“Three hundred dollars to Mr. Tim Smith. Do I have three-fifty?”
Johanna scowled at Tim.
“Three-fifty, to the gentleman in the back. Do I have four hundred?” A slight pause. Tim raised his hand, and Johanna stomped her foot. “Four hundred to Mr. Smith. Four-fifty?”
Please, God, let someone outbid the bastard. Anyone.
Hell, she’d even take the old guy counting his cash. Catching his eye, she smiled; let him think that smile meant he’d get more than forced, polite conversation over dinner, as long as he bid enough to make that tightwad Tim give up.
“Four-fifty to Mr. Davis. Five hundred, anyone?” the announcer called.
Tim grinned, raising his hand.
“Five hundred to Mr. Smith. Do I get five-fifty?”
The old man shrugged, tucking his money away and drinking his beverage. Desperation clawed its way through her like a knife. She’d have to sit beside Tim and not gouge his eyes out.
This would be the worst Valentine’s Day ever.
“Going once…twice…”
“I bid two-thousand dollars,” a voice called from the side.
The British lilt washed over her. She whirled. Green eyes met hers from across the room, his lips pinched tightly. He looked…angry.
Oh, God. Could this night get any worse? Of course the auction would result in the only two men she ever screwed fighting publicly over her. If ever a girl wished the floor would open up and swallow her, it had to be Johanna.
“Look, faggot, you’re in America now, and you play by our rules,” Tim glowered at her “rescuer.” “You have to work your way up to the winning bid.”
“Must I?” Her one-night stand turned to the announcer, raising a perfect eyebrow. “I’m willing to double the amount.
For the sake of the charity, of course.”
“Of course,” the announcer echoed, flushing. “We’d be thrilled to accept y-your generosity. Four thousand for the lovely Johanna Thomas, to a Mr.…uh, Mr.…?”
“The Viscount Haymes—but feel free to call me Damon.”
He bowed. A hush went through the crowd, and people started whispering behind their hands. Damon sighed before turning to Johanna, smiling nonchalantly. “Ready, Johanna?”
Sara caught her eye, and Johanna shrugged. To hell with it. Her legs shook so badly she’d be lucky if she made it off stage without falling and making a complete fool out of herself. The damned spotlight blinding her certainly didn’t help matters.
She took Damon’s outstretched hand and, with her smile clamped firmly in place, muttered through her teeth, “Are you insane? You just wasted four thousand dollars on me.”
Damon swept his eyes over her face and bosom. When she blushed, he grinned and said, “Wasted? I think not.”
She allowed him to lead her out of the room and into the banquet hall. “Last night you had me for free, and—”
“Get over here, Johanna.”
Tim dug his fingers into her elbow and jerked her away from Damon. She glared at him, yanking free. “Let go.”
“You should belong to me. I had you fair and square,”
Tim growled.
Damon stepped closer, towering over them, his gaze flicking between Johanna and Tim. “Is there a problem here, Johanna?”
“Yes,” she hissed. “Tim’s an asshat who doesn’t understand ‘get out and stay out.’”
“Indeed?” Damon examined his nails, then offered Johanna his hand with a cool look. “Shall we, then?”
Johanna slipped her hand into his waiting palm. “Sure.”
Tim leaned closer to snarl, “This isn’t over yet.”
Damon’s hand tightened on hers. He spun on his heel and stalked toward Tim. “I suggest you mind your manners in the lady’s presence.”
“Lady?” Tim scoffed.
Johanna jerked Damon to a stop. “Don’t bother. He’s not worth the trouble.”
With one last lingering look for Tim, Damon brushed past him and escorted Johanna to the private dining area reserved for auction winners. Only when they were out of earshot did he speak. “Who was that insufferable fool?”
Johanna avoided his eyes, scrunching up her nose. “An ex,” she admitted reluctantly. “One who won’t take no for an answer. Thanks, I guess. Even you’re better than enduring another date with him.”
“Why, thank you. I think.” His lips quirked. “I’m happy to be of service. Shall we sit?”
Damon pulled out a chair at the nearest table, which was covered in rose petals and lit by little tea candles surrounding a crystal decanter. Nearby, an orchestra played soft music.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Once he looked settled in, she raised a brow. “So… Viscount, huh?”
A waiter poured their wine, then left when Damon motioned him away. Damon looked so regal that she had no problem imagining him in a castle next to a queen. Next to the goddamned crown jewels. Oh, why had she slept with him? She felt like a…like a peasant.
“Yes. Is that going to be a problem?” He took a sip of wine, gazing at her over the rim, his eyes warm and inviting.
“It didn’t seem to bother you last night.”
“I didn’t know who or what you were last night.” Her cheeks grew warm. She skimmed her fingers along the stem of her wineglass. “So it wasn’t an issue.”
“You said, ‘oh, my Lord’ enough last night, I figured you knew all about—”
“Oh my God. Shut up!” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder. Had anyone heard him? God, she hoped not. She looked back at Damon—and locked gazes with his sparkling eyes. “You’re horrible.”
“What? It’s true.” He leaned closer. “So, why did you kick me out?”
“I told you.” She took a fortifying sip of wine before continuing, “I don’t do the whole one-night stand scene. It’s not my style.”
“Then why did you?”
“Valentine’s Day,” she blurted out. She fidgeted with her napkin. When he arched his brows, she continued, “I hate being alone on a day when everyone else is walking around all goofy smiles and flowers. And chocolate. Why do I have to have a boyfriend to get flowers and chocolate? I can go buy them myself.”
“Indeed, you could.” He grinned. “What does any of this have to do with us?”
“There is no us. Last night, the girls and I went out to celebrate being single—”