"Yeah, but none of their roadblocks were two thousand miles long." Even as she said it, Kinsey was well aware that physical distance had nothing to do with the roadblock keeping her and Doug apart.
Whatever. She was here. He wasn't. And this night wasn't about either one of them, no matter that she'd been making it so. It was about raising funds.
All girls for one and one girl for all. "Since we're stuck, let's do it."
* * *
Late flying into
Houston
on Halloween night and even later getting downtown to
Paddington's
Ford, Doug squeezed his way inside the crowded bar and took up a position in the shadowed corner nearest the door. The stage had been set up across the room, with prison bars and funky red-and-blue lights, he noted, looking around.
He didn't want Kinsey to know he was here. All he wanted to do tonight was watch. That was the only reason he'd come.
He wasn't yet ready to see her again, to talk to her, to explain. He was still working out explanations he owed to himself and to Anton. But he was getting there. He was getting there. And he had a feeling tonight might be a turning point he needed to witness firsthand.
He knew she wanted to help. That's what women did—soothing, easing, consoling. And he loved Kinsey for being the woman she was.
But that was only half of the battle he was waging. The rest was with the restlessness he was on the cusp of resolving—a resolution he had to make if he ever expected to be the sort of man she deserved.
This week away from her had done him good, even though it was the hardest time he'd ever done. But he'd needed the isolation while he worked through a debt he owed—one he owed to himself and had to clear before he changed the direction his life had been headed.
Yeah, he admitted it. Having Gwen walk into Adam's arms had done a number on his confidence as well as on his plans. For some reason, Doug had started using her defection as a gauge of his own worth. And each time he'd had occasion to take his own
measure, that
had been the yardstick he'd used.
Stupid. Just plain stupid. It had taken Kinsey's constant probing to get him to see he needed a new measuring tool. He allowed himself a private smile and decided a handheld laser meter would be the way to go, screw the yardstick. Up-to-date technology to bring him out of the past.
When the music kicked on with a loud techno beat, he was still in the back of the room, avoiding the biggest crush of the crowd, and still having a hell of a time wrapping his mind around the fact that Kinsey wanted him enough to trap him.
But that reality hadn't hit with half the force of her admission of love.
Or with that of his own admission of being in love with her. And he was. Very much so.
Three spotlights burst on then, moving in one choreographed sweep over the room before coming to a stop and shining down into the "cell." The crowd surge forward, leaving Doug to dodge the press of bodies by backing even farther toward the door.
The "inmates," obviously having entered the stage though
Paddington's
back door, walked from the rear of the platform to the front, taking hold of the confining bars as if, well, confined.
As the techno soundtrack thumped and blared, Doug couldn't help but grin. None of the women looked particularly thrilled to be on display—and, whoa! On display was exactly what they were.
He'd seen Kinsey wear less only when she'd been wearing that red bikini. Tonight her costume looked to be basic black with maybe a hint of burgundy: a pair of black short shorts, black stockings and four-inch black heels, and then a bustier out of which she was busting.
His grin became grim and then became a frown. He was just chauvinistic enough, possessive enough, not to like the fact that every inch of her body was being offered to the highest bidder.
Poe and Izzy weren't quite as exposed. Or so he first thought until getting a glimpse straight through Izzy's sheer skirt and a peek at the curve of Poe's bottom when she cocked a hip to the side and her slip of a slip rode up.
Holy spanked monkeys and choked chickens. If he knew men like he knew men, the funds brought in tonight would build a whole block of homes.
"Gentlemen in the house,"
blared
an anonymous voice over the sound system. "Have we got a deal for
you.
Three gorgeous
bachelorettes
available for a night—and for a price."
While the audience whooped it up, hooted and hollered like frat boys gone wild, Doug shoved his hands deep in his pockets and tried not to grind his teeth to dust.
A local television celebrity had been tapped as master of ceremonies, and he hopped onto the stage, shaking each woman's hand and sharing a moment of private conversation before turning to the audience to deliver his spiel.
Doug searched the crowd for Anton, finally locating his partner off to the side of the stage, along with Lauren, Leo and Macy. Then he cast a glance around and located his number one client, Marcus West, not far away.
That taken care of, Doug tuned out the ramblings of the host to concentrate on Kinsey.
He could tell by the set of her shoulders and chin that she was determined to make the most of the night, to do her thing and bring in as much money as she could. He could also tell by the whispered buzz running through the crowd that he wasn't the only man here with a Scandinavian fantasy.
No doubt her bidding would run hot and heavy—even if he was the last man on earth who would experience the reality of her long blond hair, her blue eyes and her legs that went on forever. No one ever said an auction couldn't be rigged, he mused with a self-satisfied smirk.
But, yeah, her eyes gave her away. Definitely bright, but slightly panicky. His gut clenched hard, and he had to fight the urge to push his way through the crowd, sweep her off the stage and out the door. Standing where he was had to be one of the hardest promises he'd ever forced himself to keep.
But going to her now would mean he wouldn't want to leave again in the morning. And he had to leave, had to get back to
Denver
. He'd just known he'd go insane if he wasn't here in person tonight.
It wasn't as if Anton or Marcus wouldn't phone with the details later; nothing about that had changed. In fact, Doug expected his cell phone to ring before he even made it out the door of
Paddington's
post show.
But around
this afternoon, he'd realized this was one event he had to see for himself. He'd headed for the airport without a single thought for the meeting he'd rescheduled.
Here we go,
he mused, his mind returning to the present at the sound of the auctioneer's gavel coming down. The lights in the prison cell flashed on and off like crazy, as the cell door, guarded by two costumed rent-a-cops, opened.
Izzy was first on the auction block, twirling in a sheer skirt that floated to her knees but still managed to show off everything underneath. While she did her best to incite the crowd to riot, the host went on about Izzy's work with Doctors
Without
Borders, as well as her support of local women's shelters and centers for the homeless.
The bidding rose rapidly for several minutes, and then, just as quickly, came to a stop when Joseph Baron stepped forward with a flat four figures that reduced the chatter to silence. At least until the responding cheers rose to the rafters. In fact, the only one in the room not cheering was Izzy herself. Baron's bid had pretty much pissed the lady off.
Oh, yeah. This was going to be a hell of an interesting night, Doug decided, settling in for the show.
* * *
In the end, Kinsey didn't even mind the spotlight. It kept her from being able to see much of the crowd beyond those gathered near the stage. And, thankfully, they included Lauren and Anton, Leo and Macy.
Friendly faces had never been so welcome. She was doing her best not to pace like a caged animal—a difficult goal to meet when she was trapped behind bars. Sweat tingled beneath her bound breasts. The narrow toes of her shoes pinched; the crotch of her shorts threatened to ride up. The boning of the bustier made it impossible to breathe.
Was this how Doug had felt when she'd tightened her noose? Well, except for the breasts and toes and crotch part. Had he considered bolting for the nearest exit, his only hope for survival?
She couldn't think about that now. All she could focus on was making it through the next few minutes. Izzy had been sold, lucky girl, to Baron, who apparently was working to score points and build her an entire village. Kinsey would love to be a fly on the wall for
that
conversation. Izzy had not appeared overjoyed by the unexpected revelation of Baron's wealth.
Poe was up next and had already taken to strutting her stuff and whipping the crowd into
a frenzy
with her moves and her you - can - look - but - you - will - never - touch attitude. The woman's mercurial personality never ceased to amaze Kinsey, or inspire equal parts envy and totally heterosexual woman-on-woman lust.
Even though she'd known Poe now for three years, Kinsey still didn't have a handle on what made the other woman tick. And it was much easier to focus on the current bidding war and Poe's reaction to the rapidly climbing amount than to face her own upcoming fall.
And what a fall it would be, flat on her face. Once she got back to her feet, she'd be wearing a big fat capital
L
for loser on her forehead—the very prediction she'd made to Izzy.
Bids for Poe were coming fast and furiously now, and she was egging on the bidders with antics that would've made a stripper proud. The music switched gears to a bump-and-grind rhythm, and Poe never missed a beat.
Suddenly a strange buzz went up, growing louder as the
Red Sea
of a crowd parted for a bidder making his way to the front of the room. Kinsey watched as the other woman began to stiffen, and she swore she saw Poe break out in a sweat. No wonder.
The bidder causing the room to hum nervously was Patrick Coffey.
And he was paying in cash.
The rest of the bidders backed off and, as Patrick put his money on the table, the auctioneer brought down his gavel with a loud, "Sold." Kinsey jumped at the deafening thud. It was her turn.
Still, it was hard to drag her attention away from the way Patrick was looking at Poe, and the way Poe hadn't yet moved her body from the stage, or her gaze from Patrick's. Oh, my, Kinsey mused. This was the first time she'd ever seen Poe at a loss for words.
When Patrick moved forward and offered her his hand, Poe reached out—only to have him grab her by the waist and lift her bodily from the stage, her hands on his biceps for balance.
They stared at each other for a long, hot moment—Poe in her ivory silk and Patrick in blue jeans, white T-shirt and black bomber jacket, his unruly heathen hair tied back with a brown leather thong—before he took her hand, led her through the crowd to
Paddington's
front door and out into the night.
And then the host's announcement, "Kinsey Gray!" brought Kinsey and the rest of the audience back to the moment.
She gave a wide smile and waved at the crowd with both hands until her jaw threatened to crumble, her wrists threatened to snap. She gave a little shimmy to the music, and tried not to barf at feeling so bargain basement.
So what if she looked as good as the audience loudly insisted? Looking good meant nothing when she couldn't even meet her own gaze in a mirror.
Men. Who needed them? Except more than a few of the screams were decidedly female. It was all Kinsey could do not to jump from the stage and run screaming into the night. Yes, definitely an evening to remember.
The numbers started rising; she had a long way to go before reaching what had to be back-to-back
bachelorette
sales records set by Izzy and Poe. Who kept such records? Kinsey wondered, pacing back and forth in front of the faux cell, but doing her best to make her walk sexy, beguiling, enticing…
Soon the bidding, just as that for the other women, took on a heightened sense of urgency as one man continued to outbid each other bidder before the auctioneer could get out a single encouraging word.
Kinsey tried not to be obvious as she squinted toward the crowd in an effort to pick out her admirer… There he was, and wow! Dark hair, dark eyes, piercing green eyes beneath dark lashes and brows. A broad-shouldered hunk of Doug
Storey's
caliber.
This might be interesting, after all. Or down the road, anyway. In the near future. When she was finished mooning over Doug. Hmm. She wondered if the moneybags
hottie
would mind putting off their date until she was a free woman, oh, months from now,
years
maybe. Perhaps she'd ask him to escort her to her retirement party…
"Miss Gray?"
Kinsey looked up to see the host's extended hand as he waited to assist her off the stage and into the arms of her new owner.
Sigh
. She accepted his help and blindly made her way out of the glare of the spotlights, tuning out the rest of the announcements as she approached the man destined to make her forget about Doug.
Or not.