Page 16 of Kiss Me, Mr. Bridge

I lean against the bar, watching the virgin auction unfold on my stage.

“Ninety thousand,” a voice calls from the darkness.

I don’t look his way. I’m too busy looking at the stage.

The girl standing there reminds me of Lucia - same dark hair, same uncertain smile. But this one’s younger, more naïve. Her white dress clings to her curves as her hands rest on her thighs.

The scent of expensive cologne mingles with leather, sex, and desperation.

Another paddle catches my eyes. “One hundred thousand.”

“One twenty.”

Money means nothing to these men. They’ll pay whatever it takes to claim innocence. Perhaps make her his forever. Mostly, he’ll never see her again.

Crystal glasses clink beside me, ice cubes shifting in nervous glasses. The sound of paddles lifting into the air comes faster now.

My club specializes in these auctions. I agree that the Hunter Valley is not as flashy as New York, but it’s more discreet and this club is definitely more profitable.

Every month, they come. Every month, the bidding gets higher because of the way I operate. Every girl and the bidder’s name is kept a secret. The document I get everyone to sign is to protect not only them, but me and my clubs.

Lucia knows all about the legalities of the club. She’s advised me about some amendments she thought should be added to the contracts herself. Probably why she was shocked to sign an NDA. Perhaps not.

“Two hundred thousand.”

The girl’s hands tremble. Just like Lucia’s hands did in my office when she stripped for me. My cock hardens at the memory, her vulnerability, her eyes as they searched mine.

I’ve wanted her since that weekend in Florida. Before then, if I’m honest, but since I watched her laugh with my grandchild by the pool, her green bikini leaving little to imagination, I’ve neverbeen able to get her out of my mind. And when she touched my thigh–

The paddle lifts again. “Two hundred and fifty thousand.”

Gasps come from the room. We’ve had higher bids. One reached just under one million dollars only three months ago.

The compere starts the countdown, asking for any further bids.

The room goes silent as anticipation swirls in the room, everyone waiting for the gavel to drop.

The girl on the stage looks nervous despite the rising smile forming on her face. I don’t blame her. And when the gavel slams on the compere’s hand, that smile breaks out so wide her jaw will ache.

I smile too. Of course I do. I just made thirty-seven thousand five hundred dollars banked just from her.

I love that I increased my percentage to fifteen percent. And tonight, I have fifteen more girls waiting to go onto the stage.

But my mind isn’t on the girls in the wings, it’s on Lucia.

I want her.

I wanted to kiss her.

But I know she deserves better than this arrangement. Better than me. She should be with someone younger, someone who’ll give her the white picket fence dream. Not a jaded bastard who runs sex clubs and can’t love. A man who can’t feel.

After we’re done, she’ll marry some hotshot lawyer. Have two perfect babies. Live her happily ever after.

I hope my money gives her the confidence to stay away from her ex.

My stomach twists. The thought of her with another man makes bile rise in my throat. Makes me want to punch something. Someone.

I drain my whiskey, ice cubes rattling against my teeth as I suck on the last of the alcohol. This possessive feeling isn’t part of our deal. It isn’t something I’m allowed to feel.

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