“But that’s what happened, no? You don’t believe that I broke off the engagement. And maybe you’re right: maybe I didn’t. Maybe I lied. I lied so I could fuck you one last time.”
I shake my head. For some reason, I feel more confident in my intuition. “You’re not as bad as you think you are or want to be. I couldn’t like you as much as I do if you were.”
A corner of his mouth curls. “You like me, do you?”
I flush. “Isn’t that obvious?”
“Je suis baisée,” he murmurs.
“What does that mean?”
“My father and brother are going to be—what is the best word—pissed?”
I don’t think he’s really answered my question. I’m convinced his words in French were more about me than his family, but I let it go. “I won’t be upset if you changed your mind about working with Eric.”
His face darkens. “It’s done,
Virginia. If I see him again, it’s to break his nose.”
I look away. “I’m sorry—”
He sits up in a quick, fluid motion. Clearly his core muscles are in much better shape than mine. He cups the back of my head and draws me to him till our foreheads touch.
“If you say ‘sorry’ one more time, your punishment is going to hurt so badly—”
I suck in my breath and blurt, “Sorry—”
With a groan, he crushes his mouth to mine. The world spins, as it always does when he kisses me. I know, even without the twenty thousand dollar enticement, that I would choose to be with him. I may not be the brightest or the most sophisticated woman, but I trust my instincts when it comes to Tony. There’s still a lot for me to learn about him, but for now, I am his to ruin.
His For A Week: BOUGHT
CHAPTER ONE
Is he fucking serious? Ben communicated via a stare to his cousin. But Jason Lee, having thrown down a few shots of scotch from a bottle of Macallan Rare Cask, was too intoxicated for nonverbal communication.
“It’s the best, dude,” seconded Derek, who sat across the booth from Ben in the latest of many trendy restaurants to open up in San Francisco’s SOMA district.
With a frown, Ben turned his gaze back to Jake Whitehurst, who sported a salacious grin as he swirled the scotch in his shot glass. Almost immediately, Ben hadn’t liked Jake. Something in the guy’s smug expression and the need to comment about the price of his Rolex watch ($12,000) and his shades from Cartier ($1,700) had left Ben less than impressed. Not that Ben begrudged the guy his haute couture when he himself had recently dropped two thousand for Louis Vuitton shades and gifted his mother a Tiffany bracelet that cost more than most mid-sized cars, but he never felt the need to brag about it.
If it weren’t for the fact that Jake was Jason’s friend and former college roommate, and Ben’s father wanted Jake’s business connections, Ben would have called it a night. He had tried to be cordial most of the evening, but Jake’s most recent revelation pushed his tolerance to the brink.
“You so hard up to get a date you have to buy one?” he asked Jake.
“Getting a date the old-fashioned way is too much fucking work,” Jake scoffed.
Ben was incredulous. Jake was a good-looking guy in his mid-twenties. And, thanks to the successful sports agency his dad had founded, the bastard was rich. That took a man further than even his looks. A man could be as ugly as a naked mole rat, but money made him pretty.
“Women these days think they’re so special,” Jack continued. “But at the Scarlet Auction, you see what you like, you make a bid, an hour later, the girl’s yours.”
Ben raised his brows. “Girl?”
“You know what I mean. They’re not underage or anything. Just single, hot, and ready to get banged.”
“But some of them look like they could be, you know, teens,” Derek chortled.
“That’s gross,” Ben replied, referring to both the idea of going out with jailbait and the way Derek practically giggled.
“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you don’t fantasize about banging a high school cheerleader, with their short little skirts and cute little pom-poms.”