I glance at Christian who is, I think, scowling at Mia, and I don't know whether to laugh or cry, but it's laughter that wins. I succ.u.mb to a cathartic bubble of schoolgirl gig- gles, as we are thwarted once more by the tall, pink powerhouse that is Mia Grey. Christian peers at me, and after a beat, there's a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"The frst dance will be with me, okay? And it won't be on the dance foor," he mur- murs lasciviously into my ear. My giggles subside as antic.i.p.ation fans the fames of my need. Oh, yes! My inner G.o.ddess performs a perfect triple Salchow in her ice skates.

"I look forward to it." I lean over and plant a soft, chaste kiss on his mouth. Glancing around, I realize that our fellow guests at the table are astonished. Of course, they've never seen Christian with a date before.

He smiles broadly at me. And he looks ... happy. Wow.

"Come on, Ana," Mia nags. Taking her outstretched hand, I follow her onto the stage where ten more young women have a.s.sembled, and I note with vague unease that Lily is one of them.

"Gentlemen, the highlight of the evening!" the MC booms over the babble of voices.

"The moment you've all been waiting for! These twelve lovely ladies have all agreed to auction their frst dance to the highest bidder!"

Oh no. I blush from head to toe. I hadn't realized what this meant. How humiliating!

"It's for a good cause," Mia hisses at me, sensing my discomfort. "Besides, Christian will win." She rolls her eyes. "I can't imagine him letting anyone outbid him. He hasn't taken his eyes off you all evening."

Yes, focus on the good cause, and Christian is bound to win. Let's face it, he's not short of a dime or two. But it means spending more money on you! my subconscious snarls at me. But I don't want to dance with anyone else-I can't dance with anyone else-and it's not spending money on me, he's donating it to the charity. Like the twenty-four thousand dollars he's already spent? My subconscious narrows her eyes.

s.h.i.t. I seem to have gotten away with my impulsive bid. Why am I arguing with my- self?

"Now, gentlemen, pray gather round, and take a good look at what could be yours for the frst dance. Twelve comely and compliant wenches."

Jeez! I feel like I'm in a meat market. I watch, horrifed, as at least twenty men make their way to the stage area, Christian included, moving with easy grace between the tables and pausing to say a few h.e.l.los on the way. Once the bidders are a.s.sembled, the MC begins.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in the tradition of the masquerade we shall maintain the mys- tery behind the masks and stick to frst names only. First up we have the lovely Jada."

Jada is giggling like a schoolgirl, too. Maybe I won't be so out of place. She's dressed head to foot in navy taffeta with a matching mask. Two young men step forward expec- tantly. Lucky Jada.

"Jada speaks fuent j.a.panese, is a qualifed fghter pilot, and an Olympic gymnast ...

hmm." The MC winks. "Gentleman, what am I bid?"

Jada gapes, astounded at the MC; obviously, he's talking complete garbage. She grins shyly back at the two contenders.

"A thousand bucks!" one calls.

Very quickly the bidding escalates to fve thousand dollars.

"Going once ... going twice ... sold!" the MC declares loudly, "to the gentleman in the mask!" And of course all the men are wearing masks so there are hoots of laughter, ap- plause, and cheering. Jada beams at her purchaser and quickly exits the stage.

"See? This is fun!" whispers Mia. "I hope Christian wins you, though . . . We don't want a brawl," she adds.

"Brawl?" I answer horrifed.

"Oh yes. He was very hot-headed when he was younger." She shudders.

Christian brawling? Refned, sophisticated, likes-Tudor-choral-music Christian? I can't see it. The MC distracts me with his next introduction-a young woman in red, with long jet-black hair.

"Gentlemen, may I present the wonderful Mariah. What are we going to do about Mariah? She's an experienced matador, plays the cello to concert standard, and she's a champion pole-vaulter ... how about that, gentlemen? What am I bid, please, for a dance with the delightful Mariah?"

Mariah glares at the MC and someone yells, very loudly, "Three thousand dollars!" It's a masked man with blond hair and beard.

There is one counter-bid, but Mariah sells for four thousand dollars.

Christian is watching me like a hawk. Brawler Trevelyan-Grey-who would have known?

"How long ago?" I ask Mia.

She glances at me, nonplussed.

"How long ago was Christian brawling?""Early teens. Drove my parents crazy, coming home with cut lips and black eyes. He was expelled from two schools. He inficted some serious damage on his opponents."

I gape at her.

"Hasn't he told you?" She sighs. "He got quite a bad rep among my friends. He was really persona non grata for a few years. But it stopped when he was about ffteen or six- teen." She shrugs.

Holy f.u.c.k. Another piece of the jigsaw falls into place.

"So, what am I bid for the gorgeous Jill?"

"Four thousand dollars," a deep voice calls from the left side. Jill squeals in delight.

I stop paying attention to the auction. So Christian was in that kind of trouble at school, fghting. I wonder why. I stare at him. Lily is watching us closely.

"And now, allow me to introduce the beautiful Ana."

Oh s.h.i.t, that's me. I glance nervously at Mia, and she shoos me center stage. Fortu- nately, I don't fall over, but stand embarra.s.sed as h.e.l.l on display for everyone. When I look at Christian, he's smirking at me. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

"Beautiful Ana plays six musical instruments, speaks fuent Mandarin, and is keen on yoga . . . well, gentlemen-" Before he can even fnish his sentence Christian interrupts him, glaring at the MC through his mask.

"Ten thousand dollars." I hear Lily's gasp of disbelief behind me.

Oh f.u.c.k.

"Fifteen."

What? We all turn as one to a tall, impeccably dressed man standing to the left of the stage. I blink at Fifty. s.h.i.t, what will he make of this? But he's scratching his chin and giving the stranger an ironic smile. It's obvious Christian knows him. The stranger nods politely at Christian.

"Well, gentlemen! We have high rollers in the house this evening." The MC's excite- ment emanates through his harlequin mask as he turns to beam at Christian. This is a great show, but it's at my expense. I want to wail.

"Twenty," counters Christian quietly.

The babble of the crowd has died. Everyone is staring at me, Christian, and Mr. Mys- terious by the stage.

"Twenty-fve," the stranger says.

Could this be any more embarra.s.sing?

Christian stares at him impa.s.sively, but he's amused. All eyes are on Christian. What's he going to do? My heart is in my mouth. I feel sick.

"One hundred thousand dollars," he says his voice ringing clear and loud through the marquee.

"What the f.u.c.k?" Lily hisses audibly behind me, and a general gasp of dismay and amus.e.m.e.nt ripples through the crowd. The stranger holds his hands up in defeat, laughing, and Christian smirks at him. From the corner of my eye, I can see Mia bouncing up and down with glee. My subconscious is gazing at Christian, utterly gobsmacked.

"One-hundred thousand dollars for the lovely Ana! Going once ... going twice ..."

The MC stares at the stranger who shakes his head with mock regret and bows chivalrously.

"Sold!" the MC cries out triumphantly.In a deafening round of applause and cheering, Christian steps forward to take my hand and help me from the stage. He gazes at me with an amused grin as I make my way down, kisses the back of my hand then tucks it into the crook of his arm, and leads me toward the marquee's exit.

"Who was that?" I ask.

He gazes down at me. "Someone you can meet later. Right now, I want to show you something. We have about thirty minutes until the First Dance Auction fnishes. Then we have to be back on the dance foor so that I can enjoy that dance I've paid for."

"A very expensive dance," I mutter disapprovingly.

"I'm sure it'll be worth every single cent." He smiles down at me wickedly. Oh, he has a glorious smile, and the ache is back, blossoming in my body.

We're out on the lawn. I thought we would be heading to the boathouse, but disappoint- ingly we seem to be heading for the dance foor where the big band is now setting up. There are at least twenty musicians, and a few guests are milling about, furtively smoking-but since most of the action is back in the marquee, we don't attract too much attention.

Christian leads me to the rear of the house and opens a French window leading into a large comfortable sitting room that I've not seen before. He walks through the deserted hall toward the sweeping staircase with its elegant, polished wooden bal.u.s.trade. Taking my hand from the crook of his arm, he leads me up to the second foor and up another fight of stairs to the third. Opening a white door, he ushers me into one of the bedrooms.

"This was my room," he says quietly, standing by the door and locking it behind him.

It's large, stark, and spa.r.s.ely furnished. The walls are white as is the furniture; a spa- cious double bed, a desk and chair, shelves crammed with books and lined with various trophies for kickboxing by the look of them. The walls are hung with movie posters: The Matrix, Fight Club, The Truman Show, and two framed posters featuring kick boxers. One is named Guiseppe DeNatale-I've never heard of him.

But what catches my eye is the white pin board above the desk, studded with a myriad of photographs, Mariners pennants, and ticket stubs. It's a slice of young Christian. My eyes come back to the magnifcent, beautiful man now standing in the center of the room.

He looks at me darkly, brooding and s.e.xy.

"I've never brought a girl in here," he murmurs.

"Never?" I whisper.

He shakes his head.

I swallow convulsively, and the ache that has been bothering me for the last couple of hours is roaring now, raw and wanting. Seeing him standing there on the royal blue carpet in that mask ... it's beyond erotic. I want him. Now. Any way I can get him. I have to resist launching myself at him and ripping his clothes off. He waltzes over to me slowly.

"We don't have long, Anastasia, and the way I'm feeling right this moment, we won't need long. Turn round. Let me get you out of that dress."

I turn and stare at the door, grateful that he's locked it. Bending down he whispers softly in my ear, "Keep the mask on."

I groan as my body clenches in response. He's not even touched me yet.

He grasps the top of my dress, his fngers sliding against my skin, and the touch re- verberates through my body. In one swift move, he opens the zipper. Holding my dress, he helps me to step out of it, then turns and drapes it artfully over the back of a chair. Re- moving his jacket, he places it over my dress. He pauses, and stares at me for a moment, drinking me in. I'm in the basque and matching panties, and I revel in his sensuous gaze.

"You know, Anastasia," he says softly as he stalks toward me, undoing his bow tie so it hangs from either side of his neck, then undoing the top three b.u.t.tons of his shirt. "I was so mad when you bought my auction lot. All manner of ideas ran through my head. I had to remind myself that punishment is off the menu. But then you volunteered." He gazes down at me through his mask. "Why did you do that?" he whispers.

"Volunteer? I don't know. Frustration ... too much alcohol ... worthy cause," I mutter meekly, shrugging. Maybe to get his attention?

I needed him then. I need him more now. The ache is worse, and I know he can soothe it, calm this roaring, salivating beast in me with the beast in him. His mouth presses into a line, and he slowly licks his upper lip. I want that tongue on me.

"I vowed to myself I would not spank you again, even if you begged me."

"Please," I beg.

"But then I realized, you're probably very uncomfortable at the moment, and it's not something you're used to." He smirks at me knowingly, arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but I don't care because he's absolutely right.

"Yes," I breathe.

"So, there might be a certain ... lat.i.tude. If I do this, you must promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"You will safe word if you need to, and I will just make love to you, okay?"

"Yes." I'm panting. I want his hands on me.

He swallows, then takes my hand, and moves toward the bed. Throwing the duvet aside, he sits down, grabs a pillow, and places it beside him. He gazes up at me standing beside him and suddenly tugs hard on my hand so that I fall across his lap. He shifts slightly so my body is resting on the bed, my chest on the pillow, my face to one side. Leaning over, he sweeps my hair over my shoulder and runs his fngers through the plume of feathers on my mask.

"Put your hands behind your back," he murmurs.

Oh! He removes his bow tie and uses it to quickly bind my wrists so that my hands are tied behind me, resting in the small of my back.

"You really want this, Anastasia?"

I close my eyes. This is the frst time since I met him that I really want this. I need it.

"Yes," I whisper.

"Why?" he asks softly as he caresses my behind with his palm.

I groan as soon as his hand makes contact with my skin. I don't know why ... You tell me not to overthink. After a day like today-arguing about the money, Leila, Mrs. Robin- son, the dossier on me, the roadmap, this lavish party, the masks, the alcohol, the silver b.a.l.l.s, the auction ... I want this.

"Do I need a reason?"

"No, baby, you don't," he says. "I'm just trying to understand you." His left hand curls round my waist, holding me in place as his palm leaves my behind and lands hard, just above the junction of my thighs. The pain connects directly with the ache in my bellyOh man ... I moan loudly. He hits me again, in exactly the same place. I groan again.

"Two," he murmurs. "We'll go with twelve."

Oh my! This feels different than the last time-so carnal, so ... necessary. He caresses my behind with his long-fngered hands, and I'm helpless, trussed up and pressed into the mattress, at his mercy, and of my own free will. He hits me again, slightly to the side, and again, to the other side, then pauses as he slowly peels my panties down and pulls them off.

He gently trails his palm across my behind again before continuing my spanking-each stinging smack taking the edge off my need-or fueling it-I don't know. I surrender my- self to the rhythm of blows, absorbing each one, savoring each one.

"Twelve," he murmurs his voice low and harsh. He caresses my behind again and trails his fngers down toward my s.e.x and slowly sinks two fngers inside me, moving them in a circle, round and round and round, torturing me.

I moan loudly as my body takes over, and I come and come, convulsing around his fngers. It's so intense, unexpected, and quick.