Page 6 of Bidding For Her Curves

“I got you. I’ve got you now,” I hear him murmuring, his huge arm around me while his other holds me up by the elbow, leading me back towards the doors he must’ve come through.

I feel like I’m floating. I can’t feel my feet.

And as stupid as one part of me feels for nearly fainting, another part doesn’t care.

He can hold me like this all day, forever if he wants to.

I look up, nuzzled into his massive chest and abs, which I can feel flexing underneath my soft body, as his heart pounds against his chest.

His eyes are still intense, but bright with concern as they narrow, looking away from me only long enough to guide me to a low, long couch along a wall in what I assume is his office.

I try to speak, to say something, but being this close to the only man I’ve ever had damp mid-day fantasies about is too much.

“Don’t try to speak,” he orders, making me shiver as his forearms go under my legs, lifting them up so I’m lying on the couch.

He leans in close, so close to my chest, my hard nipples are scratching at his suit so hard I can’t help but moan softly.

And then I see it.

His smile, about two inches from my face, his eyes traveling from his own view of my chest to meet mine, shining with satisfaction.

“That’s better,” he growls, hesitating with his hand at my blouse, moving back a little.

Being mindful of my own space, which I only want to be filled with him right now and nothing else.

“You almost went over just now,” he observes, seeming to struggle to collect himself, but not standing, just kneeling down beside me still.

“Are you unwell?” he asks, again reaching out with his hand for my brow, wanting to shift the hair stuck to it, but thinking better of it.

“I… I’ve been a little dizzy today… a fever, I think,” I rasp, feeling like I always do whenever any man even looks at me or almost gets close.

They get a different look in their eye once they really see me and take in my less than stick thin figure.

They give a smile, tell me ‘thanks for the offer’, and then they withdraw.

Liking me, but never wanting me.

I feel my lower lip start to quiver, blubbering something about dropping all the programs.

Out of habit, I tell myself I’m clumsy. Fat, that no man, especially Mason Thorne could ever find me even remotely attractive.Chapter FourMasonI get to take her into my arms… just not quite in the way I would like. I’ve never had a woman faint just from looking at me but something tells me there’s more to this beauty than meets the eye.

I help her into my office, laying her out on one of the couches. I want to do more than just lay her down. I’d rather be carrying her off to my bed, but I can’t take advantage of her.

She seems to be unwell, like some sort of fever.

Crouched down beside her, I have to fight the urge to brush her hair back, to hold her hand, and the thousand other ways I suddenly feel compelled to show her how much I care, how much I want her.

But I can’t, not right this second.

That can come later, once I make sure she’s okay.

Try telling that to the splintering hard mast in my pants though.

I shift uneasily, trying to ease some of the pressure in my groin, but it’s no use. Every second being this close to her is only making me harder with each pounding beat of my heart.

I finally ask her if she’s been unwell if she’s sick. She admits a mild fever and some dizziness but is suddenly more upset by the fact she’s dropped all those silly programs on the floor in reception.

After a moment of looking like she’s going to burst into tears, she tries to sit up, murmuring something about having to go, having to get back to the office.

I feel panic rise in me, replacing the raw edge of my own arousal, the sudden thrill at having been so close to her even for just a few minutes.

“You can’t go,” I order, still being mindful not to follow my instincts and take her into my arms again.

Her eyes widen, then narrow a little. Maybe from dizziness still but in the end, they look defiant.

“I have to go,” she says coldly, and I feel my heart starting to tear open.

“At least let me call someone,” I continue, using my body as a shield to try and keep her on the couch when she tries to get up. “Your boyfriend…husband?” I venture, hoping the answer is no.

She looks like I’ve just insulted her, shaking her head and sitting up, using her own hands to get herself up.

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