I peek up to find him looking down at me. He looks…caught.

Because I’ve discovered his crazy heartbeat?

He clears his throat hard and shifts his attention back to Winston. “I’ll pay more to have it done privately.”

“Bidding is closed,” Winston says, enunciating each word. “And perhaps you should read the room a little better, Mr. Lincoln. Can’t you see they’re salivating to watch you fuck the hot little virgin? It has been a while since we’ve had two young, attractive people in their prime give us a show. Too long.” I turn in Jack’s arms to find Winston gesturing, bringing two men forward.

They have guns.

Jack slowly turns me until he’s using his body as a shield. “What the fuck, Creed?”

“There is a…steep penalty for not following the rules,” Winston purrs. “If you’re not actively participating, then you’re an innocent bystander. A witness with no guilt. And we like everyone here to be nice and guilty, so there’s no fear of you talking to the Feds.”

Through the expensive material of Jack’s suit, I feel his muscles grow taut. An angry vibration sifting inside of him. This is a powerful man who never gets cornered, but we are quite simply that. There is no way out of this, is there?

“I’ll take that check now,” Winston says in a slithering voice.

He knows he has us.

The man who bid on me in Jack’s stead comes forward, removing a checkbook from the inner pocket of his overcoat.

“Make it out for eight million,” Jack instructs him in a voice that could cut diamonds. “I’ll give the girl her cut directly.”

“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 doorwayis 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.

And that laugh. It’s hot smoke. All velvet and curling and deep.

Rusty from disuse.

Jack swallows and pushes off the bed, scanning the room. He leaves me for a few moments, returning with a short glass of something amber colored. “It’s not tequila, but it’ll do the trick.” He holds it to my lips. “Knock it back fast. No one likes the taste at first.”

“Okay.”

His eyes remain on mine as I open my mouth, tip my head back and let him pour the liquor down my throat. It burns, but I let the slide of fire continue until the glass is empty. My eyes water when I swallow, but I manage not to cough.

“Good girl,” Jack rasps, setting the glass down on one of the tables positioned in between the armchairs. “You did that like a pro.”

The liquor tastes terrible, but I have to admit it helped. An enjoyable warmth is walking through my limbs, ridding them of the most jagged peaks of tension. Also, I’m suddenly holding myself to a less strict standard when it comes to ogling his body. I can’t seem to stop tracing those lines that create a V at his hips. What are those called? Am I staring?

“Maisy.” Jack tips my chin up. “Not that I don’t love your eyes on me, but there’s something important we need to get out of the way. Before we’re not alone anymore.”

Gulp. Had I actually forgotten about the upcoming show for a second? “What is it?”

He unhooks his belt and slides it out of the loops, dropping it to the floor. “Before they get here, I want you to get comfortable with my touch. My kiss. I don’t want us having…” His jaw ticks for a few seconds. “I don’t want you having all of your firsts in front of an audience.”

I don’t immediately discard the idea. In fact, I consider it.

Is it possible I’m…not going to mind him touching me so much?

Does that make me shameful?

Sitting on this huge bed in my slip dress with this big, beautiful man in front of me, knowing he paid ten million dollars to sleep with me…I know, I know I shouldn’t have a quickening tickle between my thighs. I know it shouldn’t turn me on to be desired so much, but I’m shocked to find…I’m getting there. In a life of toiling and labor, I’m suddenly a commodity. An object of lust. And it’s a little bit of a rush.

“That makes sense,” I whisper. “Getting used to you…before.”

His expression doesn’t change, but the pulse at the base of his neck starts to fly. “Good, Maisy,” he says thickly, reaching up to slowly trail a fingertip along the slope of my shoulder. “You’ve never had a man touch any part of you before. Have you?”

I swallow. “No.”

Lust brightens his blue eyes to a different shade, tightens the lines around his mouth.

He flicks the strap of my dress off, sending it slinking down my shoulder. And then his open mouth follows the path his finger took, the tip of his tongue searing me, making me gasp. When he reaches my neck, he stops, hissing a breath against my skin. “Fuck. I knew you were going to be delicious, but this is criminal. The innocence is dripping off of you.” His hands slide under my knees. Pulls me to the edge of the bed and steps between my thighs. “Is it dripping out of you, too, angel?”

I can’t answer that.

I’m not experienced enough to feel comfortable giving my secrets, not with words, but my body seems intent on informing Jack that yes, there’s a warm glide of liquid traveling through the folds of my sex. My back arches gently and I bite my lip, allowing my knees to spread just a touch wider. Jack’s breath stutters in response, his hands dragging up my thighs, taking the hem of my dress higher, up to my hips. Digging his fingertips into me there.

“Jesus, you’re a ripe little virgin, aren’t you? Ready to get plucked.” His hot mouth travels up my neck, bathing my ear in labored breaths. “Know you need something but no idea what that something is. Isn’t that right, Maisy?”

“Yes,” I admit, before I can stop myself.

My admission makes him shudder. “Fuck. Me.”

There’s a low pulse between my legs now that I’ve encountered while listening to the steamy scenes of a romance novel, but I’ve never explored it. Never tried to figure out where it could lead in real life. That pulse beats faster when Jack’s hands glide up my ribcage and clutch my breasts, his thumbs strumming my nipples roughly through the thin silk of my dress.

“That feels so good, doesn’t it?” he asks, raking his teeth over my pulse. “Tits like these need a firm hand. They’re teasing little things and we can’t let them think they’re in charge, can we, angel?” He bares his teeth against my ear, his grip tightening hard. “Can’t let them know they make my dick so hard, I could come all over your thighs just thinking about them.”

I moan at those words. Those forbidden, filthy words. They’re not romantic or flowery, like I thought I liked. They’re base and honest and they make my head swim. Make my face turn towards Jack’s, seeking a kiss, even though I don’t know what I’m doing. He meets me halfway, though, as if he’s attuned to me. As if he was just waiting for me to reach the point that I needed the kiss as an outlet for what he’s making me feel with his hands, his lips, his speech.

“Maisy,” he whispers unevenly, breathing hard against my mouth, condensation making our lips slide together sensuously, the slick friction making me think of sex. Of bodies joining, moving together desperately, mating. And that’s how our tongues move. They lap at each other like greedy things, his fingers burying in my hair to tip my head sideways, devouring me with a breathless slant of his lips. “Dear God, this fucking mouth—”

Approaching voices interrupt whatever Jack is going to say.

Jack grits a curse, pressing our foreheads together, his eyes squeezed shut.

It’s the second time he’s made me forget what’s about to happen, but there is no way I can put off the fear any longer. All those men, all of their gluttonous eyes are going to be on me. How am I going to stand it?

“Hey. Look at me.” He tilts my face up. “It’s just you and me the whole time. You and me. There’s no one else here. Okay?”

“I don’t think I can pretend like that.”

“Yes, you can.” He keeps nodding until I nod with him. I can’t look away from his eyes, they’re so intense. So beautiful. They’re courting my trust and I have no option but to hand it over. There’s no alternative if I want to get through this with my emotions intact. “I’m going to touch you in ways that will force you to focus on me. Only me and what we’re doing. I’m going to be right up in your beautiful face the whole time. You’re not going to see anyone else.”

His voice is rife with confidence and I can’t help but believe him.

Jack is going to make it okay.

“Just…” I hear leather groan as men begin to take their seats around the bed. Material is shifted and zippers are brought down. Time’s up. Oh God, I can’t believe what I have to tell him first. What I have to say out loud. “I-I just started on the pill. My mother insisted when I turned eighteen. But it’s only been five days. It’s not effective until a week has passed,” I whisper in Jack’s ear. “Can you…can you make sure you don’t…”

“You’re asking me to pull out? Fuck.” He blows out a breath, his fingers flexing on my hips. “Yeah…I can do that.”

“Promise?”

He nods, starts to say something else—

“Showtime,” Winston calls, dropping into the chair directly to my right.

And the music starts.