Page 76 of The Renegade Billionaire
Madison bites her bottom lip until it turns white, then nods, twisting the toe of her shoe into the floor behind her while staring up at me through heavy-lidded lashes.
“You’re telling me we have to sleep at the inn with someone?” Without my consent, my voice turns downright feral. “That’s not happening, sunshine. Not unless you’re planning to bid, so someone had better start explaining right the fuck now.”
When everyone around us sniggers, I square my shoulders, bend at the waist, and bring Madison eye to eye with me. “That can’t even be legal. It’s prostitution. What do the other winners get?”
Her grin splits her face in two.
“Only the bidders get rooms, ya bubbletwat. Ya have dinner, say goodnight and go on yer merry way. You don’t even have to stay at the inn if you don’t want to,” Cian barks.
Stepping into Madison’s space until she backs up to the bar, I bracket her in with my arms and feel my lips tilting up on one side. “Is this why you’re not mad at me?”
She tips one delicate shoulder up. “Maybe.”
“Oh, you sweet, misinformed troublemaker.”
“Hey,” she huffs.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my wallet, and remove a credit card. “Sweetheart, I’ve got enough on my plate, so there’s no way I’m spending a night with anyone else.”
I run my credit card along the column of her neck and across her collarbone, then watch as her throat bobs while sheswallows. I’d give my left nut to lick the pulse point that’s running a marathon beneath her skin.
Instead, I try desperately not to stare at the buttons undone on her flannel shirt that show a hint of cleavage or the way a sliver of her stomach peeks out where she’s tied the front into a knot as I slide my credit card into the breast pocket of her shirt.
“I’m trying to keep a low profile here, sunshine.” When she opens her mouth to argue, I lower my voice and go with the truth. “I don’t want to be taken advantage of, not here. I want people to get to know me for me, not for what my grandfather built. Can you help me do that?”
She stares into my eyes, back and forth as though she’s reading all my secrets. “You know you’re not really doing a very good job of staying incognito. It’s only a matter of time before everyone figures out who you are.”
“You already know who I am,” I counter.
“Do I? Because your social media presence doesn’t give anything away.”
That information cracks my heart wide open for her. “Have you been googling me, Madison?”
“Of course we have,” Savvy interrupts, bursting our bubble. “And something’s not adding up.”
Lowering my hands to my sides, I attempt to keep the annoyance from my tone at being interrupted.
“You won’t find much about me online,” I say smoothly. “My family didn’t appreciate any reminders of me. Probably because I was my grandfather’s favorite. But they all fought to give me privacy—my parents for purely selfish reasons, my grandfather to give me some semblance of a normal childhood. But anything else you want to know, you ask me.”
“Let’s go.” Cian curses. “Time to get this over with.”
Madison steps forward, and I put my finger through her belt loop as though it’s the most natural place for it to be, and I gentlytug her toward me. “Do not allow anyone to outbid you. I don’t care how much it costs.”
Savvy smirks, then pushes between me and Madison, pulling my card from Madison’s left breast pocket. “This round is on Brax.” She laughs, and I clench my jaw until it aches but allow Cian to drag me toward the front of the barn where a makeshift stage has been set up.
We stand in a semicircle awaiting instructions, and it takes all my self-control not to stare at Madison. It isn’t until I’m handed a karaoke book that I feel a glare on me. Scanning the crowd, I see why a second later.
Harry stands across from me with pure hatred coating his expression.
“Fuck me. Does he ever take a hint?” I mutter.
Cian follows my line of sight and grunts. “No. But he will. Pick your song.”
“I’m sorry. What now?” I feel a little cartoonish as I say it, and judging by the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, it’s not too far off from what he sees as I attempt to shove the book into his hands.
“Your song,” he rumbles, pushing the book back to me. “We sing and dance and make a fecking fool of ourselves while they bid on us.”
“What do the women have to do?” I glance into the crowd again. The ratio of men to women is certainly skewed higher on the male side.
