The Millionaire Makeover (Bachelor Auction)

By: Naima Simone



When a man wanted payback, he just beat the shit out of the man who wronged him, had a beer with him afterward, and then they went on their merry way.

Women, on the other hand, let a man think everything was all hunky-dory and allowed time to pass, and all the while they stewed and plotted. Then, when a man least expected it, she kicked him in the nuts, bringing him to his knees.

Five feet in front of Niall sat Khloe Richardson, God’s blow to the balls.

Jesus H. Christ. What was she doing in a place like this? The ballroom filled with rich, more-money-than-sense eejits wasn’t exactly her crowd. The fact that he was one of those eejits didn’t escape him either.

He ground his teeth together, narrowing his eyes at the younger sister of his best friend. It didn’t matter that Michael had died three years ago, she was—and always would be—the sibling to the finest man he’d ever known. The one woman who remained beyond his reach, untouchable. Except for the one night when he’d been drowning in alcohol and grief and had spent hours in her arms and inside her body.

The night he would go to hell for.

Damn it. Familiar guilt and anger roiled in his gut as if he’d downed shot after shot of whiskey on an empty stomach. He’d known this—returning to Boston from Dublin, Ireland, after a three-year absence, participating in this meat market for vain, bored socialites—had been a bad idea. When his publicist had arrived in his office with the invitation in hand, his “hell no” had been immediate and adamant. Standing on a stage, masked and trussed up like a five-course meal only to end up arm-candy for some spoiled and avaricious rich woman? Fuck no. Been there, done that, had the divorce decree, lighter wallet, and lump of coal in his chest to prove it.

Besides, as CEO and owner of Duir Music, the foremost leading record label in Ireland, he rarely had time to eat, much less spend several days abroad. But his publicist had been aware of Niall’s hot buttons to push: his mother had been a loyal member of the Rhodonite Society when alive; earlier in the year, the group had honored her with a dinner, and he hadn’t attended; and the proceeds of the auction would benefit literacy, a cause Michael, as an almost educator, had been passionate about.

After a lot of grumbling, he’d relented.

He should’ve followed his instincts and kept his ass on the other side of the ocean.

Khloe slowly rose from her chair, her wide gaze fixed on him. Damn, she was beautiful. He scanned her from the dark brown strands he knew from personal experience were soft and thick to the tips of her shoes and back up to the gorgeous, green eyes that haunted his dreams.

Even in the ugliest dress he’d ever seen, she outshone every woman in the room.

The…thing… might have had a collar as high as a nun’s habit, and the dark material skimming her body had all the shape and appeal of a potato sack, but he remembered the body underneath in startling, vivid detail. Three years hadn’t dimmed his memories—not when he fucking thought about her naked and writhing underneath him with a regularity that bordered on obsession. Breasts large enough to fill his palms, a tiny waist that accentuated the sensual flare of her hips. Hips he’d gripped as he’d dragged her up and down on his cock as her toned, lightly muscled thighs quivered with the exertion her virgin’s body hadn’t been used to. Well, hadn’t been used to before that night.

A bead of sweat rolled down his spine as every pint of blood in his body seemed to flow south and congregate in his cock. Somewhere there was a woodshed with his name on it for the lessons he’d taught her that night. As much as he’d been drinking, he shouldn’t have been able to move, much less fuck. But he’d taken her like a man possessed. Over and over. On her back. Her stomach. Her side. On his back. And he recalled each and every moment as if the sheer heat of those hours had burned away memories that should’ve been fogged by alcohol.

Maybe that was part of his punishment for laying a hand on Michael’s much-loved baby sister. Damned to never forget the most explosive, mind-blowing sex of his life…and doomed never to repeat it because of his friend’s last request before his death.

Yeah, God was definitely a woman.

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