Page 3 of Highest Bid

She was fucking glorious.

No longer was she a sparrow of a woman, who blended into the background while her coworkers, in their revealing lingerie, drew the stares of most men in the room. Every single eye was on the goddess up on stage.

His pulse jerked into double-time, his cock hardening to concrete, while every single fantasy he’d had, and then some, poured through his mind. He inhaled long and deep, only barely sensing the knowing smirks of his brothers, while the suited men around him went ballistic with their bidding.

His hands fisted as a surge of something primal and totally foreign rose up from within. He had to have her.

So what are you going to do about it?

He rubbed a hand down his face. He’d do what any hot-blooded, self-centered man with too much money and not enough sense would. He’d win Layla for the night and hope she wanted more from him than stimulating conversation.

Chapter Two

Layla Selvey walked out onto stage like she owned it, a superstar in the making.

Ha! If only.

Her hands were clammy, her heart beat like a jackhammer, and her mouth was drier than sawdust, while every self-doubt she’d ever had rippled to the surface, right along with an unwanted memory.

She’d been sixteen and floating on air, knowing she’d finished school with great grades, despite her less-than-stellar upbringing. She’d been ready to take on the world! Then the most popular boy in class had leered at her low-cut, figure-hugging gown she’d worn to the end-of-year-formal and said, “Nice tits. They look just like your mom’s.”

Her so-called mates jeering laughs were as clear in her head now as they were in the past, and just as damaging to her self-esteem. Her vulnerability hadn’t been physical; it’d been emotional, as though all her friends were in on her family’s dirty little secrets.

After the formal, she’d begun to cover up, become less noticeable. Staying unobtrusive meant she was less likely to be singled out, or talked about.

Now, cheers and wolf whistles followed her onto stage, jerking her back to the present. She smiled, her confidence spiking. She wanted to be noticed again.

No more being a wallflower. No more disappearing into the background. Tonight it was her turn to be noticed and, ultimately, get what she wanted.

She’d spent most of her life striving not to be like her mother, who’d had Layla at the tender age of sixteen, and who now, at thirty nine, still commanded top-dollar performances at the Sydney strip club where she worked.

Layla had striven just as hard not to be like her oversexed father. He indiscriminately screwed women on a weekly basis, far more often than he ever bedded his highly desirable wife. Yet the two of them were still together, their volatile relationship a bomb set to self-destruct.

She lifted her chin and, like radar, she scanned the crowd until her stare clashed with the too-handsome, dark-haired man at the back of the room.

Galan.

Her heart contracted. He was motionless, like one of the sculptures he’d commissioned for the club’s balcony bar and Garden Café. Even his white dress shirt and tailor-made, charcoal suit seemed pulled too tight, as though his muscles beneath had tensed rock-hard.

Her own belly tightened. She couldn’t lose his attention now that she finally had it. Her breath shuddering with nerves, she drifted her hands over her full breasts and down her flat midriff, the suited crowd going hoarse with excited bids.

Maybe I’m just like Mom after all.

Galan’s eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. His jaw hardned to granite. He was tellingly furious and aroused. All the things his brothers claimed he’d be.

Shit. It was working. It was really working!

She smiled at him, and his stare darkened, his mouth tightening until brackets formed around his usually sensual lips. Oh, dear God, help me. She tilted her head even higher. She’d wanted his attention, and she’d got it. If it backfired, then so be it. She’d done everything possible now for him to notice her.

Her heart thudded as a new possibility entered her head. What if this was just the excuse he needed to fire her?

She’d never see him again.

Then he raised a bidding paddle and named a price that sent the room deathly quiet. She blinked. One hundred thousand dollars. She’d been hearing things, surely?

But as the auctioneer’s hammer fell, not even ten seconds later, to the still-silent room, she realized her ploy had worked. Her pulse thundered in her ears. Galan wanted her! He seriously wanted to spend some time with her! And going by the exorbitant amount he’d paid, he was more than interested.

Relief flooded through her. The backup plan she’d devised with Galan’s brothers was thankfully unnecessary! Liam or Aiden didn’t need to bid on her to get her out of a sticky situation.

---