It was unusual for Kate to have an ungenerous thought, but as she took to the stage, her mind was swimming with them.

How in the world could Melania have ever thought Kate capable of this? To stand up in front of all of these people and auction herself like a … like a piece of meat? What on Earth did she have to offer anyone? Okay, she was a decent secretary thanks to Melania, but she’d taken this job out of desperation. It was hardly her career goal, and she considered that she spent a lot of time pretending she knew what she was doing rather than feeling flush with confidence.

“You just have to stand there and smile,” Melania had insisted, in that blasé way she had. “It’ll all be over in a minute or two.”

Kate had nodded dumbly, without offering the very true argument to this point: the auction might conclude swiftly enough, but what about whomever bid on her? What would they require of her and how long would it take? What if everyone found out, finally, that she was a fraud? That her name wasn’t really Kate Jones? That she had never worked as a secretary for more than a few weeks in her life before taking up this job for Melania — and even then, she’d only been given the job because Melania had been utterly desperate after her previous assistant had called in sick one morning and never returned.

If Melania had been given more time to reference-check Kate, might she have discovered the truth herself?

Kate resisted the urge to fidget — she had been told again and again that it was one of her worst habits — and plastered a smile on her face. Fortunately, the crowd was simply a spotted field of silhouettes; the overhead lights made it impossible to see definition in any face.

At least she presented somewhat nicely, she thought with a natural gratitude for small mercies. If it hadn’t been for Saphire Arana she would have fronted up looking like a truly frumpy maven of nothing in particular.

She ran her hands over the pale blue fabric of the dress and fixed her gaze on a point in a distant corner of the room.

“Kate Jones is the go-to girl for our founder Melania. She types, she schedules, she organises, and all without breaking a sweat. She can turn any administrative nightmare into a smoothly-run paradise of calm in the blink of an eye.” At this, Kate blinked rather obviously to make light of the praise and the crowd tittered in laughter.

Benedetto did not.

Every ounce of his being was concentrated on the woman.

She was so like him.

Oh, she was beautiful and feminine and were it not for her unpalatable family connection he might have found her desirable enough. But there was something about her that would forever remind him of the man he’d sworn to ruin.

The bidding started at a lowly sum but escalated quickly. Kate did her best to look embarrassed but Benedetto suspected she had always believed she would be the hit of the event. Why else would someone like her agree to be auctioned off in a manner such as this?

As bidding began to slow, he leaned further forward. Her smile was so self-satisfied. She looked inordinately pleased with herself.

She had no idea, he surmised, that her world was about to come crashing down around her ears.

“All bids are final, ladies and gentleman. If you are looking for an organisational wunderkind to streamline your life, then don’t let this opportunity pass you by.” The auctioneer’s small eyes flitted around the room. “Going once, for eighty-seven thousand pounds.” Another scan of the room. “Going twice.”

Benedetto lifted his hand casually; just a small gesture that drew the trained eyes of the auctioneer nonetheless.

“A bid, sir?”

Benedetto’s attention remained pinned to his prize. “Two hundred thousand pounds.”

The room was silent. Not a single person spoke. Even the auctioneer seemed momentarily knocked off balance by this unexpected increase in bidding price.

“The bid is for two hundred thousand pounds for two days of Miss Jones’s time; did I hear you correctly, sir?”

Benedetto indicated with the smallest nod that his bid was in earnest.

The auctioneer scanned the room but it was a formality now. “Very well. Any further offers?” A nervous laugh amongst the other guests.

For her part, Kate could barely think. Her eyes were locked to the direction of the voice, but all she could see was a large shadow. A man, sitting, who’d spoken with a thick accent was all she could make out.

That, and the fact he was obviously obscenely wealthy. Her stomach sank with disapproval. That kind of overt wealth had never interested her. It reminded her too much of the world she’d grown up in; the world she’d spent the last few years running as far and as fast from as she could.

“Going once, going twice,” the auctioneer sprinted through the final countdown. After all, who in their right mind would increase this bid?

“Sold!”

And though it had been the whole purpose of the exercise, a shiver of anticipation ran down Kate’s spine.

Sold.

Only she wasn’t. It was just a couple of days. Like the temp jobs she’d done when she’d first left home. She could do that.

With a deep breath, she sent one last smile into the audience and moved elegantly from the stage. Only once in the relative privacy of the anteroom beyond the main hall did she give in to her anxiety. She pressed her back against a thickly papered wall and lifted her hands to cover her eyes. She breathed in deeply, but her body was shaking.

What the heck had just happened? How could anyone have bid that amount on her? And what would they do when they realised she wasn't exactly the organisational genius she’d been made out to be? What if they wanted her to redesign their software storage solution or to implement a new book-keeping protocol? She had no skills beyond being able to joke and laugh her way through just about anything.

A knotted feeling was pooling in her stomach.

But it was done.

She couldn’t get out of it.

And so she straightened off the wall, peeling herself back to normal height, and squared her shoulders. It was only two days.

Somehow, she’d get through it. Just like always.

 

* * *

 

If she were asked to describe him in a single sentence, she would have failed miserably. Everything about this man was perfect. He was tall, and large. Though there wasn’t an inch of excess weight on him, he was big: pure muscle and strength. His skin was tanned — she could see it in the Vee exposed by his shirt and the backs of his hands. Large, capable hands that spoke of a viral physique.

Yes, his body was a thing of perfection, but beyond that his face was the work of a true master. From his square jaw to dimpled cheeks, to eyes that seemed to speak to her even though he said nothing, he was handsome, stunning, gorgeous and most definitely trouble with a capital T.

His eyes were perfect. Dark and light; silent but curious. Kate’s throat was dry. Her heart was pounding boom boom boom inside her chest. Her fingers shook as she brushed her blonde hair from her cheek.

“Hello.” She spoke softly, her accent cultured by her upbringing and the Australian nanny who’d basically raised her.

“Kate Jones,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.

She nodded, thinking how much better it suited her than the Katherine Beauchamp she’d been christened and lived as for the first nineteen years of her life.

He was to die for. Stunning. It unnerved her; she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt more anxious. And yet she had years of experience at feeling out of her depth. She blinked up at him, her expression giving nothing away of her inner-turmoil. “And you are?” It came out with more hauteur than she’d intended.

“Benedetto Arnaud.” He studied her face carefully, examining her for any hint of comprehension. There was none and that fact both bothered and pleased him in equal measure. She apparently knew nothing of his connection to her, which meant his plan to use her to his advantage would succeed. And yet it felt wrong that her father had ruined a perfectly good man’s life and never suffered for it.

Well, that was about to change.

“Your bid was exceptionally generous, Mr. Arnaud.” Her words were cold. She was cold. He wondered what it would take to break through that ice-like barrier and make her scream with pleasure. To send color into her cheeks and passion into those hateful eyes.

“It served its purpose,” he shrugged, plucking a glass of champagne from a passing tray and handing it to her. Kate sipped it gratefully. Her heart was pounding like a trapped bird. She needed something to soften her nerves.

“Did it? And what was that?” Her lips had left a perfect red impression on the edge of the glass. His eyes were drawn to it and he felt an answering kick of anticipation in his gut. Would she leave marks like that on his body?

“It got your attention, didn’t it?”

Her eyes, already enormous in her pretty face, flew wide at the statement.

“Oh.” She swallowed and pursed those cupid’s bow lips together in what he could presume was disapproval. It amused him. She was so proper — he ached to unsettle her. And he would. He knew it was simply a matter of time and gamesmanship before she was his. “And why would you want my attention?”

His smile was a whisper of promise. “Why do you think?”

When she frowned a tiny line formed between her brows.

“Finish your champagne.”

Her frown deepened. “Why?”

“Because I told you to.”

Her mouth dropped open at the presumptuous command. “So?”

He leaned forward, so that his mouth was almost touching her ear. His breath was a warm caress. “Finish your champagne so that we may dance.”

“Dance?” She stepped backwards, her whole body instantly electrified by his proximity.

He nodded sardonically. “You know, that thing people do at events like this?” He nodded towards the floor and, sure enough, it was filled with couples.

“Why would I dance with you?” She asked, her tone increasingly standoffish with each moment that passed.

“Because you want to,” he returned without a beat of hesitation. “And because I have just paid two hundred thousand pounds for the pleasure of your company and you feel a sense of obligation.”

“I …” her lips pouted in consternation. “I do,” she agreed slowly. “But I shouldn’t. You chose to bid on me. That was up to you. If you’re having second thoughts …”

“I don’t have second thoughts,” he interrupted smoothly. He reached for the champagne flute and lifted it to her lips. “And you will learn to enjoy doing as I say,” he promised darkly, tilting the champagne so that she had only two options. She could have yanked her head away, but to do so would have caused a scene. Or she could have opened her red lips and finished the rest of the fine alcohol.

She chose the latter. Kate had never enjoyed drawing attention to herself and the champagne was becoming a necessary crutch to deal with the strange feelings that were bursting through her.

It bubbled and fizzed the whole way down. Her eyes stayed on his face, and she saw satisfaction at her acquiescence written there.

“I was thirsty,” she muttered, her expression one of arch disapproval. His smile sent butterflies banging through her belly.

“Good.” His hand in the small of her back was firm and warm. He guided her effortlessly towards the dance floor and her feet seemed to glide with his of their own volition.

He held her close, tight to his body, and the band switched into a slower song.

Who was this man? She had a vague recollection of having heard his name before. Like all of the other well-dressed guests she presumed he was wealthy, whether by birth or skill, and that he made a habit of spending time with Europe’s elite. His accent was a throaty Gallic, a mix of Italian and French that sounded, simply, magical.

He was, without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. It wasn't just his looks though. There was a tortured, haunted quality in the depths of his eyes that sparked something in her soul. She was mesmerised. Up close, he smelled woody and masculine. Her throat burned with anxiety and desire.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Arnaud?” Her words were clipped and in control, in direct contrast to how she felt.

God, she was sexy. Even knowing who her father was didn’t change that fact. He ran his fingers over the small of her back and heard her sharp intake of breath.

“Many things, I’m sure.”

She pulled back just far enough to see his face. Her eyes roamed his features in thought. “I should warn you, my secretarial skills are definitely not worth the amount you’ve paid.”

His eyes bore into hers. “Perhaps I am interested in more than your ability to type.”

Her heart turned over in her chest. “I’m quite good at spreadsheets,” she said, purposefully misunderstanding him.

His laugh was soft. “I already have two excellent assistants at my disposal.”

She swallowed. “So I’ll be helping them?”

“No, cara. You’ll be with me.”

“With you?” She asked smoothly, though her blood was raging through her body. “Doing what, exactly?”

He deflected the question with a small smile. “Have you worked for the charity for long?”

She was momentarily thrown by the change of topic but she followed him for it gave her a temporary reprieve from the heated seduction that had been swirling around them.

“Less than a year.”

“Do you enjoy your job?”

She nodded, and realised it was true. “I like my boss. Melania is an inspiration. She works tirelessly. Her role is stressful and demanding and poorly-paid but she does it because she is on a crusade to improve the lives of kids with cancer. She’s … amazing.”

It was true; he also admired the charity’s founder enormously. But there was something in the way Kate spoke that indicated a more personal affinity with the cause. “And beyond that, this charity matters to you?”

“Of course.” She was back to being cold and controlled. “In the last three years Hope Renewed has become one of the most important children’s organizations in Europe. We help thousands of kids every year, and their families. I feel very fortunate to be a part of that.”

He couldn’t help the curiosity that sparked in his chest. He had made his fortune by reading people. He knew Katherine Beauchamp to be a product of her spoiled, demanding upbringing and yet he sensed a kindness and compassion in her that he hadn’t expected.

“And before this? What did you do?”

Her steps faltered a little. Her smile was forced. “Oh, this and that. Odd jobs. I did some temp work for a secretarial agency… Worked in bars, too.” Her shrug was studiously casual. “So you see,” she said, blinking up at him with an attempt at innocence, “you might start to regret your rather generous donation.”

His smile was like butter on warm toast and it made her tummy just as gooey. He leaned down and brushed his lips against the sensitive lobe of her ear. “It was not a donation,” he murmured, his eyes locking to hers. “It was a payment. And I intend to collect immediately.”

Something swirled inside of her; a thrill of desire and a slick of warning heat. “Oh?” She murmured, but he was looking beyond her, signaling something over her shoulder. She stopped dancing and turned in time to see him take another glass of champagne from a tray. He put a hand around her waist and guided her swiftly from the dance floor, to one of the dark recesses created by the crenellations in the wall.

Kate’s heart was hammering inside her chest. She looked at him with a sense of loss; not of him, but of herself. Something was shifting in her being; it was as though an elemental part of her body was responding to his, and she was powerless to stop it.

“You do realize I’m not actually for sale, don’t you?” She said, her back pressed against the cold wall, her hands planted by her side.

He nodded gravely. “Your time, however, is; and I’ve bought two days of it.”

She swallowed; he enjoyed watching her fine pale neck knot beneath his gaze. “But that’s for secretarial work …”

“That wasn’t definitively specified.” He pointed out. “And nor is it required.”

He lifted the champagne to her lips but this time she kept them clamped firmly shut. His smile was darkly haunted. She watched as he dipped his finger in the champagne and then dribbled some of the bubbling liquid over her shoulder. It was cold; she jumped the smallest amount. He dropped his lips to the same spot and tasted her. The contrast of the cold drink and his warm, moist mouth made her groan against him.

“What are you doing?” She asked softly, her hands lifting to the black lapel of his tuxedo and clamping around the fabric to hold him close.

He didn’t respond with words. Instead, he lifted the champagne to her mouth, and again she refused to drink it. But he poured it anyway, watching with undisguised fascination as it dribbled down her chin, her exposed décolletage to the valley formed by her petite breasts. And down it went still, over her stomach, to the lace underpants she wore. She gasped as it made contact with her sensitive flesh.

“What are you doing?” She repeated, as his lips dropped to chase the champagne on her décolletage.

“I would like to drink this from your body, if you'll let me.”

Kate shook her head, but her fingers were tightening in his jacket. “That would be crazy.”

“It is your decision,” he murmured, strumming her sides with his fingers. She shook her head. It didn’t feel like a decision. It felt like an option, and only one option was open to her.

“I don’t know you,” she said, but her eyes were staring at him helplessly and her hand was dropping to link through his.

“You will,” he promised, catching her fingers and pulling her behind him. He moved so fast that she almost had to run to keep up. At the entrance to the ballroom, she ducked her head to avoid being seen by her colleague Saphire. It was not necessary; Saphire was staring into space, seemingly miles away.

Kate breathed a sigh of relief as they emerged from the beautiful villa. There were valet cars parked in the grounds; Kate knew because she’d personally interviewed and selected the valet staff.

But Benedetto nodded instead towards a shining black motorbike propped insolently in the driveway.

“This?” She squeaked, all the words of warning her father had drummed into her over the years flashing back to the forefront of her consciousness.

In answer, he pulled the helmet from the seat and settled it on her head. She stared up at him as he tightened it into place, then he threw one powerful leg over the bike and throttled the engine to life.

“Hop on,” he called over his shoulder, his eyes not meeting hers.

“My dad would have kittens,” she said, more to herself than him. Her father hated motorbikes, and with good reason given the way her mother had died.

The reference to her father set Benedetto’s heart heaving. He watched her pretty face cross with emotion and his resolve strengthened. This was necessary.

Kate took one last look at the gorgeous castle and then settled herself behind him. She wrapped her hands around his waist, and felt the powerful vibrations of the engine begin to evoke a dark, desperate need inside of her.

“Where are we going?” She shouted to be heard over the engine.

“My place.”

Well, get there fast, she thought. And she laughed, because she’d discovered when she ran away that flirting with danger was a good thing. It made her feel brave and alive in a way she never had her whole life. And that night, with the stars glistening their approval and her arms wrapped around his strong torso, Kate Jones felt Katherine Beauchamp blowing out of her soul. She held him tight and she laughed a little more.

Being reckless felt good. And the motorbike was only the beginning …