tell George. He’s not good at ad-libbing. He needs someone to auction off.”
Paige didn’t waste a moment thinking about what needed to be done. “Get the band in place, we’re almost done with the auction portion. Let me talk to George and see if he can keep things moving until we find her.” She gave the aide her clipboard and took a deep breath, her palms suddenly too damp to risk smoothing her silk skirt.
How did these girls do it? Just going onstage to chat with the auctioneer raised her heart rate.
The room quieted a little as she stepped into the spotlights that flooded the stage. Someone whistled from the back.
Good heavens. They thought she was the next bachelorette. Paige threw an apologetic smile into the crowd and shook her head, but the lights blinded her. She could only make out a few faces in the very front, one of them her cousin Walker, looking both surprised and amused.
“Well, here’s a shocker!” The auctioneer further hushed the crowd with his booming voice. “Paige Ashton is bachelorette number eighteen.”
Blood drained from her head and rushed to her pounding heart. “No, no, I’m not.” Her denial was too soft to be heard over the rowdy response. She’d done her job and made sure the Ashton wine flowed freely. Now she had a roomful of inebriated men who’d have applauded any female at this point.
“I don’t have a fact sheet on Paige,” the auctioneer admitted, his commanding voice hardly needing a microphone. “But I know firsthand that she’s a delight to work with. She’s—how old, Paige?”
“Twenty-two!” She recognized Walker’s voice, and one more glance at her cousin revealed his fairly evil grin. He leaned over to say something to another man, missing the dirty look Paige directed at their table.
“How much do we hear for this twenty-two-year-old beauty with a well-known last name and an angel’s face?”
Death. Death would be preferable to the lights burning her cheeks—or was that just one massive blush that threatened to explode every blood vessel in her face?
“Five hundred!”
Oh, dear God. They were bidding. She held up a hand to stop them, but the auctioneer grabbed it, spinning her in a Fred Astaire-like move. “Just five hundred? Look at this beautiful young lady. Svelte, sweet and smart as a whip.”
“Six-fifty!”
“I hear six-fifty for the honey with honey hair, do I hear six seventy-five, six seventy-five…”
Paige felt her legs weaken. Please God, make this end. “This is a mistake, George,” she whispered to the auctioneer, her voice hoarse and low. “I’m not number—”
“Seven hundred!”
“That’s more like it,” George bellowed into the microphone. “I hear seven hundred, seven hundred, do I hear seven-fifty?”
He launched into the forced staccato that had enthralled the crowd all night, and someone yelled out a higher amount. The auctioneer’s drone rose in intensity as he dared and defied them to up the ante.
“Eight-fifty!”
“Nine hundred!”
Her legs would never hold. George spun her again. Twirling, Paige caught a glimpse of Walker, still talking to the other man, but the light prevented her from seeing who it was.
“Nine-fifty!” The shout came from the back of the room.
That silenced the crowd for a moment, no doubt because they neared the thousand dollar figure that usually stopped the bidding.
Her cousin laughed at something his companion said, and leaned back, momentarily blocking the blinding light and giving Paige a straight shot at the man sitting next to Walker.
“One thousand dollars!”
She heard the amount called out from the back, but her gaze locked on wolflike gray eyes that devoured her. A spray of goose bumps cascaded down her spine as they stared at each other.
“Fifteen hundred!” The bid was shouted from the far left side of the crowded room, followed immediately by another.
But the lights seemed to fade, the shouting muted, and the merciless bidding drowned out. She simply couldn’t tear her gaze from the handsome stranger who stared right back at her. Who was he? Who had Walker invited to this fund-raiser? Then he lifted his lips in a provocative half smile.
Whoever he was, he was a heartthrob.
“Two thousand!” With the blood rushing through her head, Paige barely heard the crazy bid barked from the far right side of the room.
The auctioneer roared with glee and urged the frenzy onward.
A trickle of perspiration snaked between her shoulder blades and she tried to swallow, still unable to look away from the man’s riveting gaze.
Then he winked. So subtle, so sneaky, no one else could possibly have seen his secret message. But she did. And it sent an involuntary shudder through her body.
“Ten thousand dollars.”
The auctioneer froze and looked toward the front table. “Did I hear…?”
He couldn’t. He couldn’t have said that. The wolf with gray eyes stood to an impressive height. Backlit by a spotlight and looking like a monarch making his pronouncement, his half smile widened to a predatory grin. “Ten thousand dollars for Paige Ashton.”
For a long time the room remained soundless, then the gavel slammed so hard the podium vibrated and Paige’s knees nearly buckled.
“Congratulations, sir, you’ve bought yourself one expensive evening out!”
His gaze never wavered from her. “Worth every penny.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
Matt Camberlane grinned at Walker Ashton’s question. “I couldn’t stand to see her suffer,” he declared, his gaze skimming the stage for another glimpse of her. That had been true, but Matt knew that his lifelong competitive streak had just seized him. No way that pretty woman was going out with any of the sharks in this room. At least not with any other shark in the room.
Walker burned Matt with a threatening stare. “She’s my cousin. She wasn’t up for bid. I told you, she’s running the event.”
“Precisely why I had to rescue her.”
“She doesn’t need your kind of rescuing.”
Matt attempted a “Who me?” look that he knew didn’t work on his friend. “I just told you, I’ve sworn off the opposite sex. You may have found the holy grail of love with Tamra, but I am not meant to drink from that ultimate cup of happiness.” To underscore his point, he drained his goblet of Ashton pinot noir. As he tilted his head back, he caught a flash of butter-yellow silk behind the temporary stage and curtain. She’d get away for sure, if he didn’t get back there and stake his claim.
He
