by Naima Simone
And so the furious bidding began. Many paddle flicks later, bachelor number one went for seventy thousand dollars to a woman old enough to be his grandmother. For his sake, please let her have bought him for her granddaughter, or even her daughter. Otherwise… Sydney shuddered.
Bachelors two and three raised thirty and forty thousand dollars, respectively—they didn’t offer dinner reservations in Italy—and as number four strolled off the stage after going for a respectable fifty thousand, Sydney zoned back in.
Tyler was bachelor number five. And in case she’d somehow forgotten, her mother’s tap on her thigh was a not-so-subtle reminder.
“And bachelor number five,” the hostess announced seconds before Tyler emerged from the wing. He strode out to the center of the stage and paused, his hands in the pockets of his tuxedo slacks. The stance accentuated the flatness of his stomach and the width of his chest. Maybe it was the spotlight or maybe that he stood on the wide stage alone with nothing to detract from him, but his six-foot frame seemed taller somehow. Under the stark black jacket his shoulders appeared wider…more powerful.
She shifted her gaze to his masked face. Tyler Reinhold was a handsome man, with his elegant, patrician features. Yet in the year they’d been dating, he’d never incited this vulnerable flicker of heat that danced in her belly like a candle’s flame. His kisses and his touch were pleasant. But the knot currently twisting her gut could not be labeled…pleasant. Uncomfortable. Confusing. Hot.
But no, not pleasant.
A sliver of panic slipped under her ribs like the pointy tip of a stiletto. No. She was comfortable with their relationship. Comfortable with camaraderie rather than passion. She glanced in the mirror every morning—she was very much aware she could never be called a stunning beauty. Very much aware her family name and connections were as much a lure as her passably pretty looks. Most unions in their circle were more merger than marriage, anyway. And she preferred the cold but companionable alliance.
Especially since she could too vividly recall her mother’s devastation after discovering affair after affair, until she’d finally evolved into a living mannequin who’d caulked off her heart against her husband’s blatant infidelities.
No passion. No expectation of a grand, fiery love.
No pain.
For an insane moment, Sydney considered hiding the bidding paddle under her chair.
“Two little-known facts about bachelor number five are he played center on his high school basketball team and was cast as Bill Sikes in the drama club’s production of Oliver!” A wave of laughter followed the revelation, and it earned a chuckle from Sydney. Hmm. She hadn’t known those surprising—and oddly charming details—about Tyler. “Eventually, he discovered he was much more coordinated and talented in the boardroom rather than on the court or stage. The woman who eventually becomes his leading lady will be intelligent, confident, and able to go toe-to-toe with him. Particularly since he considers his worst trait to be stubbornness. The lucky lady who ends up on the arm of this bachelor will hop a helicopter ride from Boston to New York, enjoying a Broadway production of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera and a late dinner at a five-star restaurant on the waterfront. Opening bid at ten thousand?”
Funny how she’d learned more intimate details about him in a two-minute spiel than she had in the year they’d been dating. She loved plays, particularly musicals, and had had no idea her fiancé shared the same appreciation. There went that small pool of disturbing warmth again. Shaking it off, she lifted her paddle.
The bidding war didn’t last long. She won him at a suitable fifteen thousand with remarkable ease, almost as if the other women in the room realized who stood behind the mask as well. Silently, she huffed a sigh. Who am I kidding? They were probably very aware of Tyler’s identity and made the prudent decision not to go up against Charlene Blake’s formidable will.
Duty completed, Sydney barely paid attention to the rest of the auction. The evening flew by, and before long, the MC had called all the men back out onto the stage. They filed out in a straight line according to the order they’d appeared.
Sydney straightened in her seat, inexplicably eager to see Tyler’s face. A tiny voice whispered that this sudden, unbidden fascination with her fiancé was unwise…dangerous. Personal experience had taught her the Blake family fortune, reputation, and connections presented more of an allure than she did. “Plain” had been one boyfriend’s description of her that she’d accidently overheard—much to his chagrin and disappointment when shortly thereafter he became her ex-boyfriend. But her father’s position as CEO of the Blake Corporation? Very attractive.
Since then, she’d viewed relationships with a pragmatic eye. She entered in acknowledging they would be based on logic rather than love. A merger rather than a marriage. That’s what she and Tyler had, and she welcomed it.
Still, she leaned forward, her entire focus aimed at bachelor number five.
“Now, what you’ve all been waiting for…” A drum roll vibrated on the air. “Bachelors, please remove your masks!”
As if time slowed to half speed, he removed the disguise. Inch by inch he revealed his strong jaw and chin. The full mouth. The strong jut of his cheekbones…
He pulled the mask free.
The air punched from her lungs, leaving her light-headed. The room spun around her, and for a horrifying moment, she almost pitched forward. At the last second, she gripped the edge of the table, steadying herself and preventing a humiliating tumble out of her chair.
The face carved out of stone that accentuated the carnal curve of the mouth…the dark slashes of eyebrows…the stunning turquoise eyes… They fit like puzzle pieces to form a truly beautiful man.
A man she’d never seen before.
Chapter Three
Round one: Lucas Oliver.
Triumph and satisfaction burned in his chest like a blazing torch as he studied the sudden burst of activity at the table directly in front of the stage. Jason and Charlene Blake leaned toward their daughter, their faces drawn into tight, furious lines. Sydney—the endgame in this evening’s plan—wasn’t looking at her parents, though. Didn’t appear to be paying them any attention at all. Her focus was aimed at the stage. At him. The spotlight slightly blinded him to every nuance of her expression, but still…he felt her gaze on him. Like a light hand on his chest, his face. The touch was delicate, determined. Probing.
Inhaling sharply, he gave himself a mental shake, knocking aside the fanciful thought like an aggravating gnat.
“What the hell just happened?” a furious voice demanded next to him.
Arching an eyebrow, Lucas turned to the tall, dark-haired man to his left, a scowl lowering his eyebrows over his green glare. Tyler Reinhold, the fiancé of Sydney Blake. The man she’d assumed she was bidding on in the auction. But a promise to meet with the mistress of ceremonies’ husband regarding a business proposal had garnered her cooperation in supplying the wrong information to Sydney.
Aiden would’ve called his tactics underhanded. Lucas preferred inventive.
“I’m sorry?” he replied to Tyler’s hiss, feigning ignorance.
Tyler didn’t reply but instead shot Lucas an eat-shit-and-die glance before storming off the stage. Lucas stared after the other man’s retreating, stiff back then returned his gaze to the tableau unfolding on the floor. Sydney rose from the table, and her parents formed a barrier on either side of her. Though from his distance he couldn’t catch the words, the tense figures, lowered heads, as well as the young woman’s calm—too calm—expression telegraphed the verbal attack her parents waged.
And soon, her enraged fiancé would join the melee.
Damn. Turning sharply, he strode toward the wing and the exit at the bottom of the shadowed staircase. He didn’t analyze or question the urgency in his steps or the need to act as her ally.
Even if that ally was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Moments later, he approached the tight-knit group. He c
lenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together so hard he could’ve breathed enamel dust. With mother and father on either side of Sydney and fiancé in front, they looked like a legion of armies surrounding a fortified garrison.
Like she was the enemy.
“Excuse me,” he murmured, smoothly aligning himself next to her. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” Not a chance in hell. “But I wanted to introduce myself.” He smiled, clasping her hand in his and lifting it to his mouth. Ignoring her soft gasp and the dark scowls of the other three people, he brushed his lips over her knuckles and met a pair of lovely hazel eyes. He fought off a frown. Perhaps the loveliest he’d ever seen.
The alluring, fragile scent of honeysuckle wrapped around him. For a moment, her parents, fiancé, and even Lucas’s own fifteen-year-old plans of revenge faded and disappeared into the netherworld outside the intimate circle enclosing him and Sydney Blake.
For six months now, Boston had been his temporary home, so he’d attended many of the same social events as she—had even glimpsed her tall, curvaceous figure and the long, straight fall of gold and brown hair—a vibrant, warm blend that couldn’t be achieved or copied in a beauty salon.
Still, he’d never been this close, had never stood face-to-face with her. Had never detected the spattering of golden freckles dusting her nose and cheekbones that were barely discernible against her honeyed skin. Never glimpsed the sweet dip over her top lip that invited a man’s tongue to sample, to taste. Never noted the sensual, plump fullness of a mouth created for sin and pleasure.
He’d never been near enough to notice the perfect indent of her waist, the beautiful thrust of her breasts against the emerald silk, or the sexy path of her hip. Thank God her mother—who resembled all the other thin-to-the-point-of-emaciated women in the room—hadn’t managed to starve or shame the curves off her.
Slowly straightening, he lowered her hand and even more slowly released it. But he didn’t liberate her from his scrutiny. The longer he stared, the more his perplexity grew. She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Since the age of sixteen, he’d dated—and fucked—many of them. Her mouth was a little too wide, her features just a shade too plain to be labeled beautiful. But the totality of her? The sensual promise in that imperfect but sexual mouth, the gorgeous almond-shaped eyes, the strong facial structure, and the walking-wet-dream body…she was alluring. She was tempting.
She was stunning.
“Lucas Oliver,” Jason Blake greeted him, extending his hand, and though disgust curdled in his stomach, Lucas shook it. He ground his teeth together, silently ordering himself to smile but unable to manage it. When a man devoted his entire existence to greed and the relentless pursuit of more wealth, more assets, more power at the expense of loyalty, friendship, and honor, that evil should show on his face. Should etch his skin. Weather him. But God or fate seemed to favor the wicked. Because Jason Blake appeared as strong and handsome as he did in Lucas’s memories. Though his closely shaven hair was liberally sprinkled with gray, lines barely etched his smooth, brown skin. His shoulders were wide and straight and the bright hazel eyes he’d bequeathed to his daughter were clear and sharp.
Lucas waited, bracing himself for any signs of recognition in the man’s face. But aside from the polite smile, he didn’t catch a flicker of acknowledgment from Jason. Then again, why should he recognize Lucas? The last time they’d encountered one another, Lucas had been a devastated, angry fifteen-year-old, and his last name had been Ellison. The son of Robert Ellison, Jason’s former best friend and business partner, and the man he’d stepped on as carelessly as a pile of shit. Correction—Jason would’ve at least paused and wiped shit from the sole of his Italian loafer. He hadn’t afforded Lucas’s father the same courtesy.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face. I’ve heard so much about Bay Bridge Industries, all of it impressive,” Jason boomed.
Giving the thieving bastard a nod and murmur of thanks that he nearly choked on, Lucas turned to the quiet woman he’d tricked into buying him.
“Since you’ve purchased me”—he flashed her a quick, disarming grin—“I figured I’d better get over here and introduce myself before you demanded a refund. Lucas Oliver.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sydney said, and the slight huskiness reminded him of a voice gone hoarse after hours of crying out in pleasure in the hottest, deepest part of night. His gut clenched in reaction. “Sydney Blake.”
“I’m a little embarrassed, Mr. Oliver,” Jason interrupted, stepping closer to his daughter. Too little, too late, but smart man. “I’d like to apologize on behalf of my daughter. I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding—”
Lucas arched an eyebrow. “Really? I clearly remember Ms. Blake bidding on me. What is the confusion?”
Jason rolled his lips into a flat line, but Lucas read the unease in the gesture. Good. “Mr. Oliver, Sydney is engaged to Mr. Reinhold.” He gestured behind him toward Tyler, who stood silent, his arms crossed. “He—”
“Congratulations,” Lucas interjected smoothly.
Jason blinked, momentarily taken aback. “Well, yes, thank you. But you can see our dilemma.”
Lucas cocked his head. “No, I can’t.”
The other man exhaled a hard, frustrated breath. “Somehow, she bid on the wrong man. My daughter believed you were her fiancé,” he gritted out from between clenched teeth.
Now it was Lucas’s turn to frown, but on the inside he delighted in Jason’s discomfiture and irritation. It won’t be the last time you squirm for me, old man.
“Of course with all of us being masked, you had to realize there was the chance this could happen?” Lucas paused, allowing a beat to pass between them, waiting to see if Jason would admit to knowing Tyler had been assigned a certain number. Or so they’d believed.
Jason didn’t confess, but his angry silence spoke volumes. Shouted it. “Yes, we were aware—”
“Good,” Lucas stated flatly. “Because when I agreed to participate in the auction, I made a commitment. One I intend to honor. And I’m sure the person who, in good faith, bid on Tyler expects him to do the same.” Lucas turned to Sydney. “Ms. Blake, I’d like to discuss the arrangement with you about our evening.” He held out his arm, and after a brief hesitation, she slid hers through his. “If you’ll excuse us.”
Not permitting Jason or Tyler an opportunity to object, he escorted her across the room. As they passed a waiter bearing a tray of champagne glasses, he collected two and pressed one into Sydney’s free hand.
“I think you’re going to need it by the time you return to your family,” he said dryly, drawing a chair free of an empty table. Sydney didn’t reply as she lowered to the seat, but she did sip from the flute. And the rim of the glass couldn’t conceal the small smile curling her lips. Why the sight of that faint curve on her mouth warmed him, he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was realizing her parents hadn’t crushed the humor and life out of her yet. Lucas sat across from her.
“I’m sorry you had to walk into that, Mr. Oliver,” she murmured. “My father means well, he just—”
“Doesn’t want his daughter spending an evening with a stranger. More so when that daughter is engaged. He loves you. I understand.” Not that he believed that bullshit for a second. Lucas grasped the reasons behind Jason’s very vocal and enthusiastic support of his daughter’s marriage to Tyler—or rather Tyler’s family—even if Sydney didn’t. Money, power, solidifying financial empires. Sydney’s feelings or happiness probably hadn’t been topping the list when her father considered the match. But familial love tended to blind a person to their loved one’s true natures. “And it’s Lucas.”
Something dark flickered in her stare before her lashes lowered, preventing him from deciphering the flash of emotion. “Yes.”
Nothing more. Just that simple, yet stark, yes. Again, the same surge of protectiveness reared its confusing head, the one that had driven him from the stage to join her in the stand against her family.
He snuffed out the weak emotion before it had time to take root.
“What do you want, Sydney?” He dropped his voice, leaned forward. She blinked, almost as if surprised. As if not many people asked her that question. “I understand why your father objects, and honestly, I don’t give a damn. But if you’d prefer not to go with me tomorrow night, then I’ll accept your decision. From you. For you.”
Not that he would accept a no. He’d come this far, was this close to seeing his plans coming to fruition, and he wouldn’t allow her reluctance to stand in his way. But he sensed pressuring her wouldn’t help him obtain his goal. Not after witnessing the interaction between her and her family. No, he had to take a soft approach with her, gain even a small amount of her trust. Rescuing her from the overbearing presence of her parents and Tyler had been the first step. Letting her think she had an option was another.
“I—” Her gaze shifted to somewhere over his shoulder, a tiny frown creasing her forehead.
“Look at me,” he quietly ordered. With a soft gasp and almost imperceptible jerk of her head, she returned her regard to him. “It’s your choice. Your desire. No one else’s. I want to spend the evening with you, enjoying a Broadway play and getting to know you over dinner. I’d like you to want it, too. Yes or no, Sydney.”
She stared at him, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d pushed too hard. Sydney was an unnerving dichotomy of vulnerability and strength, of sensuality and reserve. Even as she steadily met his eyes with barely there hints of uncertainty flashing in hers, he had no clue what she would decide.
His breath snagged in his throat as he waited for her reply. And he convinced himself it was because his plan hinged on the answer…not because he wanted her to want to spend time with him.
Fuck, he sounded like a girl. Next he would be writing notes asking her out and to check yes, no, or maybe.