“I don’t search for women to sell their virginity, or bully them into it, Mr. Taylor,” she snapped, no doubt emphasizing his surname to put him in his place. “They come to me and do it because they want better lives. They make enough money to go to college, pay off their debts, and build a life for themselves.”
“Sounds so altruistic,” he said, sarcasm lacing his voice before he could stop himself.
“They could lose their virginity to the boy next door or the high school sweetheart who’ll turn out to be an alcoholic prick ten years later. Or they can be in charge of their lives and leverage their coveted hymen.”
“That’s your style. No twisting arms?”
“Never. Will I be persuasive when I try to sell the idea to the man we choose? Yes. But I’d never waste my time with someone who’s not cut out for this or who double guesses the concept. Gives me more work down the line.”
He finished his drink, pouring some more immediately after. Was this part of her spiel, or did she really not act in a dishonest way to conduct her business? Sooner or later, he’d find out—and he’d have to deal with the consequences.
…
Alexa chugged the rest of the wine, enjoying every drop of the lush drink. “You know, I can’t shake the feeling that you don’t approve of what I do. Not that I need your approval, but how can you do business with me if you’re so conflicted about it?” Her stomach curled, the rush from the alcohol still stirring her blood. If this was a joke to him, he should tell her now. She had no time to waste.
During dinner, he’d asked her questions, but a pang of accusation or veiled criticism lurked in the air like puffs of cigar smoke. It was like he was trying very hard to hide his real opinion.
He tilted his head to the side, his expression growing more serious. “I’m asking you questions because I need to know what to tell people. I’ll come across people who love the idea and some who hate it—and I need your level of knowledge to deal with them.”
She played with the edge of the empty wineglass, but when he lifted the bottle to pour some more, she withdrew her glass. She didn’t need to feel any looser around this man. “All right.”
“I apologize for making you feel uncomfortable,” he said, a gleam of honesty flickering in his eyes.
“It’s okay. Sometimes I’m too defensive.”
“You can be yourself around me, Alexa,” he said in a dangerously genuine voice.
She drew in a breath, and when she let it out, a lump formed in her throat. An agony built inside, welling within her, filling and emptying her at the same time. You can be yourself around me. His words echoed in her ears, and tears stung behind her eyelids. When had been the last time she’d been herself with anyone? Hell, what was she really like? The questions mounted in her mind, and she blinked back the tears, clearing her throat and yanking her gaze from his.
She surged to her feet without much finesse. “Sorry. I’m not feeling well. I’m going to bed early.”
He stood immediately, the legs of the chair screeching on the hardwood floor. “Alexa—”
“Good night,” she said in a clipped tone, without looking back, and scurried to the second floor and into her bedroom. Within a matter of seconds, she closed the door behind her, expecting to feel an oasis of solitude.
She scanned the guest room, then peeled off her clothes and changed into her nightgown. Running. She’d been running for so long. She’d run after she’d finally fought her stepfather back and told him he’d visit her room no more. She’d run after the fire that had put an end to her mother’s life. She’d heard her stepfather had gone to jail, but returning home would have meant reliving all the pain, all those moments when she’d been weak and let herself be touched, let herself be branded by that monster.
So she’d never gone back, choosing to remain off the grid.
She wiped off her makeup, carefully, yet her fingers trembled as she held the cotton and the removal lotion. Am I still running? She’d thought by leaving her home she’d be free, but her stepfather still remained in her life. Didn’t he?
She looked at herself in the mirror, and her stomach clenched when she found the scared fifteen-year-old still living inside her. She washed her face, then patted it dry with the towel.
What a fool she’d been—to think she’d been so smart to avoid men, avoid relationships, when a simple chat with someone she was interested in panicked her. I allow this to keep happening.
Pacing the floor, she thought and rethought her strategy. A sheen of sweat slicked her forehead, her heart beating in staccato. She regarded the big bed, then the door. His room was next to hers, and if she kept walking in circles, he’d hear her. She’d heard when he’d come up to his room minutes prior. She picked up a brush and ran it down her hair, the endless ritual she did every night before going to bed. Alone. Always alone.
A little thrill of surprise surged through her. Maybe not tonight. Why wasn’t she allowed to share her bed with a guy who clearly had a lot of experience? He’d made it obvious he wanted to sleep with her. Most likely after this auction she wouldn’t see him again. He’d return to Texas, no matter what he said, and she could retire, leave the country, and start anew abroad. She’d pass her auction business on to someone else. Maybe Jackie could run it. She had the experience and the background to continue on without her.
Alexa set the brush on the dresser, then, without worrying about slipping on a robe, she smoothed her hands over her silver nightgown and marched out of her room. Each step she took toward his bedroom, the more her resolution solidified.
Squaring her shoulders, she knocked on his door.
Once.
Twice.
When a shirtless Brooks opened the door, her breath caught in her throat.
Holy shit. He still had on the pants from dinner, but that was it. She gazed at his eyes gleaming with interest and surprise. When she looked down his body, her nipples tightened against the flimsy silky fabric of her gown. The square broad shoulders led to a wide chest, where muscles multiplied, and a sinful patch of hair dusted its way down his pants.
“How can I help you, Madam?” he teased her, his voice smoother than honey.
She brought her attention to his face again. “I wanted to apologize for leaving so abruptly.”
“No problem.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “You’re a good guy, and I haven’t met many men like you in my lifetime.”
He rubbed his chin, and his eyes darkened. “I’m not the good guy you think I am.”
Her heart flipped in her chest. That’s exactly what a good guy would say. She stepped forward, close enough to catch a whiff of his scent, a mix of clean soap with spices from the cologne he’d put on earlier, and to top it off, a blatant masculinity oozed from his every pore. “You don’t even know me and you’ve tried to make me feel comfortable. Thank you.”