Page 2 of The Auction

“It cannot be…is our Daniel finally out of the lion’s den?”

The voice belonged to the tall, dark-haired, dark-eyed man descending the stairs in a suit like something off the cover of an old romance novel. The man’s riding boots were polished. Daniel had once asked if he did a lot of riding.Not horses,the man had said.

“Kingsley Edge,” Daniel said without smiling. “Were you quoting the Bible? I didn’t think you’d ever heard of it.”

Kingsley shrugged elegantly and rolled his eyes. Unlike the testy doorkeeper, he was true blue, white, and red French and had the attitude, the accent, and the libido to prove it.

“Blame the priest,” Kingsley said. “He’s still trying to save my soul. I keep telling him I don’t have one.”

Daniel’s smile faded as Kingsley met him at the bottom of the steps. “He’s not here, is he?”

Movement in the music room caught Daniel’s eye. He saw a few beautiful women lounging about two very lucky and handsome young men. But no priests in residence. Thank God. Daniel wasn’t quite ready for that conversation yet.

“Sunday afternoon,” Kingsley said and motioned Daniel to follow him back upstairs. “He’s either praying right now or reminding his little pet what his cock tastes like.”

“I don’t think she needs reminding,” added the doorkeeper.

Kingsley exhaled, turned to the girl and said something in rapid French. In equally rapid but far testier French she replied. Finally Kingsley raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and pointed at the hallway. The girl gave Kingsley a mock curtsy before spinning on her heel and storming away. Her skirt lifted with that tempestuous twirl, and Daniel caught a glimpse of white lace-trimmed panties. She should flounce away more often.

“You’re keeping aQuébécoiseas a pet these days?” Daniel asked.

“She’s part of my Imperial Collection. I’m creating the New French Empire…one beautiful girl at a time.” Kingsley started up the stairs and Daniel followed.

“No boys?”

“Are you enlisting?”

“You’re not my type.”

“Pfft,” he said,très français. “I’m everyone’s type.” He waved his hand.

As they walked, Kingsley whistled “La Marseillaise,” the French national anthem.The whistling always made Daniel nervous. No man alive worked so diligently to cultivate an air so casual. Daniel knew better. So when Kingsley ushered him into his private office, and Daniel found his back pressed to the doorand ahand on his throat, he wasn’t particularly surprised.

He stayed calm and didn’t fight back. Coming here had been a risk, and for the life of him he still couldn’t say exactly why he’d decided to take it.

At first neither man said anything. Kingsley’s dark eyes bored into Daniel’s blue ones. Kingsley was rakishly handsome and had half the women in New York at his feet. Quite a few of the men, too. Yet underneath the playboy exterior lurked an extremely dangerous man. Dangerously intelligent. Dangerously loyal.

Dangerously loyal to the man whose lover Daniel had tried to steal last year.

Hence the chokehold.

* * *

“Whatever happened to, ‘Welcome home?’”

“This is your welcome home.” Kingsley grinned and tightened the hold, but only a little. They were friends, after all.

“I guess Eleanor told you.”

“She told me. You know the rules,mon ami.We may borrow another’s toys, pet another’s pet…but we do not steal another’s property.”

Daniel took a shallow breath. As hard as Kingsley was holding his neck, a deep breath wasn’t an option. “There’s no stealing Eleanor. I asked her to stay. There’s a difference.”

“You are alive. Obviously there’s a difference.” Kingsley released Daniel’s throat and backed away. He collapsed into a leather armchair in front of his desk. “Et vive la différence, oui?”

Daniel rubbed his throat as he sat in the chair opposite Kingsley. “Right. Yeah.Vive la différence.”

Kingsley laughed his low, sardonic laugh. The laugh died. Kingsley narrowed his eyes at him.

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