Sold to the Highest Bidder

by Alward, Donna

  “Dev.”

  His eyes opened, startlingly blue in the paling light of the kitchen. Her fingers toyed with the button on his jeans. “Take me to bed, Dev.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. In a movement that stole her breath, he slid an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms.

  Her heart trembled. For a flash of a moment, she was transported back twelve years, to Dev carrying her over the threshold and not stopping until they reached the bedroom. She’d felt the same thrum of excitement, the same throbbing pulse knowing what was ahead. Only now it was different.

  She wasn’t as innocent. Time had taken that away from her. She knew how life worked. And as Dev took purposeful strides to the bedroom at the end of the hall, she knew this had to be the final goodbye they’d never had. They couldn’t turn back the clock. But they could maybe, just maybe, close the book without bitterness. If she could wish for one thing, that would be it. Maybe that was why she’d never come back to end it in person. She’d been so afraid of facing his disappointment, his censure. Having to accept the fact that she’d let down the one person who had loved her best.

  Dev laid her gently on top of the covers of the bed. The light coming through the windows was fading, casting half of his face in shadow, accentuating the curves and planes of his muscles. Ella found herself thankful for once for the requirements of manual labor as he braced his strong body over her, his face only inches from hers, his breath warming her cheek, the zipper of his jeans pressed firmly against her core. She let out a breath, shaky with nerves and excitement. Inch by agonizing inch, Dev lowered his body, the muscles in his arms bunching beneath her fingers. His tongue swept into her mouth at the same time as his erection pressed against her. Her hips instinctively rose to meet it, seeking to release the pressure building within her body. Right now it was all centering at the exact point where he was pressed against her.

  “Turn on the light,” she whispered, her blood singing in her veins with each passing second. If she could only have tonight, she wanted to imprint all of it on her memory, a montage she could play over and over in her mind. Especially how he looked when they made love.

  “I want to see you, Dev.” She met his gaze in the dimness. “I want to see your face when you’re inside me.”

  He reached over and flicked on a small bedside lamp, casting the room in warm, pinky glow. She made a cradle with her legs and he settled against her, while she fought the feeling that he was back home where he belonged. He wasn’t, but the familiarity was enough to shake her to the soul. Then he marked her with a rhythm there that took her breath, even through their layers of clothing.

  “Too many clothes,” he murmured as the rubbing was no longer enough, breaking off his assault of her mouth and sitting back on his knees. His gaze raked across her and anticipation rippled over her skin. She arched her back as his fingers released her buttons, parting the sides of her blouse. He ran a single finger down her cleavage, straight to her navel, then moved back up to flick open the front clasp on her bra. It fell away from her breasts, leaving them exposed…to his eyes, to his hands—she closed her eyes as they cupped her, molding them in his fingers—and then… Oh glory. To his mouth. His tongue laved over the first crest, pulling it into his mouth while darts of something shot straight to her core, ripping a groan from her throat. Oh God. He smiled against her flesh and she could hardly breathe. She heard a soft chuckle, like he knew exactly what he was doing to her. She didn’t care. If anything, it made the air seem hotter. And when he moved to the other breast and ran his tongue over the nipple there, she cried out with the thrill of it.

  His mouth found hers again, briefly stamping it with possession. “God Ell, you’re still so sweet,” he whispered hotly in her ear. “Are you this sweet…everywhere?”

  He slid down her body, stopping for a moment to kiss her navel, and she felt his breath, hot against her jeans. He reached for the button and slid the zipper down with a minimum of fuss. He pulled the whole lot down her legs—jeans and the scrap of fabric that could just be termed underwear in the tiniest, most miniscule sense. Dropping them on the floor, he took a moment to simply look at her. Her muscles tensed almost painfully in response to the path of his gaze.

  At the first touch of his mouth to her flesh, she twisted on the bed, driven crazy by the sensation of his smooth tongue against her. Memories slammed into her, one after another, mixing with tantalizing sensations from the here and now. The soft ruffles of his hair tickled the insides of her thighs as his gentle assault undid her inch by inch. Her fingers slid down her body to tangle with his hair as she pressed her feet into the mattress, lifting herself higher in response to the waves of pleasure rocking through her. Waves that turned to a pounding surf of intense need as with one long, delectable stroke of his tongue he sent her crashing over the edge. The spasms drew a long, keening cry from her lips, ending with his name as her legs went utterly limp.

  Dev looked up at her face as she melted in his hands. Her blonde curls were spread in a tangle on the pillow, her lashes lay on her cheeks as, with eyes closed, she fought for breath. Her breasts rose and fell with each tortured rhythm, her blouse still gaping open—the only scrap of clothing on the bed. The lamplight glowed off the sheen of her skin, the peaks of her breasts erect, tempting. He closed his eyes, fighting the need to take her right here and now, roughly.

  He’d wanted to hear his name on her lips, and he had. But it wasn’t enough. He wanted it to last.

  He slid off the bed, slowly undid his zipper and stripped off his jeans and shorts. Ella’s eyes opened, heavy lidded, and she smiled like a cat that had got the cream. Never had she been more beautiful, except perhaps when she’d looked at him with the same sort of exhausted wonder on their wedding night.

  She reached out and circled him with her hand, and he lost the ability to think. All he knew was that he wanted her. Needed her. And tonight he’d have her. The rest he’d deal with later.

  Her fingers felt so damn good. Firmly yet slowly, she stroked. But there was only so much a man could take. He pressed her back into the pillows, parting her legs and sliding inside her with one sure stroke.

  And froze as their gazes caught, and the gravity of what had just happened struck them both. His arms trembled not from his weight but from fear, emotion, need. He’d nearly given up that he’d be here again, buried inside her, feeling the warmth of her surrounding him. It was as close to heaven as he was ever going to get. It was more than a meeting of bodies. It always had been. And yet the primal, physical need raged through him.

  Her muscles clenched and he struggled, wanting to hold on, make it last longer. In the end he lost and took on a rhythm that was as natural, as graceful to him as a fly-cast—a smooth long stroke, a small retreat, and extending again…and again, and again. His pace quickened as her fingernails raked along the skin of his back, her gasps of pleasure an aphrodisiac as his heart pounded through every pore of his skin.

  She cried out a second time and he was indestructible.

  And then he answered with her name on his lips and he was destroyed.

  Chapter Six

  He was still sleeping, his lashes lying against his cheeks, when she opened her eyes.

  The previous night came back crystal clear, sending a flush over her body. This time she couldn’t blame it on the alcohol. This time she’d had a choice. She could say for old times’ sake until she was blue in the face. The truth was she’d wanted him. She’d wanted every square inch of him and that was exactly what she’d gotten. And then some.

  When his hands had been on her skin and her name on his lips, nothing else existed. But now, in the washed-out light of a cloudy fall morning, everything existed. She’d been swayed by his generosity towards a sick woman, seduced by memories and entranced by his sexiness. She’d let it all get to her and this was where they’d ended up.

  But she knew last night was meaningless in the overall scheme of things. This wasn’t what she wanted, and so it chan
ged nothing. She couldn’t live here, like this. She’d resent him before a month was out.

  Why couldn’t he just change? She slipped out from between the sheets and silently grappled for some clothes. She knew everyone—whoever everyone was—said asking a person to change was impossible. But really. If he’d just show a little effort, a little motivation. She wasn’t asking perfection. Just…different. Didn’t he have goals? Didn’t he want more?

  “Going somewhere?”

  His first words of the morning came out rough and raspy and unbearably sexy. She knew beneath the sheet he was stark naked and the muscles between her legs involuntarily tightened in a simple yet effective reaction.

  But one thing about waking the morning after stuck. This—no matter how mind-blowing it was—wasn’t enough. It never had been.

  “I have to get back to Denver, remember?”

  He sat up against the pillows, watching her every move. Feeling exposed was silly, considering. But she did and she hurriedly stepped into underwear and jeans, did without her bra and pulled on an old sweatshirt of his that was lying on a chair, simply to cover her naked breasts.

  “So you’re still going.”

  “Of course I am.”

  His chin flattened and she braced herself for another argument.

  “You really want this divorce, don’t you, Ella?”

  His eyes were inscrutable, and yet she thought she heard the teeniest bit of regret in his voice. But why would he regret it? He’d never attempted to save their marriage, and he’d had a decade of opportunities. He’d never come after her, never returned her earlier decrees in person. She’d geared herself up for a fight for her independence, but he’d never so much as communicated a single syllable. Up until this weekend he hadn’t made any demands on her at all.

  And the moment he had, she’d fallen straight into his bed. Maybe she should count her lucky stars that he hadn’t pressed the issue all those years ago. She probably wouldn’t have been strong enough to resist him. Her life would have turned out very differently—she would have left school and her aspirations behind. She was damned well going to be strong enough now.

  “Yes,” she said clearly, “I do. I stayed the weekend, Dev. I held up my end. Now it’s time for you to hold up yours. Let me go. Let me go home and write Betty’s story. Let me get on with my life.” Her words were sincere even as they left a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing?”

  The truth of that stung and she stalked out the door and down the hall to the kitchen. Her bag sat, already packed yesterday, at the end of the couch. The typewriter was in its battered case on the coffee table beside it. It was the only thing she really wanted to take with her. The rest could stay. Including Devin.

  She heard him stumping his way down the hall and braced herself. She needed to be firm now. Nothing had changed just because they’d made love. They’d agreed it was one last time, a farewell to their marriage. It had to stay that way. Squaring her shoulders, she exhaled and turned around.

  He’d followed her down the hall with the bed sheet gathered up and wrapped low around his hips. The rest of him—every glorious inch of his arms and chest—was naked. Even though Ella knew she was leaving, her fingers itched to touch him. To know him again.

  Sexual attraction. More than attraction. Need. It isn’t enough, she reminded herself.

  “Do you need a pen?” She said it and lifted her chin, challenging.

  “Let me check my pocket… Oops, I guess not,” he replied slowly, the grin that crawled up his cheek holding an edge of sarcasm. He held the cotton sheet with one hand. A corner had begun to droop and she wet her lips. She couldn’t let him drop that sheet.

  She grabbed her purse and drew out a pen, then took the papers from the envelope and thrust them into his free hand.

  “Dammit, Ella—”

  “Don’t dammit me. I’ll put my things in the car. When I come back, it would be great if you could have those ready to go.” She angled her head, gesturing towards the papers in his hand.

  His lips curled and she knew he was on the verge of resisting. But he had to do this for her. She had to go back to Denver. She had to leave him behind and forget they’d ever been married.

  “Devin. What do you really expect? Did you think I’d change my mind in a weekend? Did you think I’d try to turn back the clock and I’d go back to living this way? It’s not who I am anymore. I’m glad I saw you. I might be glad you forced me into a goodbye, because we never had one before. I’m even glad we had sex.” She aimed a sly smile at him, meant to melt his resistance, lighten the atmosphere. “I mean, it’s hard not to be grateful.”

  “Ell,” he said, softer, and she could see he was on the verge of speaking. She knew that whatever it was, it would be something she didn’t want to hear.

  “Please, Devin,” she pleaded softly, her throat thickening. He was so everything when he forgot about the chip on his shoulder for five seconds. “I can’t go on this way.”

  Everything held for a long moment. Dev met her gaze and she had the absurd urge to go to him, wrap herself in his arms and tell him she didn’t mean it. Memories washed over her, of falling in love with him the first time and the rebirth of those feelings even though it was wrong. And a sense of finality. She waited for him to accept it.

  He looked away first.

  “Go load the car,” he relented softly.

  Her carefully held breath came out in a sigh of relief as she put her bag over her shoulder and picked up the typewriter. “Thank you.”

  When she had stowed her bag, she went in one last time for the papers. He held the envelope out to her, the pen hooked on the top of the manila rectangle. The backs of her eyes stung when she took them from his hand. It was what she wanted, right? Then why the hell didn’t she feel any relief, like she expected?

  He stepped forward, hooked his free arm around her and dragged her close.

  His lips met hers, a furious clash of anger and apology and love that cut her off at the knees. He lifted his other hand and cupped her face, dropping the sheet negligently to the floor. With a strangled cry, she pushed away, wrenching herself out of his arms and refusing to look at him standing there, like an avenging god, in the tiny shack she somehow would always think of as home.

  She stumbled out the door and into her car. And left in a cloud of dust that lingered not nearly as long as the taste of him on her lips.

  ***

  “Come on. That’s prime real estate right there, Ella.” Amy sipped on her pomegranate martini and angled a freshly waxed eyebrow in the direction of the hot guy leaning over the bar. “Look at that ass. You could bounce quarters off it.”

  Ella sighed and used the straw to toy with the slice of lemon in her tonic water. It was the only thing that seemed to appeal tonight. And that included the tall, dark and not-so-dangerous metrosexual picking up a martini at the bar.

  She’d only spent forty-eight hours with Devin, but Ella knew she preferred his rough-and-ready sexiness to the immaculate appearance of the man Amy couldn’t seem to drag her eyes away from.

  “So go for it, Ames.”

  “Uh uh. This is your night.” She sipped her drink again, then tossed her curls over her shoulder. “Your article was a smash hit. Hell, Donovan’s asked for a follow-up. To celebrate you should definitely hook up. I mean, how long has it been? You deserve some fun. And that could be some serious fun.” Amy angled her face up alluringly as the man passed by their table carrying two drinks. Ella didn’t miss how his eyes lingered on her friend’s long expanse of leg, barely capped by the scandalously short leather skirt she wore.

  Maybe not so much Ella’s type—at the moment—but the look in his eyes had definitely been hungry. Just weeks ago Dev had looked at her the same way. There was a marked difference between this polished club and the rowdiness of the saloon in Durango. But one thing remained the same, not matter what the atmosphere—the mating ritual. And Ella wasn�
��t interested in playing the game. Not anymore.

  After leaving the cabin that Sunday she’d returned to her apartment. She’d shed significant tears during the long drive, only to have them turn hot with anger when she realized he’d given her the papers back unsigned.

  She’d called him several unladylike names in sequence. Devin had backed her into a corner. She had work to hand in and no time to go back. She hadn’t even told Amy the divorce papers weren’t filed. She wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. How to explain that in one weekend of mind-blowing sex he’d managed to make a complete marshmallow of her. She’d temporarily forgotten her focus. She’d ignored every voice in her head that told her to stand her ground, and she’d succumbed to the fierce desire she felt simply by breathing the same air as he did. One night. All it took was one single night. And while she wouldn’t admit it to another living soul, she knew the problem.

  She missed him again.

  The stress had to be getting to her. She wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating and was so tired during the day because of it that she kept dozing off before she even got dinner ready for herself.

  Now the powers that be wanted her to follow Betty’s story through to the end…and today she’d come up with a doozy of a revelation in her research. Devin wasn’t who she thought. He hadn’t been for many, many years. He’d lied to her that weekend at the cabin. And he’d made a fool of her, first by letting her believe he hadn’t changed and second by making sure they were still married.

  All of it simply exhausted her.

  “I’m sorry, Ames, you’re gonna have to fly solo,” she apologized. “I’m wiped.

  “You’re tired all the time lately,” Amy complained, toying with her cocktail napkin, annoyed. “I practically had to drag you out tonight.”

  “I know. I guess I’ve been working a lot.”

  “No more than usual,” she observed. “And you turned your nose up at the veal piccata earlier too, and it’s your favorite.” Amy’s eyes deepened with worry. “Are you sure you’re not sick, Ell?”