Sold at the Auction(16)

The big man looked at me hard again, sensing the tears pooling in my eyes and read my mind.

"Can we get the bill?" he rumbled, making eye contact with the manager,  and immediately, all the purchases were packaged beautifully to be  unwrapped later.

But I wasn't feeling it. Instead, I was morose, silent, as we sat in the  car, looking out the window at nothing, seeing but not absorbing. The  landscape flew by in a blur, cityscape melting into trees, grass, and  finally manors, each estate more imposing than the last.

"You want to tell me what's wrong?" the big man rumbled as we pulled up  to the biggest mansion, finally addressing my curled form on the other  side of the car seat. "Why you went from a hot little whore to Debbie  Downer?"

I should have felt angry. I should have flown at him screaming, clawing  his eyes out, calling me a whore like that. But I knew it was true. I  was Mr. Black's whore, I wanted him so badly, it was this incredible mix  of feelings that was bringing me down. Because I couldn't separate the  physical from the emotional, and knowing that we were a temporary item  depressed me, snuffed out the light in my soul like a match going out.

So I took a deep breath, reaching deep into my reserves. Because what  the hell. I was here for a job, and I resolved to do it well. When  you're from hardy New England stock like me, you stick it out, you don't  give up. When you're faced with an impossible situation, then it's time  to make lemonade out of lemons because I'm a working class girl from  the south side of Boston, and grit and determination are my family  hallmarks, what helped my ancestors survive in a cold and inhospitable  environment years ago. So I wasn't going to be the weak link in a sturdy  chain of people, I wasn't going to let my forbears down, no matter how  desperate and unsteady I felt inside.

Taking a deep breath, I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin,  putting a happy smile on before turning to Mr. Black cheerily.

"I'm so sorry, what?" I asked, feigning ignorance. "I'm sad? No, you've  got it wrong, I love the clothes that you bought for me, thank you so  much," I parroted. "Come on, let's go inside."

The big man shot me a skeptical look, not fooled for an instant, but  unfolded his big form from the car, circling over to my side and pulling  me into his arms.

"I know what you're going through," he murmured softly against my lips,  seductive, our breaths mingling, looking deep into my eyes. "I know how  hard this is for you but I promise I'll make it good. I promise, honey."

And I let out another deep exhale. On the one hand, these were just  words and I shouldn't have felt comforted. But on the other hand, every  instinct told me to relax, to roll with it, to trust him, to let go for  once. Everything Troy had done for me so far, securing my release,  buying me clothes, even hinting that he wanted to keep me around for an  extra week, meant something, didn't it? I wasn't sure what the meaning  was, but the alpha's blue gaze was so genuine, his strong arms  encircling me, protecting me, and I melted against that broad chest  involuntarily. Because I couldn't resist him, couldn't say no, and  making the best of things sometimes means going along with a tide you  can't control. And right now, that current meant swimming with Mr.  Black, giving into him, indulging in the passion, the comfort, the  sensual air that surrounded everything about this man.         

     



 

So I kissed him back, imbuing the touch with all my hopes, my dreams, my  desires, conflicted as they were. Yes, I wanted to be with the alpha,  to savor the physical, to get to know him more, his personality, his  likes and dislikes, what made him tick and what made him roar. And no, I  didn't like how we'd started, him buying me at an auction. But what was  done was done, and it was time to take my first step into uncharted  territory, tentative as it might be.

So I kissed him back deeply, twining my arms around those broad  shoulders, drawing that dark head towards mine, letting him feel my  softness, my willingness, the way I trusted and wanted him, giving  myself up to his care.

"Yes," I murmured against his lips. "Yes, let's go inside."

And he pulled back for a moment, blue eyes hot, big chest heaving a bit, hands unsteady on my waist.

"Fuck, little girl, you're so beautiful," he ground out, gaze hot my  face, the way my caramel eyes were so warm, willing and trusting. But  with another harsh rasp, he put an arm around my waist and began leading  me up the steps.

"Welcome to my home, Ellie Danes," he ground out, unlocking the door. "Welcome to where Troy Black eats, plays, and sleeps."

And despite the fact that the space was cavernous, much too much for one  man, I was curious. There had to be a personal area where Mr. Black  relaxed, kicked up his feet and let the world wash over him. There had  to be books, knick-knacks, all the accoutrements of a powerful, wealthy  man, and I wanted to see them, I wanted to know more about him, what  kept this alpha going on a daily basis. I'd been envisioning an office  of some sort, dark mahogany furniture, bookshelves filled with tomes,  maybe a giant atlas on one side, a tool to guide his travels, his  willful wanderings. So when Troy led me to the kitchen and began pulling  out ingredients, I was beyond surprised.

"Um, are you cooking?" I asked tentatively, biting my lip, seating  myself on a stool at the island. Mr. Black was hauling out pots and pans  galore, all of them copper colored and shiny, probably worth more than a  month's salary for me. And he grunted, head buried under the counter  until he popped up again holding a spatula.

"That's right," he grinned mischievously. "Some guys get off with cigars  and whiskey, and shit, I love that stuff too. But honey, when you're  six four, you've got to learn to cook because it takes a lot of calories  to keep this machine going."

I giggled then. Really? My dark abductor was a master chef? He grinned at me again.

"I didn't always have a cook you know," he said wryly. "Once upon a  time, I was a boy with nothing but a dream and my bare hands. Back then,  it was either cook or go hungry," he added.

I leaned forward. I couldn't imagine this man poor, couldn't imagine him  living in tight circumstances, without anything to his name. It was  such a contrast to where we sat now, the huge sub-zero refrigerator, the  granite countertops, the fancy brand-name European dishwasher. And he  smiled at me again, blue eyes glinting.

"You'd be surprised how far a little sweat equity goes," he said mildly.  "I almost broke my back on my first venture, literally broke my back I  worked so fucking hard."

I quirked my head at him.

"Were you doing construction?" I asked. "Building beautiful houses?" I  could see Troy doing that, he'd be the hot roofer, bare chested on a  sunny summer's day, abs flexing as he re-tiled a mansion, all the MILFs  and bored housewives coming out to watch.

And he grinned at me.

"Hardly," he said with a wry grin. "I worked in a prison complex. Worked  for the County Sheriff herding convicted felons and murderers to and  from the mess hall."

I gasped. Oh my god, that sounded like a bad job. And he read my mind,  all the while whipping up a concoction in a small bowl, wrist moving so  fast it was practically a blur.

"Yeah back then I moonlighted at the Sheriff's Office, working the  graveyard shift so I could get my degree during the day. Had to have  food to eat while I was studying, so between sleeping four hours a night  and fighting with parolees, yeah, I'd say I saw a lot of life in those  five years."

My mouth dropped open. He'd been a prison guard for five years? That was  a long time in a grim place, I heard the guards basically became felons  themselves, dealing drugs to prisoners and taking bribes, even having  sex with female prisoners.

But Mr. Black shrugged his shoulders.

"It fucking sucked, yeah, but it paid the bills and I didn't give a shit  so long as it was good money. Besides, there was always a plan, an exit  route to get out of that hellhole," he rumbled, this time cracking eggs  into a bowl. "I made my first investment using what I saved from the  Sheriff, and that nugget seeded my second investment, which seeded my  third, fourth, and fifth ones. Within a couple years, I'd made my first  million, and pretty soon it was multi-millions, and then more than I  could ever possibly use."         

     



 

I gasped. That was a lot of money, and it was the perfect opening to ask  about his wealth, the source of his money. But I wasn't that interested  because it was his past that intrigued me the most, the key to  unlocking this mysterious man.

"But why did you work in a prison? Why didn't you hit up a Starbucks or  work as a night security guard somewhere? Wouldn't that be easier and a  lot less stressful?" I asked, quirking my head.

Troy shot a thoughtful look my way.