Page 56 of Sugar

I suddenly questioned every single choice I’d ever made in my entire life that’d led me to that point. My doubt was so loud, battling against the blood rushing in my ears, that it took me a long moment to realize what else I heard.

Or rather, didn’t hear.

Because when the auctioneer prompted the bidding with an open-ended start, there was nothing.

Silence.

It seemed to stretch for hours that were likely only seconds.

The longest, most agonizing seconds in my entire life.

“Ten thousand,” a gruff voice called, carrying confidently across the room. I knew that voice. I’d spent too many hours obsessing over it.

The buzz of gasps and whispers grew louder when someone else said, “Twenty thousand.”

What in the ever-loving hell is happening right now?

There was no hesitation. “Fifty.”

Whoever had offered the competing bid didn’t have the chance to respond.

Not before Easton stormed onto the stage, flung me over his shoulder, and stalked right back off.

“Don’t forget this,” someone said as we passed. Easton slowed for a second to snarl something that I didn’t catch.

Hanging upside down, one of my hands clutched at his dress shirt in a feeble attempt to stop myself from crashing to the floor if he released me. My other went to my ass in an even feebler attempt to stop my already short skirt from riding up to expose more of my panties. Thankfully, he helped with that.

Unfortunately—or maybe extra thankfully, I wasn’t quite sure—he did so by using his large hand to span the rounded curves of my cheeks.

It’d always been amazing to me how, in even the briefest blink of time, the human brain was capable of jumping to a million fragmented conclusions and feeling a million contradictory emotions.

I was shocked.

Mortified.

Thrilled.

Nervous.

Giddy.

Why was he there? Why had he bid so much?

Most importantly… What did he want with me now that he’d won?

And where the hell was he taking me?

The lighting dimmed, and hope and apprehension surged as I wondered if he was taking me to a back room.

But when he stopped and slammed me to my feet, we were in the same hallway he’d disappeared down during my former visit. The one that led to offices rather than unseen rooms offering unknown pleasures.

His hands spanned my hips to stop me from stumbling at the sudden perspective flip. Once my bearings were steady and my world shifted back into place, he released his hold and took a half step back.

His outfit—dark slacks and a blue shirt with the sleeves rolled and the collar unbuttoned—made me guess he’d come from work. I wondered if he’d been planning to attend. Or if he’d known I would be there. There were so many possibilities and mysteries, it was as disorienting as being carried upside down.

Before I could land on what to say, I raised my gaze to meet his and lost my breath. It wasn’t lust that burned in his nearly black eyes.

It was rage.

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