Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 21693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 21693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 108(@200wpm)___ 87(@250wpm)___ 72(@300wpm)
God, I needed to clear my thoughts, because I was starting to get hard, my dick digging into the zipper of my tux slacks. I didn’t dare adjust myself and draw attention to the fact, so I prayed like hell my jacket hid my arousal.
I took another step, and another. She hadn’t noticed me yet, but I’d make my presence known soon enough. I had to find out who she was.
But a man in a tuxedo stepped up to her side, and every muscle in my body tightened. I instantly felt jealousy move through me at the sight of him touching her bare elbow. This possessive, aggressive sensation overtook me.
I didn’t want anyone touching her but me.
I took a step toward her and realized it was menacing, threatening. My stance had gone rigid, and I felt the blood rush to my muscles, as if I were about to fight, the adrenaline moving through my veins, my body preparing itself for the inevitable. I didn’t care who saw me act all primal, like a caveman. I wanted them to see the lengths I’d go.
God, I’m losing my fucking mind.
This guy had done nothing but gently grab her elbow, but I wanted to break his hand, the one that he touched her with.
She still had yet to see me, and before I could make my presence known, place some kind of unrealistic claim on a virtual stranger, she was being carted away. My heart started racing in this panicked beat. I just found her again, and here she was leaving.
I started following them, unsure why this need overcame me the way it did, but I was unable to stop it. And then she was taken down a long hallway, the crowd swallowing up the space between us. I lost her again. I didn’t like the feeling that settled within me at that thought.
But one thing was for certain. I was not about to let her go, not until I fully explored this strange and powerful emotion she conjured within me.
Chapter Six
Beatrix
I’d been drinking my third glass of champagne when a man from the auction led me away to join the other women.
And here I sat, elegant and beautiful women surrounding me, waiting for their turn to head on stage and let the highest bidder win.
Each woman was called up to go on stage, and the closer it got to my turn, the more my nervous were starting to take over. I’d only seen Patrice once since arriving, and it was clear she was neck-deep in charity business affairs. She’d been running around almost frantic, making sure everything was organized, where it should be.
I didn’t know how long had passed, maybe minutes, maybe only seconds, but I was ushered up to the front before I knew what was happening. I would be called upon next.
Everything was a haze as the announcer said my name, as someone gently pushed me from behind, so I started moving forward. I stepped onto the stage, forcing myself to take steady, even steps. To go slow. The last thing I wanted was to fall. My heels clacked on the wooden floor, but it wasn’t as loud as my pulse beating in my ears.
The lights shown on me, momentarily blinding me so I wasn’t able to see the audience right away, to see exactly how many people stood below, watching me, judging how much my worth was. I stopped in the center of the stage, unsure how far to go, not even sure where they wanted me. And then I turned my head to the right and saw a man standing at a podium, his tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, his expression stoic, almost clinical.
I reminded myself this was a business affair, that I was the one who made things seem like this was some barbaric act of “selling a female.”
I turned my focus back to the crowd, my vision adjusting more so I could see the many people standing below and watching me. Although I couldn’t really make out their faces because of the angle of the light and the shadows surrounding them, I could imagine what they were saying, wondering why I was up here. I knew I no doubt stuck out like a sore thumb with how anxious I was.
Beatrix Bernard.
Twenty-five years old.
Graduate of Mount Plymouth Community College with an associate’s degree in English.
Enjoys reading in her free time.
The sound of the announcer reading off my stats and credentials, all the stuff they had me write down in a questionnaire they’d given me earlier this week, surrounded me. Mine was so plain in comparison to everyone else’s. Women who went to Ivy League schools, who had awards, major academic merits. They had humanitarian successes under their belts, scholarships, and wealth. And here I was, my only real success being my ability to read a novel in one day if I was really into it.