ring of guards. Hunter’s arms are around me, guiding my steps, and then he’s picking me up. I’ve got my eyes squeezed shut, but I can feel him stepping up, can feel his body under mine as we sit down; I’m in his lap.
He tucks me close, under his rock-hard arm, and leans up. “Drive,” he tells someone.
I feel the car lurch forward and hear the familiar whirring sound of the thick, plastic partition going up between the front of a limousine and the back. Seconds later, I’m staring into Hunter’s green cat eyes.
HUNTER
I’VE GONE AND done it now. Lost my goddamn mind. When Marchant started acting sketchy on the phone last night, I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but then I remembered those billboards on the way to the ranch, and how I always get a hard-on when I see that woman’s curves. I got a sick idea and when I really lit into March, he gave the old tired “I’m not going to say yes or no,” and for Marchant that’s always a “Yeah!”
Libby DeVille: virgin for sale.
I had half a mind to punch Marchant out until I realized what a hypocrite I was being. Well, until he pointed it out—that I myself pay for escorts, and what’s the difference between Libby and the other girls?
The answer: a thousand fucking things, and nothing at all. I stayed angry, and tonight, when I saw her wearing red, all that long dark hair spread across the bed, it was like a holy vision. Except we weren’t in heaven. We were in a fancy brothel, and there were two dozen other men with the same view I had—and they didn’t deserve to be there. I know I didn’t either, but this world’s imperfect, and I couldn’t stand to see her with somebody else.
So I bid on her.
I piled cash all the way to the ceiling for her, but now that I’ve won I’m wondering what the hell I’m gonna do with her. I don’t plan to make her fulfill her contract, obviously. I know, I know—I’ve had a lot of sex with escorts, but Libby isn’t an escort. If she fucks me, it’ll be because she wants to.
Hal pulls away from the curb, and there’s obvious confusion in Libby’s eyes, like she has no idea why I’m so riled up. She slides away from me and folds her arms over her middle, looking gorgeous with her hair rolling in waves over her shoulders. “I wish I understood what’s going on with you.”
I grit my teeth. The feeling is mutual. “Why did you do this?”
“Do what?” She crosses her legs, and I can see every line of her under the snug jacket I borrowed from Loveless.
I scowl, because I’m not in a game-playing mood. “Pursue your PhD,” I say with as much sarcasm as I can muster. “What do you think?”
She’s looking down at her hands, but her spine is stiff. She’s got her hackles up. Her eyes rise to mine and I find her face blank. “I did it because I needed the money. Are you going to get all judgy?”
Me, who just paid for her. Me, who I assume she knows visited Love Inc. almost daily for several years. Of course I don’t judge her for the idea, but the execution…it was dangerous and stupid.
I shudder to think of who she could have ended up with. I also don’t understand why she’s so hard up. “I know the value of your mother’s home. Why not sell it?” I rub my dry eyes.
“It’s in my dad’s name.”
I frown. “You must have some other means. Some kind of trust fund—”
“Hunter,” she cuts me off, quiet but firm, “you’re not my keeper.”
I inhale deeply, rubbing a hand across my face. I like the way my name sounds coming from her mouth. I think about the way she looked lying on that bed, and I’m hard again in an instant, even as she gives me a wide-eyed, serious look.
“I hope you didn’t bid on me out of some misplaced feeling of responsibility.” Her eyes drop, then raise to meet mine, and I can sense a rallying as she squares her shoulders slightly. “Why did you bid on me?”
My answer won’t do, so I ignore her question. “Do you realize anyone could have won?”
“Anyone without a criminal record,” she corrects. “And yes.”
“Do you know who the runner-up was?” The runner up was Alexander Halford, a weasel corporate attorney who’s sixty-five and only