Her body went rigid, and she turned it at an angle as if she wanted to block him from view. “What? I’d never use force to keep anyone in line. Mr. Taylor, I offer a service. Strippers sell their body, so do sex workers. And neither of them make close to the kind of money that a virgin will under my expertise.”
“What about competitors? Anyone I should know about? Since we’re launching a new edition of your auction, do you foresee some angry opponent breathing down our necks?” he said, choosing to add his link to their venture to smooth out his questions.
She touched her neck, and he didn’t miss the small scar disappearing into her shirt. What did it mean? It looked like it’d been there for a while.
He pointed to it, lifting his chin. “What about this scar?”
She stepped back, looking away. “That question isn’t work related.”
“What happened?”
“Life happened. A son of a bitch happened. Long time ago. But I dealt with it,” she said, her eyes darkening to a piercing cobalt. Specks of silver flashed in her irises with the coldness of cut diamonds.
He swallowed. A strange sensation traveled through him, the type of agony a child felt upon losing a favorite pet. Someone had hurt her, had branded her in the worst way possible, and he wasn’t talking just about her skin. Could whoever the jerk was that had abused her also removed her faith in love?
Perhaps her doing what she did in and of itself made it hard to build committed relationships. He bet her occupation intimidated some men, and perhaps attracted the wrong ones.
Why do I care? He curled his fingers into a ball, and he wished he could punch some sense into himself. Was he falling under her spell? He’d seen her with Logan. Quickly, Logan had been smitten by her beauty, by the attention she’d given him.
Am I acting the same way? Believing her bullshit? A breeze caressed her hair, messing with the tips, and she softened a bit, her facial expression relaxing. Her attraction to him wasn’t fake. Couldn’t be.
He lifted his hand to touch her neck, tracing her scar. The main vein on her neck jumped, but she didn’t retreat. “Wish I could punch the bastard.”
A coy smile formed on her lips, like she didn’t know if he was giving her a compliment or just being nice. “I’ve learned to take care of myself.”
He opened his mouth, but hesitated. Saying something cliché like she’d done such a great job didn’t seem genuine, particularly when he was low-key investigating her for information. A guilt that had no business existing contracted his stomach. What did he expect? To completely hate her during the entire time they spent together? That would make things so much easier. “We should get going. We have a couple more potential auctionees to scout.”
Hours later, Brooks ran his fingers through his damp hair. After a successful meet-and-greet with a couple other young men who could maybe fit the bill, they’d returned to his home. He’d gone to shower while Gina set the table for dinner.
Now, wearing jeans and a white shirt, he went down the stairs to find Alexa looking at his family pictures on the console table in the formal dining room.
“This is a big table,” she said, pointing at the dark oak wooden table. “Do you entertain a lot?”
“I have friends over often, yes,” he said. Though he’d withdrawn somewhat after learning of Pamela’s passing, he still had a couple of buddies he could call for a beer or two. Guys he’d known for a long time and, unlike the business types who always wanted something from him, treated him like one of them.
“Gina is gone for the day. She asked me to let you know,” Alexa said. “She left everything ready.”
She gestured at the nicely put together table with plates set next to each other and candles beside a small vase of flowers. Hmm. His housekeeper couldn’t have been more obvious, but if that helped him get closer to Alexa, he’d take it.
“How can I help?” she asked.
“Just stay there and look pretty. I’ll grab some wine and check the food in the oven.” He’d instructed Gina to prepare dinner for them. He could’ve taken Alexa out, but he figured an intimate evening would be best.
“I’m not good at just looking pretty,” she said, following him into the kitchen.
During the next few moments, they worked alongside in a blissful harmony of a couple who had done this before. He fetched a nice bottle of red wine, and she helped him take the serving dishes to the table. The smell of Gina’s fried chicken filled the air, along with the salad and a variety of sides, including collard greens, cornbread, and gravy.
“I should have asked if you have any dietary restrictions,” he said when they finally sat down and began serving themselves. “Gina wanted to give you a taste of southern cuisine on your first night.”
She grabbed a piece of cornbread. “Restrictions? Are you telling me I should watch my figure and stay clear from this deliciously fattening banquet?”
“Not at all. Though most women I’ve dated would rather eat poison than fried food.”
“How unfortunate.” She finished making her plate and flattened the linen napkin on her lap.
Yes, how unfortunate indeed. What would it be like to date an intriguing woman like Alexa? Not that he was interested. He preferred his women without any ties to virgin auctions. He took a sip of his wine and rocked back in his chair, watching her eat. The easiness from earlier dissipated, and tension thickened in the air with each passing second. He told himself to eat, and managed a few bites, but not stealing glances at her proved too hard.
“So, what’s the next step in the selection process?” he asked, forcing himself to stay on topic.
“You said there’s one more prospect, right?”
“Yes. Very bright and ambitious young guy. He works at a different farm, so we’ll drive there tomorrow.”
“So after we talk to all these guys, we choose one and offer them a deal.”
“All right.” He took another sip of alcohol. “Did you bring the confidentiality agreements?” The document would be beyond handy. He didn’t need his employees worried that their boss would start scouting them for auctions. In fact, if the chosen man had any brains, he wouldn’t tell anyone—and maybe, if Brooks got what he needed from her within the month, the auction wouldn’t even take place.
“Yes, I have them with me. It’ll be critical to have control of the situation.”
“Did you ever have to do much convincing?” he said, thinking of Pamela. Why would a smart woman like her apply to be the main protagonist of a virgin auction? It’s my fault. When they’d had their last disagreement, months after her mother’s untimely death, Pamela had carried a lot of bitterness. He should have understood her when she’d blamed him for her shitty life. She’d been hurt and alone. Instead, he’d played the tough love game and reminded her he’d done all he could for her—offered to pay for her college which she’d dropped out of because she hadn’t felt it was for her. He’d tried to help her, but impulsive as shit, she’d never followed his advice. Still. He’d let their last disagreement linger for too long, and while he’d given her space, she’d made the wrong decision that had cost her life.