Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(205)

“Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said with a shrug. “They’re not the first foundlings Orion has hosted in the big city.”

“Foundlings?” she repeated, her eyes suddenly alight again. “Excuse me?”

He breathed her in luxuriously. If she was going to be this easy to rile up, they were going to have so much fun. She glared at him, panting deeply, her heavy, ample tits heaving under the silvery fabric of her plunging neckline. It would be so easy to just reach out and...

The lights went out suddenly and a single spotlight flashed on in the middle of the roped-off ring. The crowd went silent and turned to the ring expectantly. A man in a tuxedo and combover held a cordless microphone to his lips.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” the announcer intoned dramatically. Winsor couldn’t help but smirk at the theatrics. “Mister Winsor Cooke would like to welcome you all personally to the first of our series of athletic expositions featuring the Starrrrrrrs of Ooooooorion! You are encouraged in the strongest terms to place your bets with our ringmen, as all proceeds naturally go to charity....”

The crowd applauded politely and Winsor stood, raising a hand, thanking them en masse for the cash they were about to fling at his family’s Foundation. The blonde shrank back, gasping.

“You’re… You’re really—” she muttered, looking charmingly horrified.

“Hush,” he said with a finger to his lips. “It’s about to start.”

“Mr. Cooke,” she said in a rush, leaning forward, “I am so sorry. I had no idea—”

“Call me Win,” he said simply, holding out his hand. Normally he wouldn’t shake hands with a woman, but he wanted to feel her skin again, badly. “And your name?”

She shook her head frantically, her hand hovering in the air for a moment and then retreating.

“No, I’m sorry, really,” she whispered, dragging a large placard from under the table.

“Stay.”

Her lips made the word soundlessly, No, and she backed away, taking the card with her. Part of him was incensed that she was not doing as him said, and part of him was delighted in advance at all the fun it was going to be to drag her back.

Kicking and screaming, I should hope.





CHAPTER 4


Callie

The announcer held the ropes apart for her as she came to the ring in the darkened room, her legs all wobbly and quaking. It was all she could do to not just run away home.

She hitched up her dress over her knee and carefully stepped into the ring, striking a pose with her weight on her hip and a big fat smile on her face.

And the lights snapped back on. Showtime. She smiled out her big Hollywood-style grin and flung her arms over her head, hoisting the card in the air as the crowd clapped and the bellman sounded the first round.

Holding her breath, half-blind from the lights and the noise, she walked as slowly as she could in a sort of square with the Round 1 card over her head. At the back of the ring she looked out over the fighters. Bryce clapped sweetly and a couple of the other guys gave her nods. Auger just smirked and she fought the overwhelming urge to bring her arms back down and fling the card at his smug, irritating face.

Fucking jerk. Does he even have a concept of honor anywhere in that thick head?

She turned away quickly, eager to just do her thing and then get the hell out. When she made the final steps to the front of the ring again she blasted her fake grin over the crowd, glad it was over.

As she swept the crowd she caught his eye again, utterly by mistake. All the breath whooshed out of her at once. For a second she just stood there, not sure how to leave, not sure how to stay.

Winsor Cooke.

She swallowed over a tongue that had suddenly turned to sandpaper. He made Auger look like Prince Charming. He was standing next to his chair, clapping slowly like she had just made some kind impressive performance.

He’s making fun of me, knowing I have to stand here and take it.

Her body froze in place and her mind raced forward like a colt out of the barn. She strained to keep the smile on her aching cheeks as her mind made a quick list of his attributes: his smoothly shaved, square jaw, fragrant with something expensive, the perfect fringe of black hair escaping the glossy sweep that tucked behind his ears, his thick neck, and the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

With a jerky motion, she forced her arms down and her head to turn away. She needed to look anywhere else but at him. The announcer leaned toward her as though she was maybe a little nuts, maybe in need of a gentle push out of the spotlight. She just shrugged at him inanely like tra-la-la, I meant to do that and finally let her arms down, her shoulders creaking from the strain. He gave her a puzzled glance and held the ropes apart.