Page 34 of Stolen Vows
She watches me silently for several beats. Distantly, music floats toward us, winding around our bodies until it feels like it’s pushing us closer. My toes curl against the tips of my heels.
Finally, she reaches out, dragging two fingers up my forearm. Compared to the length of the rest of her nails, these two are cut short, and a delicious shiver works down my spine at the clear message.
“Look,” she says, edging closer. Spicy perfume wafts in my direction, seizing my senses. “You can stand around, waiting for someone to sweep you off your feet here. Eventually, one of these wealthy fuckers is bound to pay attention to you. Maybe they’ll opt for a marriage proposal instead of something they can purchase tomorrow.”
My brows furrow as she plucks the drink from my hand.
The woman pauses again, and then I feel those same two fingers graze my side, my hip, the curve of my waist. My gaze flies to hers, and I swallow over the sudden flare of nerves bursting low in my abdomen.
“Or…” she continues, her eyes hooding as she leans over and into me. She’s warm, hot even, and I wish I had another drink so I could quench the thirst now claiming me. “We could slink off to one of the little outbuildings on the property, and I could spend the night devouring you.”
Oh my God.My pulse skips a beat, hammering in my neck. I can barely hear over the cacophony of drumming and chatter around us.
I swallow again, every muscle in my body drawing taut. Sweat beads along the expanse of my skin.
It’s been so long since I felt an inkling of anything sexual or romantic for anyone that I’m not entirely sure what to say.
She lifts a brow, beckoning an answer.
It’s clear this is not a woman used to waiting.
“I don’t even know your name,” I tell her. I don’t know what I’m saying or why I’m saying it. It’s not like I’d really do anything with this stranger—right?
You’re married, Stella.
Which is true, in reality, but my husband has kept his distance for seven years. I’m not stupid enough to think he can’t find me, so maybe the problem is he honestly doesn’t want me.
For some reason, that almost deflates the balloon of warmth bubbling up inside me. As if I find that prospect disappointing even though it’s what I’ve always claimed to want.
“Genevieve Deveraux,” she answers immediately. Eagerly. “But if you want, for the night, you can call me ‘Mommy.’”
Jesus.
Head spinning, I steal a glance around the room. Other attendees mingle, oblivious to the seductress in their midst—or biding their time, just like me.
My options are limited: make small talk with strangers until the auction, or stow away into a dark room with this woman whopromises a night of grandeur and passion. Maybe if I go with her, I can get a look at the orchid up close.
Excitement thrums through my veins at the image of being in the same room as such a powerful little prize.
“Fine,” I say after a moment. “But I want you to take me to the viewing room.”
Genevieve’s dark brows arch. “What makes you think I have that sort of access?”
The bartender shoves a third shot in my direction and then gives her one as well.
I hold the glass up, gesturing at her with it. “You look like an important woman. I’d venture a guess that even if you don’thaveaccess, you can probably get it.”
“I suppose showing you won’t hurt. You’ll see it all tomorrow anyway.” She takes her shot, brings it to her mouth, and runs her tongue along the rim once before swallowing in one gulp. When she slams the glass back on the counter, she snatches my drink from me and finishes it off, then grabs my hand and yanks me from the bar.
Seconds later, she’s dragging me out of the ballroom through an arched doorway and into a narrow, dimly lit hall. To our right is a foyer with a massive split staircase, and guests continue to enter past the primly dressed concierge stationed at the front door.
We veer left, down the hall and through a connecting corridor, take a couple of steps, and then she shoves me toward a dark room. Several Black Rose Auction guards stand outside, stone-faced, even as she approaches. Flipping her hair off one shoulder, Genevieve flashes a card at them, and one of them nods, reaching for the handle and pulling the door open.
Inside, a few glass cases make a circle in the middle of the room, each object housed within illuminated by soft white lighting.
My eyes find the orchid immediately. It’s a large specimen with an eight-inch diameter and bright white petals that appear to glow purple, depending on how the light hits it.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. There’s this magical quality, like it might actually possess the power to aid in more arduous cancer treatments as some sort of super drug, like the reports all say.
