Chapter 9 #2
Sarah ascended the stage first, her lavender Edwardian-inspired gown drifting around her feet. She’d doubted the style, but Penny’s judgment proved spot-on, as it typically did.
The first bid of the night came from the owner of a fine art gallery in Downtown Millcrest. His paddle shot up before Margaret finished introducing Sarah, eliciting a chorus of laughs from the crowd.
His alpha pheromones spiked with interest as Sarah twirled in her bespoke dress, showing off Penny’s styling expertise.
The bidding for Minnie’s nephew Thomas pulled an unexpected laugh from me.
A visiting professor from a famous Boston university perched on the edge of her seat, her paddle bobbing up at each opportunity.
Her enthusiasm brought a blush to Thomas’s cheeks that matched the rose boutonnière on his lapel.
Rosie’s granddaughter Emma sparked real competition.
A Boston newspaper editor and the new bookshop owner that recently opened in Downtown Millcrest traded increasingly heated bids, their alpha pheromones charging the air.
The editor’s triumphant grin when he won with a $2,800 bid spoke of more than just charity spirit.
Then Jake took the stage.
My chest tightened at his appearance. The borrowed suit hung wrong on his thin frame despite Penny’s efforts to refit it, the collar clearly too tight as he tugged at it. He fidgeted with a nervous energy, seeming uncomfortable in his own skin.
“Our next bachelor,” Margaret announced, “Jake Thompson brings both culinary expertise and—”
“One thousand.” A smooth voice cut through her introduction. The Italian accent curled around the words like smoke.
Jake froze. His face drained of color as his gaze fell on the mysterious bidder seated at one of the tables in the back. Even from my position, I caught the violent tremor in Jake’s hands.
The stranger—Mr. Romano, according to his paddle—cut an imposing figure in his perfectly tailored Italian suit. His dark eyes never left Jake as he doubled his own bid without waiting for competition.
“Sold to Mr. Romano,” Margaret’s gavel crack barely registered before Jake bolted. I watched him vanish through the exit at the side of the room.
My feet moved to follow him, concern overriding protocol, but Margaret’s voice stopped me cold.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, Leo Sterling-Hart of Cobblers’ Corner.”
I hesitated, torn between helping Jake and fulfilling my obligation to the charity.
My eyes scanned the crowd, catching Adelaide’s subtle nod toward the stage.
She mouthed “I’ll check” and slipped away toward the door Jake had used.
Reluctantly, I turned toward the stage, another wave of unexpected warmth coursing through me as I climbed the steps.
From this vantage point, the sea of faces blurred together, but Dominic’s steel-gray gaze burned into me with laser focus. The spotlights blazed hot against my skin. I tugged at my collar, suddenly feeling feverish.
Mrs. Tang’s voice rang clear through the ballroom. “Our next bachelor, Leo Sterling-Hart is the proprietor of our district’s beloved Cobblers’ Corner. A master craftsman carrying on his family’s legacy of fine shoemaking for over a century in our town...”
Hannah from the bookshop lifted her paddle with a friendly smile. “Five hundred.”
“Two thousand.” Blake’s smooth interjection sent the bid soaring, his casual tone belying the significant jump.
Another alpha—the CEO of a new tech startup—raised his paddle. “Three thousand.”
“Four.” Blake cut him off with practiced ease, his baby-blue eyes gleaming with private amusement.
The room’s atmosphere shifted as Dominic straightened in his chair. His woodsy scent sharpened, sending a delicious tingle straight to the pit of my stomach. My omega instincts recognized that possessive edge.
“Five thousand.” Dominic’s voice cut through my thoughts.
Blake’s lips curved upward. “Six.”
“Seven.” Dominic never broke eye contact with me.
Something felt off about their rivalry. Blake’s scent held none of the aggressive challenge typical of competing alphas. Instead, there was something almost... orchestrated about their back-and-forth.
“Eight thousand.” Blake examined his nails, the picture of studied indifference.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The tech CEO slumped back in defeat, but I barely noticed.
“Ten thousand.” Dominic’s growl vibrated through my chest, pure alpha dominance flooding the room.
Whispers erupted across the ballroom. The bid was more than three times what any local bachelor had ever commanded at these events.
Adelaide’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her lips curving into a satisfied smile.
This would go a long way toward saving Rosie’s bakery and any other shops fighting to stay afloat.
My knees weakened as Dominic’s scent wrapped around me. Memories of that night in my kitchen flashed through my mind—his hands on my skin, his teeth at my throat, the way he’d made me feel... A rush of heat pooled in my core, unrelated to the stage lights but equally intense.
The crack of Margaret’s gavel jolted me back to reality. “Sold to Mr. Steele for ten thousand dollars! A generous contribution to our restoration fund.”
As I descended the stage steps, Dominic met me at the bottom, his hand settling possessively at my waist. The heat of his palm burned through my vest. Our scents mingled—his spiced fragrance wrapping around my chocolate and leather in a combination that drew knowing looks from nearby guests.
“Mine.” The word ghosted against my ear, too quiet for others to hear.
A hot blush crept across my face. “This is just for charity,” I reminded him, but my racing pulse betrayed me. Another wave of warmth rippled through my body—not quite pre-heat, but a warning of what was approaching.
“Is it?” His thumb stroked my hip, the small gesture sending sparks along my nerve endings.
Blake approached, champagne in hand. “Congratulations, Dom. Money well spent, I’d say.”
Dominic’s arm tightened around my waist. “You enjoyed that far too much.”
“Can you blame me?” Amusement played across Blake’s face as he watched us. “It’s not often I get to watch you lose your infamous control. Though I suspect Leo has that effect naturally.”
My face burned hotter. Before I could formulate a response, Margaret’s voice rang out again.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, Penny Lee of Vintage Vogue!”
The string quartet’s sultry notes wrapped around Penny as he mounted the stage. My best friend owned every step, his emerald suit catching the light in a way that emphasized his lithe omega frame. Pride swelled in my chest—I’d restored the vintage 1950s wingtips he wore to their former glory.
Blake’s playful wink accompanied his opening bid. “Two thousand.”
Several society paddles shot up in quick succession, the amounts climbing steadily. Penny’s cotton candy and citrus scent drifted through the air, sweet but with an edge that spoke of his unique personality.
“Three thousand.” Sebastian Fairfax reclined in his seat with a casual swagger, radiating wealth and status in his impeccably tailored British suit.
“Five.” Victor Fairfax challenged. He was Sebastian’s opposite in every way—from his sleek designer suit to his brash new-wealth confidence.
A sudden hush fell over the crowd.
The married alphas locked eyes across their shared table.
Their recent public feud had been the talk of fashion circles, but something deeper than professional disagreement crackled between them.
It made my omega instincts prickle with unease.
Their gazes shifted to Penny in perfect unison as my friend pranced around the stage, completely oblivious.
“Eight thousand.” Sebastian’s cultured tone sliced through the whispers. He adjusted his platinum cufflinks—a gesture that should have appeared casual but instead radiated controlled aggression.
“Ten thousand.” Victor’s voice carried a sharp edge. His crystal champagne flute trembled slightly in his grip, the only visible crack in his polished facade.
Sebastian’s lip curled, showing off a pair of sharp white canines. “Fifteen.” He refused to look at his husband, though his alpha pheromones flooded the space with territorial challenge.
“Twenty.” The crystal creaked in Victor’s white-knuckled grip.
Adelaide appeared at my elbow. “Good Lord,” she whispered. “Those two haven’t been in the same room for weeks, not since that disaster in Milan. Something about Victor finding Sebastian in a compromising position with a model.”
Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward Penny, and suddenly the tension made more sense. Her voice took on an indignant edge. “They decide to do this now?”
A subtle shift in Penny’s expression caught my eye as my friend finally realized something was amiss—the way his perfectly lined lips parted, how his warm brown eyes narrowed. The penny had dropped, so to speak, and I couldn’t help but appreciate the irony.
Penny stood frozen between their warring scents—Sebastian’s aged whiskey mixing violently with Victor’s tobacco and spice. Their eyes raked over him with unconcealed hunger. My friend’s sweet scent spiked with a mix of fear and... something else.
“Twenty-five thousand.” Sebastian’s final bid dropped like a bomb in the silent ballroom.
Margaret’s gavel cracked against the podium. The sound jolted through Penny like electricity. His face betrayed a war of emotions—shock at the sum, unease at the tension between the two alphas, and something that painted his cheeks the same shade as his carefully styled hair.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Adelaide murmured. “That’s more than enough to cover the rest of Rosie’s loan.”
I watched Penny’s fingers find his copper pendant, twisting it nervously. The familiar gesture betrayed his anxiety even as he maintained his poised smile. I tracked his movements as he made his way down the stage steps.