Page 138 of Auctioned

Half-naked.

Their investigator invaded my privacy.

James has a hand in everything. He had to be the one to allow other people to stalk me. He gave them the go-ahead to look at me half-naked.

“Motherfuckers,” I whisper as I flip through more photos of myself. At work. Jogging. In the subway. All of them from the past month. All of them scare and turn me on simultaneously. “Motherfuckers.”

“Fucker.” James. His low voice yanks me back into the room.

My head snaps up to him, eyes narrowing. “What did you just call me?”

“Not you. Never you.” He’s infuriatingly handsome, leaning against the doorway. His dark gaze is locked on mine, and I’m no longer indignant. I need him. I just need him. “You meant motherfucker. Singular, since I’m the one who took these photos. I’m the one who printed them here, in my home. I’m the only motherfuckerwho saw you compromised. Me. Only me.”

27

JAMES

Confessing this truth to Ophelia isn’t a hardship.

That’s what’s gotten methis.

The blush creeping up her cheeks. Her jaw, slacking in semi-horror, semi-arousal.

I put those emotions there.

Having her here, like this, makes the blood pump harder throughout my body. I come alive at the sight of my prey, feral and horrified and beautiful.

I’m hard for her. Mesmerized.

Now.

That wasn’t the case when I walked into the living room to find the ankle cuff picked. The chain on the rug.

Ophelia is gone.

That was my first and only thought for a couple of soul-crushing seconds.

Until I forced myself to do what I always do when the world stops making sense.

Think logically.

My phone didn’t alert me to any of the doors opening while I’d been away. She couldn’t have left.

But for some strange reason, my stomach remained in knots. The idea that she tried the doors—even if she failed—bothered me. More than bothered. It hurt.

That deep-seated ache translated into anger.

So. Much. Anger.

Temples throbbing. Teeth grinding. Vision blurring around the edges.

I never craved to own anyone’s heart before. I don’t care about anyone else’s heart.

I cared about her, and then I came home to find that she had attempted to run away from me.

Infuriating. Unacceptable.

The dread in the pit of my stomach and the rejection, those were the worst.

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