C3 3

“Good, because I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I spotted you in this dress. You look stunning by the way. Now, trust me, little dove, and just let yourself go. This will all work out just fine, you’ll see.”

A snort was her answer this time, but she did follow his lead and soon relaxed in his arms as the magic of the dance worked in his favor. He twirled her around the dance floor in ever faster moves, and when she stumbled it gave him the perfect excuse to pull her in even tighter. It was torture and bliss all rolled into one as her soft curves fit against the hard planes of his body, as though she was made just for him. A far too fanciful thought but with her short puffs of breath hitting his jaw, it seemed fitting. Logan rested his chin on her head, and something like a whimper escaped the woman in his arms, as she sank into his embrace. All too soon the dance was over and the strange bubble they’d been in evaporated.

“Thank you for the dance, sir, but I’ve got duties to attend to, so please let me go.”

“Logan, please. Surely, we’re familiar enough after that dance to be on first name terms?”

A shiver went through her, and she shook her head.

“I beg to differ, sir. We only danced, in full view of everyone, so that’s hardly—”

“I could arrange for a more private dance, if you prefer, sweet Hannah.”

Hannah scowled and pushed him away with surprising force for someone so small.

“No.”

With that, she turned and left him standing on the dance floor.

"We shall see about that, little dove." Logan murmured the words to her departing back and did what he came here to do, originally, network, while he kept an eye on his prey. It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to not march over and plant his fist in James Herringey's podgy face when the man cornered her a short while later. While Logan was too far away to hear what the other man was saying to her, it was damn obvious Hannah didn't appreciate the man's advances. Her body language practically screamed “get off”. The complete opposite of how she’d been in his arms. No doubt, having seen her on the auction sheet, the guy was trying his luck. The thought of anyone bidding on her and winning the right to spend time with her made that never far away ball of fury in his gut tighten. His hands fisted into balls, and he took deep breaths to control the red mist which had clouded his younger years. It was the sole reason why he'd agreed to this event truth be told. It wouldn't do to lose his temper here. That never achieved anything, and he didn't want to be responsible for another young woman lying in a coma. One was one too fucking many. He shook his head to clear it of those dark thoughts. Remnants of the nightmare that had been and was his life. Things he could never atone for in a million lifetimes.

The Master of Ceremonies announced the start of the auction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, now that we’re all nicely warmed up, let’s get on with the real reason why you’re all here. Who would like to go home with a date tonight?”

Loud cheers rang out, James's one being one of the loudest, and Hannah looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but there. She slowly inched away from the other man, and, arms wrapped around her middle, watched the proceedings with a deep frown pulling her brows together.

“We’ve had some last-minute additions to this list, so without further ado, let’s begin. First up for auction is none other than our Deputy Mayor. Let’s all put your hands together and welcome her to the stage.”

The assembled crowd of London’s finest erupted into applause, and Hannah joined in without much enthusiasm. Oh, she was far too easy to read, carrying her emotions on her face.

With everything else in his private life going to hell in a hand basket, he could do with a distraction. She didn't know it yet, but little Hannah was at his mercy, and before the night was over she would be his, come what may. Logan didn't usually mix business with pleasure. There was too much risk of muddying the waters when you got involved with someone at work, but the terms of the auction were crystal clear. She was his for twenty-four hours only. Plenty of time to discover the truly passionate woman he sensed underneath the professional mask she wore. Plenty of time to get her out of his system. That was the only reason she'd been occupying his thoughts lately. Once he'd sampled the delights of her submission he would be able to move on. He always did, after all, and he had no reason to think this time would be any different. It had simply been too long since he last got laid.

“Next up for auction is the delightful Ms. Hannah Watson.” The Master of Ceremonies’ announcement shook Logan out of his thoughts, and he smirked at little Hannah’s reaction. If ever there was a woman who shied away from the limelight, which now quite literally shone on her, it had to be her. His little dove looked so pale and fragile under the spotlight trained on her, it made him want to march over there, wrap her up in his arms and take her away from all this spectacle. That impulse alone should have made him abandon his plan. Logan had enough emotional entanglements waiting for him at home, but the thought of anyone else gaining the right for her company rooted him to the spot.

"Up you come, Ms. Watson. I should add that we owe tonight's splendor to the fair hands of this lady. I have it on good authority that this whole event was Ms. Watson’s brainchild, so let's put our hands together to show our appreciation, shall we?"

Thunderous applause accompanied Hannah's progress onto the stage, and not unlike the nickname he'd bestowed on her, she appeared ready to take flight. Her crystal blue eyes looked too big for her heart-shaped face, and even across the room, he could see the wild staccato of her pulse in her neck. Her impressive rack strained against the confines of her dress, her breath appeared to come in short gasps, and she looked on the verge of a panic attack as the bidding started.

Logan hung back, silently amused at the way the bids stepped up rapidly. It seemed he wasn’t the only one in attendance tonight who appreciated a real woman when they saw her. He barely bit back a laugh when Herringey from accounts realized he couldn’t afford her.

“Going once, going twice, for five thousand pounds on the lovely Hannah. Do we have any more?” The Master of Ceremonies raised his hammer one last time and waited. Just before he brought it down Logan intervened.

“Ten thousand!”

A collective gasp went through the assembled crowd, and Hannah dropped her head and appeared to be praying for divine intervention. Monique gave a very good and most unattractive impression of a goldfish—he really would have to deal with her come Monday morning—while the silver-haired guy, who had driven the bids up thus far, threw Logan a glance, and then shook his head at the Master of Ceremonies.

“Sold for ten thousand pounds to none other than Logan Bryce. Thank you for your generosity and come claim your date.”

Logan slowly made his way across the room, and by the time he reached the stage some color had returned to his little dove’s cheeks. In fact, she positively vibrated in fury, and, sure enough, when he drew close and nudged her chin up with his forefinger, the furious look in her eyes would have felled a lesser man. Too bad for her that her outrage only served to make him harder. It would be such fun, indeed, to tame the little spitfire in front of him.

“Shall we get out of here, little dove?” he asked.

“How dare you? I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ve set this up, haven’t you? Well, you’ve had your laugh at my expense. I will not do this. I can’t. I’m not for sale, damn you.”

The words, delivered in a hissed whisper for his ears only, brought with them more of the subtle flowery scent he'd noticed earlier. It wasn't a fragrance he could place. Certainly not one of the more cloying, expensive perfumes he was used to from the women in his acquaintance. Hannah's scent was all her. Fresh and light, it brought to mind meadows in the summer breeze, like the kind his brother and he had played in when they were children. Long before Rick had been responsible for beating his wife into a pulp. Long before Logan's own and far too painful brush with the women's refuge.

“Are you not, my dear? Yet, here you are, to all intents and purposes mine for the next twenty-four hours.” He blocked the hand poised to connect with his cheek easily enough, and pulled Hannah away and off the stage and their fascinated audience.

“Now, now, little dove, violence is never the answer. Isn’t that the motto of the evening?”

Hannah kicked his shin, and he cursed under his breath as pain shot up from that abused part of his body.

She looked utterly mortified at her action, as confirmed by the words tumbling out her mouth.

“Jeez, let me go. This isn’t me. I’m sorry I kicked you, but for God’s sake enough of this.”

Amusement replaced his annoyance, and he chose to wind her up a bit more.

“That’s the oddest apology I ever heard, I have to say.” He didn't release his grip on her wrists. Instead, he marched her backwards until her back

hit the wall, and using his considerable body mass crowded her in.

“It also changes nothing, and, besides, do you really want the charity to lose ten grand, because you don’t trust yourself in my company?”

He grinned at her outraged gasp.

“You wouldn’t renege on your donation?” The breathy question shot straight to his groin, and he shifted to relieve the ache in his balls.

“Maybe not, but are you really willing to take that risk, little Hannah?”

She opened her mouth to no doubt chew him out some more, but whatever she read in his expression stopped her.

“Don’t stop protesting now. It’s rather amusing to see you fight this thing between us.”

“What? There is no us. Let me go. I’ll scream.” That breathy moan of a reply wouldn’t disturb the wings of a butterfly, but it made him even harder.