Izzy looked around the room, a nice mini-office furnished with a dark oak desk, chairs, and a wet bar. A champagne bottle chilled inside a crystal bowl filled with ice cubes. “Thanks.”
She’d done her research, and only agreed because former auctionees remained safe, sound, and rich after the experience. Hell, she wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Madame Alexa seemed to…care about women in a twisted way. She wasn’t doing much for the feminism cause per se, but at least a few of them got some money from those bad choices, and didn’t have to deal with abusive pimps. They’d opened small businesses or invested the money to pay for college tuition.
With trembling fingers, she reached for the clasp of the necklace and removed it, afraid she’d forget to give it back then be billed for it later. She handed it to Jackie, her palms still clammy. “Please give this to Madame Alexa.”
“Will do. I’ll bring the buyer shortly,” Jackie said, then turned around and closed the door behind her.
Izzy drummed her fingers on the top of the chair. Maybe I should sit. She shook her head, anxious. No. Sitting would give him even more of an upper hand. She smoothed her hand over the corset, wishing she’d thought of picking up the dress and slapping it on. Some extra fabric would be great right now.
Damn it. Anticipation zipped through her body. A part of her wanted to get it over with, while realizing that meant dealing with that alluring man up close. Her pulse spiked at the idea, and she reached for the champagne bottle. With a loud pop, she opened it, and poured some for herself.
She drank it quickly, the chilly, bubbly liquid rolling down her throat and offering some temporary comfort. Flushed, she was about to lift the bottle and get some more when someone knocked on the door. A short and imposing tap just to announce their entry rather than ask for her permission.
I guess the price of my permission was the one mil and five hundred.
She straightened her shoulders, placing her flute on the desk, hand perched at her waist.
He strode inside, and the oxygen disappeared from her lungs. She took a step back, a part of her knowing that man occupied the entire space. A smile formed on his full lips, and she chewed on her lower one.
Holy fuck. Her clit throbbed, awareness making its way down her body. She cleared her throat, wanting to look away from those mesmerizing dark brown eyes. An energy passed between them, crackling in the air.
“I see you started without me,” he said, pointing at the champagne bottle. His voice was rich, deep, and…accented. A shiver raced down her spine. His accent reminded her of the same one belonging to the man who had fooled her stepmother. She’d heard it when they Skyped and would never forget it. So he was African. Could he be from Gwokon?
“I was thirsty. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. I’m good at catching up.” He lifted the bottle from the ice and filled the flute with lipstick print, hers, then his. He gave it to her, and their fingers accidentally brushed. An arrow of lust shot up her arm.
“Where are you from?”
“A country you probably never heard of.”
“Try me.”
“Gwokon.”
She swallowed the throbbing lump forming in her throat. To dispel her reaction, she took the flute to her lips and had a sip. “Never heard of it. Can’t wait to hear all about it though.” Yes! If he was from Gwokon, maybe he could help her find more about what had happened to her stepmother. Of course, she had to be smart about it—no sharing details until she knew him better.
“I’ll do better. I’ll show you,” he said, then he took a swig, his sexy eyes on hers.
Show me? As in, visit his country? Madame Alexa had warned her about the possibility of traveling, but she’d imagined a guy would take her somewhere in the country. Maybe Los Angeles or Miami. But to be able to go to the very place she was saving money to visit? Excitement moved through her. The universe was sending her a clear sign—she’d get what she wanted. Sooner than expected, hopefully. “Yes. I’d love to see it.”
“You’ll see a lot. What’s your name?” He angled his head, and she noticed the cleft on his chin. Dryness expanded in her throat, and the crazy image of her stroking his chin with the tips of her fingers popped into her mind.
“Izzy.”
“Izzy.” The sultry way he pronounced her common name turned it into a ripe, delicious, forbidden fruit. “I’m Nassor.”
Nassor. A common name in his country, from what she’d studied. Gwokon was still a somewhat closed nation, hard to get information on when you didn’t speak the language.
“Nice to meet you.” She stretched out her hand; he lifted it and kissed her knuckles.
A tremor thundered through her, and she disengaged her hand a tad harshly, the temporary lack of oxygen in her brain confusing her.
“No, my dear, the pleasure is all mine,” he said in an intimate, deep voice.
Flecks of silver gleamed in the depths of his eyes, warning her he meant every word. Pleasure. A tingle raced down her spine and she swallowed. She’d been so focused on the selection process and getting the money to avenge her stepmother that she neglected one crucial detail—what happens next?
…
