The Midsummer Auction

by Pia Tremayne

  “You should have told me you were a…that it would be your first time,” he said.

  “Why?” she asked, her eyes on the dancing flames. “What difference does it make?” She was determined to play it cool, to not let him guess how happy it made her that he had noticed after all.

  “It makes a difference to me,” he said tersely. “This isn’t a game for virgins.”

  “Why?”

  “Because they tend to be young and idealistic, and this isn’t a romantic business.”

  “Well, there has to be a first time sometime,” she said, attempting to sound worldly.

  “I agree completely, but isn’t it supposed to be with someone you care for or who cares for you?”

  Meaning that he didn’t? She felt a suspicious pricking around her nose and took a sip of sherry. She was saved by Hodgett appearing suddenly in the doorway. Anthony immediately rose from the sofa.

  “Shall we?” he said to Nicola. He followed her into the dining room, studying her slender figure and the seductive inch of golden skin that the halter top had been designed to reveal. He fantasized briefly about loosening her top, pulling her against him, and letting his hands roam over her perfect breasts, just like he had wanted to do when she entered the dining room a few minutes ago. He had almost dropped the bloody bottle of sherry. So back or front, when it came to her, he didn’t stand a chance.

  They ate, chatting sporadically. To head off any further discussion of her unpreparedness for sex— of her unsuitability for the game, period—she asked him about the history of the house. It was Gothic contemporary, he told her, keeping a perfectly straight face.

  “What does that mean?” she challenged him.

  “It means that the main house was built a very long time ago but various owners since then have added on various bits and pieces. One American even added a turret because he always wanted to live in a castle.”

  “How long have you owned it?”

  “Not all that long. My parents left it to me.”

  “Who takes care of the place?” She wanted to know when he said that there were thirty-four rooms. “Surely Hodgett can’t look after all this?”

  “He runs the place. He and his wife have their own home in the village, but he comes in every day to keep an eye on things. I think he’s so used to it—the manor was home to him in the old days—he probably wouldn’t know what else to do with himself. He still has a room on the ground floor for his personal use. I’m out of the country a fair bit on business, but when I’m here or have people over his wife comes in to do light housekeeping and help prepare meals. She pays some girls from the village to come in when she needs help. A cleaning service comes in about twice a month to keep the dust at bay.”

  “It must be lonely, being so isolated, so far from civilization,” she observed.

  “I like it here. I guess I’ll hang on to it. There’s no reason why I’d want to give it up,” he replied briefly. “When I have to be in London it’s nice knowing I’m less than two hours’ drive from here if I feel like coming back. Civilization isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he added somewhat caustically.

  “Why does Hodgett call you Sir Anthony?” she asked. “Have you been knighted?”

  “Yes,” he replied, looking a trifle cynical. “Somewhere along the line somebody steered the poor old Queen wrong.”

  “Well, you must have done something to justify it,” she persisted.

  “No more than a lot of other people. I don’t like talking about it, but I can’t seem to get Hodgett to stop.” He looked so uncomfortable she decided to let it drop.

  After they had eaten, Hodgett came in to remove the dishes.

  “We’ll just sit here for a while,” Anthony told Hodgett in response to the butler’s question as to whether he should light the fire in the study. “You can take off when you’re done. And please tell Mrs. Hodgett that the meal was excellent as usual.”

  “Thank you, sir. She’ll be pleased to hear that.” He placed a silver tray with a bottle of brandy and two snifters on the table next to Anthony and went out.

  Anthony got up, took off his jacket, and flung it on one of the chairs. Then he loosened his tie and sat down again. Nicola watched him uneasily, her sense of security beginning to evaporate. Once again, he had returned to looking moody, unpredictable. She sensed that something was about to happen, but what?

  He poured brandy into the two glasses and slid one over to her. He picked up the other one, took a sip, and sat back in his chair, watching her thoughtfully.

  “So, Nicola,” he said at last, “you enjoy playing games.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “As well as the next person,” she replied with spirit.

  “Oh really. I’m pleased to hear that, because I’ve thought of a game that you and I should play tonight. Are you interested?”

  “If the stakes are high enough and I’m not completely disadvantaged.”

  “Would you consider sixty-three thousand pounds high enough?” His eyes pierced her.

  “With such high stakes, the game must be loaded in your favor, then.”

  “Not so. As a matter of fact, it’s a very fair wager. It doesn’t call for any particular skill, so you and I stand an equal chance of winning. So let’s do it. If you win, you get the money. Up front,” he amended. His voice had a slight edge to it.

  “If I win, I walk away with sixty-three thousand pounds in one shot, up front?” Her share of his bid.

  “Exactly.”

  She couldn’t have heard right. He was giving her a chance to walk away with sixty-three thousand pounds, in cash, tonight? Her head swam with the thought of what that would mean. She would be able to pay off the whole debt, interest and all, in one shot, and the land would be hers and Em’s, free and clear until she found someone willing to invest in her dream of becoming a Blue Mountain coffee producer. There had to be a catch.

  “And if I lose,” she asked, quaking inside.

  “You’re out of the game, with nothing, starting tomorrow morning.”

  If she lost, she would lose big. Not just the money, which she desperately wanted, but him, because in the core of her, despite the torture of his indifference right after he had finished setting her body on fire, she suddenly couldn’t imagine what it would be like to never see him again, never feel his hands, his mouth, his teeth, his tongue, his skin, all of him, inside and outside all of her. But wasn’t it the truth that one way or the other, whether she won or lost, she would lose him because he wanted her gone? The fact that he had proposed a wager that could immediately terminate the game was proof of that because either way, win or lose, he was deleting her from his life. She might as well try for the money. Someday, she’d forget about him and how he could make her feel.

  “You’re on,” she declared with an enthusiasm that concealed how sick at heart she felt.

  “Not so fast,” he said. “I have one condition. If you lose, no tricks.”

  “Fine,” she said nonchalantly. “So what’s the game?”

  “As I said, it’s simple. A coin toss, two out of three. Now, heads or tails?” he asked, taking a coin out of his pocket.

  “Heads,” she said. He flipped the coin into the air and slapped it down on the table. Heads!

  The second flip came down tails.

  She held her breath as he flipped the coin for the last time and trapped it on the table under his hand. He lifted his hand. Tails!

  “You lose,” he said and pocketed the coin.

  The blood drained from her face. She pushed back her chair and stood up. Her legs felt unsteady. She was out of the game, with nothing.

  He looked at her inquiringly. “Where are you going?”

  “To my room,” she replied dully. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

  “You’re forgetting,” he said, “you’re not out of the game until tomorrow. Tonight, you still belong to me.”

  He poured some more brandy into her glass.

  �
�Drink up,” he said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She sat again, her hand shaking as she picked up her glass and held it to her mouth. Besides the disaster of losing the money, she felt clammy with apprehension. Now there was no reason at all for him to hold back because no matter what he did to her tonight, tomorrow she would be history. That was why he had made sure the wager wouldn’t terminate the game until tomorrow morning. Whatever happened tonight, she would have to live with it, in silence, because even if she were at liberty to complain, which she wasn’t, who would take her seriously?

  He regarded her silently, noting her pallor. It was obvious that losing the coin toss, losing the money, had devastated her. She wanted it so desperately she had agreed to the wager, gambling the whole shot for the chance of having it all at once, tonight, rather than earn it tediously from him, month by month. And she would have walked away from him tomorrow without a qualm. By a process of deduction, that must mean that she wasn’t in it for sexual excitement but solely for the money. Where it came from, or from whom, was irrelevant. Sex, the game, was simply the means to her end. And yet, despite knowing that, he had no intention of giving her up. She was the only one who could do it for him, and with every fiber of his being, he still wanted her.

  Alone in his bedroom last night, after leaving her, the idea of her having sex with him for money had suddenly begun to bother him to the point where he would have willingly just given her the money up front, to see whether she would still stay with him. For all he knew she might have stayed out of gratitude, but he would never know for sure. He didn’t want her gratitude, so he had decided to give her a chance to compete, to win fair and square, so she wouldn’t have to feel obliged to stay, unless she really wanted to. In his heart he hoped she would win and choose to stay although, even if she lost, he had every intention of tracking her down. There was just no way he could let her walk out of his life for good.

  She had lost, and tomorrow, as much as he dreaded it, he would have to let her go, for a while at least, until he found out more about her, why she needed money so desperately, but not until tomorrow. The thought of one more night with her flashed through him like quicksilver.

  She swallowed the last of her brandy. It spiraled down into the center of her belly, shooting warmth in all directions. It bolstered her courage a little. “Are we going to be here much longer?” she asked. She covered a fake yawn delicately with her hand.

  “As long as it takes me to decide what I want from you tonight,” he replied. He picked up the bottle of brandy and poured some more into his glass. He gestured toward her with the bottle questioningly. She shook her head, and he returned it to the tray. He picked up his glass and, throwing his head back, tossed the brandy down his throat.

  He got to his feet, walked around to her side of the table, and stood behind her. Tension clawed her stomach. He took her head in both hands and pressed lightly inward, as though his intention was to crush her skull with his bare hands. Then he began to massage her scalp, working his fingers in little circles over her temples, her hairline, and the crown of her head, and she broke out in goose bumps as she began to tingle with awareness of him and the power of his touch over her.

  With a gentle gesture, he tilted her head and, pushing her hair away, bent down and gave the side of her neck a playful bite.

  “I could eat you, Nicola,” he murmured. He pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, bit gently, and sucked the delicate reddened skin into his mouth. A quiver shimmied through her as he moved downward, nudging the fabric of her halter aside to press his mouth hotly against her soft flesh.

  Her eyes closed, she clenched the arms of her chair, willing herself not to reach out and clasp his head to her breast. His hair tickled her flesh teasingly, and she could barely stop herself from burying her face in its dark wavy mass. As he swept his tongue over her nipple the effort of denying her every instinct made her head jerk backward and then suddenly forward, showering her hair down over his head and face and ensnaring him in its silky tendrils.

  He experienced a moment of pure transcendence, of suffocating on his own attempt to absorb every last drop of the essence of this woman, and suddenly it was too much. Summoning up willpower, from where he absolutely had no idea, he tore himself away from her with an exclamation and stood over her, breathing hard and staring down at the top of her bent head. He was so aroused it was close to unbearable. He struggled with a powerful urge to pull her out of her chair, throw her down on the floor, and fuck her into next week. Instead, he stalked back to his chair and flung himself into it, knowing that although he had won the toss, he had lost the game, because no matter what she did or didn’t do, he craved her.

  She was aware that he had become extremely aroused, just as she had. The touch of his mouth left her wracked with desire, with wanting to feel him inside her again, hot and hard. But she had forced herself to hold back, not surrender, even though she was in bits with wanting. She wasn’t on the pill and if she hadn’t been caught, if she wasn’t already pregnant, wouldn’t it be incredibly stupid to tempt fate and take that risk again? And what was the point anyway? In a few hours it would be over and being in his arms one last time would only make it harder to leave.

  She looked at him. He was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed. He was obviously tense. Was he angry, or disappointed with her response, or both? He didn’t love her, but he had wanted one more night with her. At that thought, a little dart of excitement pierced her like an artful Cupid’s arrow, and lust for his touch coursed through her like a sweet and powerful drug, overcoming caution. One more night with him, her body melting under his touch, inside and outside, one last time—oh yes! Emotionally, she would pay a high price for that one more night in his arms, forever yearning, hungering for his touch, internally parched. But what difference would it make? She was already dying inside anyway.

  She stood up, walked over to him and, in one fluid movement, lifted her skirt, straddled him, and sat on his lap. His hands came up instinctively and tightened on her arms, as though he was undecided whether to pull her closer or push her away.

  “What are you up to?” he asked. His voice was low-pitched, almost a growl.

  “Giving you what you’re entitled to,” she said, “and returning last night’s favor. And by the way, you were right. The victory was all mine, easily won and a complete pleasure.” She grasped his arms above the elbows and pushed them away, forcing him to let her go. She regarded him steadily for a long moment, looking into his unreadable eyes, then leaned forward and pressed her lips to his forehead and on either side of his mouth. A muscle twitched at his temple.

  She pulled off his tie and dropped it on the floor, then began unbuttoning his shirt. She felt him quiver, and she palmed the bulge in his trousers that had quickly developed, giving it a gentle rub. She unbuckled his belt and eased the shirt away. He sat up, making it easier for her to pull it off entirely. She raked her fingers through the vibrant curly hair on his chest while she massaged his nipples to hard peaks with her thumbs.

  Sensitivity to her touch splintered through him and he caught her hands in his, seeking a momentary respite. Refusing to be constrained she raised their joined hands and braced them against his shoulders, then bent down and licked his nipple. He inhaled sharply, an audible whoosh. Mercilessly, she began to play with his nipples, alternating the hard little stones under her tongue with an unrestrained kind of pleasure. He gripped the back of her head and she sensed he was near the limit of his endurance.

  A wrench of desire yanked his gut. She was toying with him, reducing him to pure sensation, blotting out the absurd, the ridiculous, the contrary notion that he minded the fact that, virgin or not, she was obviously skilled at this, that he resented how she might have acquired those skills. Right now, he couldn’t have cared less about that, he only knew that he wanted what she had to give, was desperate for it. Reaching behind her, he tugged the bow of her halter and as it fell away from her, lowered his head t
o suck her breasts as he had wanted to do for the last two hours. She grabbed him by the hair, arched back and pulled his head up.

  “No,” she whispered. “I owe you a favor.”

  She massaged his chest, glorying in the feel of the hard pectoral muscles before tracing the path of hair that disappeared below his waist. She unzipped his trousers, reached in, curled her fingers around his stiff cock, and held on it to as it sprang rampantly out of confinement. He burned to bury it deep within her. Swiftly, he undid the tie of her wraparound skirt and pulled it free. As he expected she was completely naked and the desire to feel her, to touch her intimately sent his pulse into orbit.. Almost of its own accord his hand descended between her legs and he inserted his fingers inside her cleft. As he expected, she was warm and wet and ready and he was immediately overwhelmed with the need to taste her on his tongue. But Nicola was too quick for him. As though sensing his intent, she slipped quickly off his lap and without loosening her hold on his rigid erection, fell to her knees in front of him.

  Her fantasies aside, she had never really seen a penis up close before and looking at his now, she thought it was beautiful. She caressed it, pushing back the foreskin to examine it and deciding she loved how it was made, the deep indentation in its delicate circumcised head. Succumbing to a primal urge she leaned forward and gave it a tentative, experimental lick. It felt nice. Emboldened, she explored the ridge with her tongue then ran it along the entire length of him, back and forth, until it was bathed in her saliva. Then carefully, so her teeth wouldn’t hurt him, she rounded her lips and sucked it into her mouth, savoring the taste of him with her tongue as she worked the bare tender skin covering the shaft back and forth with her hand. Her expertise developing by leaps and bounds, she toyed with the delicate sacs, carefully rolling the little balls inside because they felt so vulnerable between her fingers.

  It was the most exquisite sensation he had ever experienced. It left him helpless and at the same time, possessed of manic strength that made him want to thrust powerfully into that mouth that enclosed him like a heated womb. Instinct told him not to, to hold back, to let her take as much of him in as she wanted. His heart thundering, he stroked her head, groaning as she sucked and swirled her tongue, massaged him busily, up and down and around the tender head, treating it to sweetly sustained licks, licking away the silvery drops that his pleasured cock had wept in gratitude.