Page 23 of Auctioned for Her Blood
“What’s wrong, Ember?” Zuben asks me. “You look ill. Did this cad offend you? Touch you inappropriately? Say something crude?” He shifts, like he’s about to attack Ryker.
At first glance, the tall, elegant Zuben shouldn’t be a fair match against the rugged, wide-shouldered Ryker, but as Zuben’s chest expands and his chin rises I sense the immense power inside both of these men. If they fought, they’d tear each other apart, and I’m ashamed to be a little excited by the idea of watching that hypothetical battle.
Hoping to calm them, I lightly touch both of their arms, dropping both my hands before I give my fingers their fair chance to sense the solid muscles under their jackets.
“Everything’s fine,” I assure Zuben. “Great, in fact.”
Zuben looks at me with concern. “I’m glad to hear that, but I really do need to speak to you. Alone.”
I nod, but Ryker’s clearly annoyed. At this moment, I can’t choose which man to please and which to disappoint. I want to please them both, for reasons that have nothing to do with the money they’ve donated to our charity. I’m intrigued by both of these very different men.
“Thanks again for bidding on the first date,” I tell Ryker. “You helped drive up the final donation. But if you’ll excuse me for a moment—”
“It was nothing.” Ryker leans down to my ear and whispers, “I’d part with a dozen gold bars for an evening with you.”
A flush washes through me at his obvious exaggeration, yet I can’t help but glance back at Ryker as Zuben leads me away.
A couple crosses my field of view, breaking my eye contact with Ryker, and I turn forward and continue alongside Zuben, without speaking, barely thinking. This night has been the strangest, most exhilarating of my life to date, and I feel like I’m floating, a balloon pulled on a string held by Zuben as we cross the ballroom floor.
We stop in a shadow at the edge of the ballroom, and he hands me a glass of champagne.
“When?” I shake my head, embarrassed that I didn’t even notice him picking the flutes off a waiter’s tray as we walked, because that’s the only explanation for how he got them.
“When what?” He looks into my eyes and I’m mesmerized again by their color, by their interest in me.
I take a quick sip of the sparkling wine to avoid answering. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Everything.” His eyes darken and he leans toward me. “You evaded my questions at our first meeting, and I want to know everything about you. No detail is too small.”
“Oh.” My cheeks heat and I take another sip of champagne. “There’s not much to tell.” My teeth scrape my lower lip as I scramble to think of something to keep this sophisticated man’s interest, because as scary as it feels, more than anything, I want to hold his attention.
“Have you always resided in Philadelphia?” he asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “I grew up in a rural area of Pennsylvania. In the mountains. Pretty isolated, really. How about you?”
“Are your parents still there?” he asks. “Your brothers and sisters?”
I shake my head.
“They came with you to Philadelphia,” he says. “What year was this?”
My eyes threaten tears, and I look down. It’s been ten years, and I thought I was over the loss of my mother, but I’m not.
Zuben’s finger gently urges up my chin, and my mouth opens to draw a ragged breath. I can’t believe how his light but intimate touch radiates inside me, spreading down my throat, into my chest, and lower.
“You are all alone,” he says softly, his eyes full of concern and empathy.
I nod.
“I too am alone.” A wistful look bathes his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
His sad expression vanishes as quickly as it arrived. “I lost my family a long time ago.”
I nod, feeling a connection to this man; we have something in common. “It feels like a long time ago for me too.”
“And what happened to your parents?” he asks.
