The committee bought it. Or perhaps they merely agreed to get Sam off their case so they could get on with their fancy catered lunch in peace and quiet. Regardless, Laureano’s Dance Studio had forthwith been deemed an auction beneficiary.
Chalcey was thrilled, of course. Except when she contemplated the horror of Mrs. Greenwood and her cronies copping an eyeful of a Lambada class full of scantily dressed women shaking their groove thangs and flashing their panties. Not a heckuva lot of refinement or elegance to be found there.
After having been admonished by her mother “Not to let me down” Sam had thrown herself into organizing this event with a vengeance. God only knew how she’d pulled it together so quickly. She’d sent out invitations, had the studio professionally decorated for the evening, and hired waiters to serve drinks and hors d’oeuvres. A stage had even been laboriously carted up the stairs in pieces before being assembled in the studio. This piece of essential equipment was for the auctionees to parade up and down upon to better display their, uh, wares.
There were an awful lot of said wares on display, and not just on the stage. The studio was packed with exquisitely dressed women who practically oozed money and slightly frantic bonhomie. Their male partners, if they’d dared bring them, appeared slightly less enthused, but seemed content to watch their womenfolk drool so long as the food and drink kept coming.
Interspersed amongst the guests were a number of gorgeous young men dressed in all manner of revealing costumes, from Roman gladiator to Tarzan. Even a dashing Fred Astaire, wearing black tie and tails but no shirt. Somehow Sam had convinced these mouthwatering paragons of male perfection to donate their services. Chalcey’s best guess was they were all wannabe models, and Sam had promised to put in a good word for them with step-father number two.
Not a one of those himbos rocked Chalcey’s world. They were all too handsome, too smooth and sculpted to be real men.
Esmeralda sashayed past in a painted on sequined sheath, arm in arm with the guy who’d been ogling her at the studio. She winked at Chalcey, then puckered up and blew her a kiss.
“Good luck!” Chalcey mouthed, hoping that for Esmeralda’s sake, her date wouldn’t be put off when Esmeralda revealed all.
She hitched up the bodice of her gown. Recycled, of course. Black, went without saying. Vintage—she’d splashed out. She’d even ditched her Mickey Mouse watch in an effort to appear elegant.
“You look beautiful,” Wulf had told her before he kissed off her lipstick. She’d believed him—at least until her guests began arriving, all wearing stunning designer gowns and dripping with bling. For the first half hour, she’d felt like a drab little peahen amongst all the peacocks. Now, she was so jaded by all the fake smiles and air-kisses, that yet another ostentatious waving of a hand to better display one’s latest umpteen carat diamond only made her want to yawn.
She spotted Will’s wife, Anna, chatting with a bunch of women over by the bar. She looked stunning. She projected the same air of cool elegance as Chalcey’s mother. But unlike Francesca, Anna had a wicked sense of humor. She gave Chalcey a wave, and as one of the males who’d recently been “for sale” strutted past with his “date”, mimed panting like a dog with her tongue hanging out.
Anna and Will had duly turned up for their first freebie Ceroc class, and she’d had such a wow of a time that Will had to practically drag her off the dance floor. She’d even bought a yearly pass, which would let her do as many classes as she liked, whether it be Ceroc, Salsa, Lambada, Latin, or whatever. Will hadn’t displayed quite the same degree of enthusiasm but he’d pasted on a smile and bought a pass, too. Much to Anna’s delight.
And Chalcey’s.
She liked Anna very much. And Will, too. They made a great couple, gave her hope that marriages could work, that people could fall in love and stay in love. Case in point, Anna hadn’t seriously bid for anyone tonight. Why would she, when she already had a guy she loved, a guy who loved her back and would do anything to make her happy?
In complete contrast, Mrs. Greenwood’s cronies had dived right in, enthusiastically bidding and tossing money around like crisps. Four of them had topped the bids on their chosen man and were smugly parading around arm-in-arm with their prizes, taking every opportunity to show them off. If the intent faces and covert glances of those women who’d not yet won a date were anything to go by, there’d be some fierce bidding for the final man.
Oh. My. God. The final man.
Chalcey knew she should have been thrilled they were raking in the money for those worthy causes, not to mention her own worthy cause. So far, she’d even managed to smile at all the right times, and say all the right things. She hadn’t put a foot wrong—yet. But how she was supposed to get through the coming ordeal without making an idiot of herself, she had no idea. If Sam hadn’t insisted on her presence, she’d have hidden away in her bedroom and pulled the comforter over her head.
Champagne flute in hand, Sam shimmied over, beaming from ear to ear. “It’s going great, don’t you think, Chalce?”
“Sure seems that way,” she said.
“Oh don’t be like that! He suggested it, not me.”
“Are you sure you didn’t encourage him to do this, Sam?”
“I didn’t. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“If I find out you’re lying, you’ll hope to die all right. Slowly and very, very painfully.”
She grinned. “He insisted on helping with the fundraising. What was I supposed to do? Tell him he couldn’t?”
“That would have been an excellent start,” Chalcey said.
The music kicked in, and she had to lean in close to be heard. “Don’t worry about it, Chalce. He’ll be okay, I promise. You’ll see.”
Chalcey glared at her. “And how, exactly, can you promise that? You haven’t rigged it, have you?”
“Of course not!” Sam appeared so genuinely shocked that Chalcey was inclined to believe her.
Until a truly nasty thought intruded. “And don’t think that you’re going to bid for him, either, Samantha Greenwood. If I see that arm of yours even twitch in an upward direction, so help me, I’ll rip it off with my bare hands.”
She rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. Besides, Marcus might not be impressed if I bid for Wulf, tempting though the thought may be.”
“It’s going okay then, you and Marcus?” Not that Chalcey was probing or anything. Merely insatiably curious.
“Better than okay. I think we have a real chance to make it work. He’s great, really great. And he genuinely seems to care about me—despite my dubious past.”
Chalcey hugged her. Carefully, so as not to transfer the ruby-red glittery stuff adorning Sam’s dress onto her own. “No reason why he shouldn’t. After all, he’s the one who’s benefiting from all your, er, past experience. The guy should be more than grateful.”
“Oh, he is. Believe me.”
“I’m really happy for you, Sam.”
“Me too. Oooh! Jai’s about to start the bidding.” She turned her eager face to the spotlight.
Jai, resplendent in a gorgeous tailored tux, made a huge production of his bow and took the mic. “And now, ladies and gents. Last, but by no means least, we have a special treat for you. Our final man for sale tonight hails from a foreign land so, uh, mysterious, I’m not even sure exactly where it is. I give you Wulf, the Warrior King!”
Sam craned her neck and stood on tiptoe. “Do you see him yet?”
Of course Chalcey saw him. With his Herculean physique, Wulf was hard to miss at any time. On stage, wearing his original leather garb, he was incredible. He’d gotten hold of a sword, and he swung it, performing a complicated set of moves with consummate ease. He looked every inch the warrior lord he professed to be. Chalcey could well imagine that if he proclaimed his true origins to everyone in the room right at this moment, not a soul would doubt him.
Her breath caught as she watched the man who’d stood captives on a block and displayed them like livestock for s
ale, now displaying himself for sale to the highest bidder. Doubtless Wulf had considered that when he offered himself up to this spectacle. Perhaps in some small way he was atoning for those past deeds.
Chalcey glanced around the studio, gauging reactions. All eyes were on Wulf. Raw envy raked the faces of those women who had already successfully bid. Guess it wouldn’t be seemly for them to bid for another man. She almost felt sorry for those eleven women who’d already won, to her mind at least, vastly inferior men.
Almost.
But Wulf was hers. She couldn’t stomach the thought of any other woman going out on a date with him. Not even a platonic one. For a good cause. Her good cause.
The room erupted in a flurry of loud, enthusiastic bids. Chalcey interlocked the fingers of both hands to stop herself from joining in the bidding. That wouldn’t go down at all well, given she was one of the charity cases benefiting from this auction.
Jai held up a hand. “Now hold on, ladies. I know you’re eager but Wulf is just warming up!”
Oh, no. Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare encourage them any further, for God’s sake! Chalcey gave Jai dagger-eyes and made a slicing motion across her throat. But Jai’s attention was fixed on Wulf, and he didn’t spot her frantic gestures.
Wulf sheathed his sword and strode to the front of the stage. But instead of the provocative, strip-show-like routines the other men had performed, he stood arms akimbo, gaze scanning the room until he spotted Chalcey. And locked gazes with her. His sun-burnished skin was sweat-glossed from his exertions. His superbly muscled arms and eight-pack glistened. His stillness was so complete that he might have been a statue. Except for his eyes. No sculptor yet born would have been able to capture the reality of those burning blue eyes.
Jai closed his gaping mouth and turned to the crowd. “What do you think, ladies? Does the Wulf-man do it for you?”
“Hell, yes!” someone called out. “He can warm my bed for me any time!”
Bitch. There’d better bloody not be any bed-warming.
“Do I hear two thousand?”
“Two thousand one!”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Two thousand five.”
The other eleven auctionees had all topped out around the four-grand mark, with one Adonis-like young male even going for five-and-a-half. Within five minutes, bidding for Wulf had gone above six thousand dollars and showed no sign of tapering off. Obviously a seriously fabulous chest, and some equally serious abs, provoked a serious desire to impulse shop.
As bidding neared the seven thousand mark, it soon became apparent that two ladies were engaged in a furious bidding war for an evening with the man Chalcey loved.
Her veins buzzed with horror. Coward that she was, she shut her eyes, severing the link Wulf had forged with her. Leaving him on his own.
“Seven thousand!” a horribly familiar voice called.
Her eyelids popped open and her gaze darted around the room.
“Seven and a half!” Sam’s mother, Mrs. Greenwood.
Well, that was a bit of a surprise.
Chalcey craned her neck until she finally caught a glimpse of the other bidder. Hell’s teeth! What was she playing at?
“Sam!” she hissed. “What on God’s green earth possessed you to invite my mother to this auction?”
Sam’s face had paled to chalk-white beneath her makeup. She looked exactly how Chalcey felt—appalled beyond measure. She clutched Chalcey’s arm, digging her fingers into hard enough to bruise.
“Ow!” Chalcey pried Sam loose and rubbed her arm.
“God, Chalce, this is terrible! What are we going to do?”
“Relax. I’m sure she’ll have a good explanation for this debacle. She’d better, anyway.”
“But Mom seems totally set on having him. Check out the expression on her face. It’s… it’s… embarrassing!” She wrung her hands. “My own mother’s got the hots for your boyfriend. I didn’t think she was even interested in sex anymore!”
It seemed to have escaped Sam that Chalcey was just as appalled by the spectacle of her own mother bidding for Wulf. “Yeah, well. Wulf could kick-start a woman’s libido even if she was at death’s door.”
“Not helping, Chalce,” Sam said.
“Sorry.”
“Eight thousand dollars!” Francesca called out.
“Eight and half.”
“Nine thousand!”
Sam and Chalcey glanced at each other, then their gazes swiveled back to their mothers. Mrs. Greenwood’s mouth was set in a grim, determined line. Francesca looked cool, calm and collected as per usual, but Chalcey recognized that determined glint in her eyes.
“Uh oh, this could get messy,” they said in unison and held their collective breaths.
“Ten thousand even!” Mrs. Greenwood screeched, her face triumphant with the certainty that she’d outbid her opponent.
She didn’t know Francesca Laureano-Owens. The crowded studio was suddenly so silent Chalcey could have heard a droplet of champagne trickling down someone’s gullet.
“Twenty thousand dollars,” Francesca said.
A multitude of gasps, quickly smothered. Gazes darted back to Mrs. Greenwood—who inclined her head and graciously withdrew from the bidding.
Sam let the breath she had been holding out with a whoosh. “Thank God for that,” she whispered in Chalcey’s ear. “I was having frigging kittens at the thought of her winning him.”
“Warrior King going once,” Jai announced into the stunned silence. “Going twice. Sold to the gorgeous blonde, in the stunning cerise gown, for twenty thousand dollars!”
Francesca raised her glass to Jai in acknowledgement of his compliment. He rested his hand on one hip as he gazed at the prize. “And I would have to say, cheap at twice the price.”
There were shouts of agreement as Chalcey’s mother threaded her way through the throng to climb up on to the stage next to Wulf. “May I?” She held out a hand to claim the mic from Jai.
Chalcey didn’t quite know what she expected—perhaps that Francesca would sign a check and let Wulf go on his merry way. Or perhaps “donate” her prize to her daughter. No strings attached, of course. After all, Wulf belonged to Chalcey. Francesca knew how she felt about him.
“I’m honored to have been able to contribute to such worthy causes tonight.” Francesca paused to smile prettily and milk her generosity for all it was worth. “And I’m looking forward to taking full advantage of my prize—tonight as it so happens. My partner and I have a reservation at Adagio.”
Chalcey should have remembered that where Francesca was concerned, things never did go to plan.
Impressed oohs and aahs echoed throughout the room. Reservations at Adagio were as scarce as hen’s teeth. Francesca would have had to pull serious strings to get a table at this short notice.
The truth smacked Chalcey like a stinky wet fish. Francesca had planned this. She hadn’t bid on anyone but Wulf. She’d planned to win him—must have been prepared to pay whatever it took. And now she planned to wine him and dine him and dazzle him. Amazing what an obscene amount of money could buy. Anything, it seemed. Even a night with the man your daughter loved. Paid for with your doting husband’s money.
Chalcey pushed her way to the stage. She didn’t look at Wulf as she stalked up the stairs—couldn’t look at him. She dragged her mother off to one side for a not-so-private chat.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Francesca?” she hissed.
“Whatever do you mean, Chalcedony?”
“I mean this farce with Wulf. What the hell else would I be meaning? Look, if you’re thinking about using this dinner date to try to split Wulf and me up, it’s not going to work.”
“Very well.”
“So you’ll withdraw your bid.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly do that, darling. Not when I’ve already pledged my donation—it wouldn’t be right.”
She sounded far too reasonable. Chalcey searched
her face for clues. “I’m sure Edgar will be very interested to hear about—”
“Relax, darling, it’s only a little dinner date. Edgar is hardly going to object to that, especially since he already knows this auction is for such a worthy cause. Wulf and I are just going to share a nice meal and chat a bit. What possible harm can there be?” She sashayed to the front of the stage again and bestowed a serene smile upon the curious crowd.
“Chalcey?” Jai’s concerned eyes sought hers, silently pleading that she not make any more of a scene. “Will you be so kind as to come and present the prize to, er, Mrs. Owens?”
“Please, call me Francesca,” Francesca said.
“Think I’ll leave presenting the prize up to you, Jai,” Chalcey said, and it took every ounce of control she had to keep her voice steady. “You’ll do a far better job of it than I ever could. I’d only make a fool of myself.” And strangle my mother.
Francesca used Jai’s back as a support while she wrote out her check for twenty thousand bucks—an amount that would have made Chalcey break into a cold sweat. It was mere pin money for the Owens’, though.
Francesca basked in the applause, looking so damn smug as she presented the check to Jai, that Chalcey clenched her fists at her side so she didn’t give in to the temptation to bitch-slap her mother. She couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t stand here, locking her knees so she wouldn’t shake, pretending that she was fine with this. She stepped down from the stage, glancing back at Wulf over her shoulder, seeing his brows knit in a perplexed frown.
The tentative smile she managed for his benefit slid from her face when Francesca looked directly into her eyes, and smiled.
It was a triumphant smile and it chilled Chalcey’s heart.
She wasn’t being paranoid. She was right to worry. Francesca’s acceptance of her relationship with Wulf had been a sham. She’d only been biding her time. Now that she had alone time with Wulf, she would do her utmost to sabotage his relationship with Chalcey. And Francesca, of all people, had the best chance of convincing Wulf to sacrifice himself and give Chalcey up. Just like she’d convinced Malach to give her up.
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