Page 9 of A Christmas Auction

“And that you’d been saving, but the banks wouldn’t loan you the money you requested.”

“Yep. That’s my life in a nutshell.”

“What if I offered you the opportunity to earn no less than three million dollars, over the course of a three-year period.”

“I’d say you’re either lying, clinically psychotic, or a criminal.”

Alana grinned wide. “I assure you I am none of those things.”

“Then what business are you in?”

“I run an elite auction, completely legal, and guaranteed to secure you the money you need.”

“What do you auction? Art?” I asked.

“In a way, I do auction off one-of-a-kind beauties.”

“If not art, then what?”

“Marriage,chérie.”

“Marriage. As in you set up arranged marriages?” I frowned, sat back in my chair and ran my hand through my hair. The roots still throbbed painfully.

“More like, a marriage auction. In this particular case, an auction that will be hosted on Christmas Eve. A Christmas Auction.”

“Okay, I’m afraid I’m not really following. Who’s getting married?”

That’s when she smiled so big it was as though she glowed from the inside out.

“You, my dear.”

Chapter 4

Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Freakin’ Christmas

HOLLY

Without even saying a single word, I reached across the table, grabbed the rest of Alana’s tequila and shot the damn thing straight back, looking for that burn to shock my heart back into beating.

Alana, as suspected, didn’t so much as flinch. The woman was as cool as a cucumber while my internal temperature skyrocketed and sweat beaded at my hairline and underneath my arms.

“You want to—” I gulped, not being able to suck in enough air as the dots of what she just explained connected in my mind.

I jumped up, fanning my suddenly flushed face, and went to the window over the sink. I was too fucking hot. My fingers scrambled to unlock the rusted hinge and shove the damn thing open. But once I did, a blessedly cool desert breeze smacked me in the face. I inhaled deeply several times, letting the chilly air cool my heated skin. Putting my hands to the edge of the sink, I braced myself and turned my head to look at Alana.

As I’d come to expect, she was sitting quietly and rather elegantly in my kitchen chair, her body and face the epitome of relaxed feminine beauty. I, on the other hand, was losing my shit.

“You want to putme, Holly Knight, up for auction? For marriage?”

“Oui, chérie. That is correct.” She blinked prettily.

“A marriage auction. So I would what, stand up, like on a stage, and have men bid on me? Like cattle?”

Alana shook her head. “No, Holly. Not like cattle. More like art. Living, breathing, art.”

I shook my head, reached for a glass that had been drying in the rack next to the sink, filled it with water and glugged it down.

“I don’t get it.”

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