Page 19 of Auctioned for Her Blood
“Yes. Please.” Shana nods. Her hands are shaking, and she looks at me, wide-eyed. “Can you find the emcee?” she asks. “Tell her to get ready to start the live auction. We’ll begin as soon as Mr. Zuben and I get back.”
“Sure.” I say, my voice quivering with excitement. In the last few minutes, Sanctuary House’s financial problems have been erased by these two wealthy and handsome men.
Zuben gestures for Shana to walk ahead of him. Waiting for her to pass, he turns back and makes eye contact with me, and his gaze is so intense, so focused, that heat explodes inside me. Heat I can’t explain, but don’t want to end. I watch, agog, as he holds the elevator door open for Shana and then follows her inside. Even the way Zuben walks is a study in masculine elegance—the perfect fusion of grace and strength.
“Guess that means I’m in like Flynn,” Ryker says, snapping me out of my daze. Passing a bored Henry, he holds his elbow toward me. “Shall we?”
It takes me a moment to realize that he’s offering me his arm, like in an old fashioned movie, and I take it. The leather of his jacket is softer than I expect—but the arm under it firmer. This man just donated over three quarters of a million dollars to Sanctuary House, and then there’s the multi-year endowment from Zuben. This is going to be our best year for donations, ever. By a million miles.
“Ember,” Ryker says as we stroll through the ballroom. “That is a beautiful name.”
“Thank you. My mother claimed it was a family name, but I never got the chance to ask her more about it.”
“I’m sorry.” Stopping, he turns toward me. “Did your mother pass?”
“Yes. Well…” I draw a breath to push back rising tears that totally catch me by surprise. “I’m not totally sure, to be honest. My mom disappeared. She’s been missing for over a decade.”
“Oh, my.” He puts his hand over mine that’s still resting on his arm. “You must have been a child when she vanished. How terrifying.”
I nod, shocked that I’ve shared more with him than I’ve shared with anyone, ever. Shana doesn’t even know anything about my family. Ryker and I just met, but even though he stirs up a mixture of fear and desire inside me, the compassion in his voice and expression make me feel like I can tell him anything, like I want to.
“That explains your interest in Sanctuary House.” His fingers, over my hand, gently stroke. “Did you partake in their services as a teen?”
“No, but you’re right. I understand the plight of homeless teens.” Although I can’t begin to compare my experience to that of our clients.
I had money. A place to live. And living out on the farm, I was able to evade child services until I turned eighteen.
“And your father?” he asks, his voice soothing like hot chocolate.
“I never knew him.”
“Brothers and sisters?”
Only in my dreams.“I’m an only child.”
His expression is painted with what looks like sincere empathy. “We orphans make our own families, right? A beautiful young woman, such as yourself, must have many good friends.”
I look down, both embarrassed and sad as I’m hit by how totally alone I am in the world. I do know my fair share of people, but have never made any real friends—not before mother disappeared and definitely not after.
We were so isolated at the farm and now I avoid everyone. Mostly because it’s hard to explain why I don’t go out after dark. And I certainly don’t like to go into how my mother disappeared, or how crazy I probably am to believe the things that happened that day. By avoiding friendships, I can keep those things to myself.
“My beautiful Ember.” Ryker’s voice draws my gaze from his chin to his eyes.
“If you permit me,” he says. “I’d like to apply for the job.”
“What job?” My brain is scrambled, my attention distracted by memories, and now by the flecks of teal and ice dancing inside the sky blue of his eyes. His eyes are like twin glacier-filled lakes.
“I make averygood friend,” he says. “I’m loyal to a fault, understanding, and many find me amusing.” He leans forward. “I’ve even been calledcharmingby some.” His expression has changed.
I step back, pulling my hand from under his and off his arm. I don’t want to offend this major donor, but with the way he’s looking at me…
I suspect he has something far beyond friendship in mind. I’m inexperienced with men, but no fool, and my gaze drifts back down to his bulge. Catching myself, I jerk my eyesight to the side. Clearly I have something beyond friendship in mind too.
“What are you drinking?” he asks, as if no awkwardness just happened.
“Drinking?”
He nods toward the bar. “Yes. What can I get you?”
