Enamoured (The Enslaved Duet 2)

I swallowed convulsively and tried to take my eyes off the gold pocket square. Was it too much to think he wore it as subtle reminder that he owned me and my golden eyes?

“And now the moment we have all been waiting for,” the emcee crowed. “Everyone, please welcome to the stage the lovely ladies and gentlemen who have volunteered themselves for the auction!”

That was my cue, but I remained arrested in my seat, staring at the silver coin eyes I hadn’t seen in so many years.

“Cosima, what are you waiting for?” Mason whispered, nudging me with his thigh.

I watched as a slow smile spread across Alexander’s features, and only when he gave a slight nod of his head did the enchantment snap, and I found myself free of his hold.

Shame coursed through me like volcanic heat, and I tasted the ash of my old dreams on the back of my tongue.

He wasn’t mine to want anymore, and the feelings of unwitting desire he still stoked in me were deplorable reminders of my own lingering need for a sexual satisfaction only he could give me.

I stared daggers into the back of his head as he turned to smile winningly at Agatha fucking Howard.

“Who is that?” Mason asked sharply, more alarmed than he should have been as my friend and fake fiancé as he followed my eyes to the other table.

“No one important,” I said flippantly with a big smile as fake and functional as fabric flowers.

With a languid smile, I rose to my feet just as the last few volunteers mounted the stage, and I pressed a long, lingering kiss on Mason’s surprised lips. I could feel the eyes of the room watching me as I pulled away and walked unhurriedly up to the stage where the other women eyed me with varying looks of annoyance. Surprisingly and horrifyingly, it was Agatha Howard who seemed the most amused by my tactics. Her blue eyes sparkled as she grinned at me sashaying through the tables.

“Excuse us for a moment folks,” the emcee asked as he watched me climb the stairs. “This one is worth waiting for, and I do think she knows it.”

I beamed at him as I passed, and when he offered his powdered cheek for a kiss, I complied. The swell of catcalls and whistles buoyed me. Let Alexander see just exactly what he had been missing the past four years.

The auction began with a petite brunette at the other end of the line, and I realized that I would be the last woman called.

“You did a remarkable job,” Agatha whispered in her incredibly posh British accent. “The anticipation is just going to build now that you’re last.”

I shot her an uneasy look, trying to gauge her intentions. Unfortunately, she was British to her core, and she’d been raised to be perfectly poised and opaque. “Thank you. Though, I’m sure the men will spend all their money on you, and I’ll be stuck with the leftovers.”

She snickered like a schoolgirl at my testing compliment. “I have a feeling the man I came with will be leaving with someone else.”

Sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and my hands itched to be wrung together, but I maintained my composure through sheer willpower.

What the hell was this bitch’s game?

“Agatha,” she told me with a small smile. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Cosima,” I murmured reluctantly and watched as her lips twitched with mirth.

“Do I have twelve thousand dollars for the toned and tanned Wesley Longhorn?” the emcee prodded. A woman in the audience jumped in the air as she raised her paddle, and everyone cheered when he was sold to her.

“She overpaid,” I muttered.

Agatha sniggered again. “Don’t make me laugh,” she said sternly. “I’m up.”

Four men bid on her instantly, and she preened visibly as each struggled to outbid the other.

My gaze sought out Alexander in the crowd, idly swinging his paddle between his index finger and thumb even though his companion was currently being bid on by other men. He wasn’t looking at me, but I felt the same fission of alarmed excitement race through my core.

“Sold! For thirty-eight thousand dollars,” the emcee yelled over the applause as Agatha’s suitor fist-pumped in triumph.

“Wish me luck?” I asked as she walked past me off the stage. I was still weary of her friendliness, but I found myself drawn to her; my curiosity always seemed to outweigh my sense of self-preservation.

She hesitated and shook her head, the locks of her pale hair like moonshine under the spotlights. “You won’t need it.”

I swallowed nervously when the crowd quieted down, reminded of the way the Order had leered at me as I was presented as slave Davenport in Pearl Hall’s lavish dining room. It was harder than it should have been to remind myself this was an entirely different scenario. Sucking in a bracing breath, I placed one hand on my hip and smoothed the other down my side from the small of my waist to the long line of my upper thigh. My palm was sweaty against the sheer fabric and my heart thundered loudly in my ears, but I could tell that I had everyone just as enthralled as they had me.