"You're on, sweet ass."

Sweet ass? That's a first.

Before Mia Andrews could so much as squeak a protest, the curtain opened and lights flooded her vision. She stayed on the "X" as instructed, completely paralyzed in fear. Just breathe. In. Out. In. Out. She squinted at the brightness, grateful it blinded her from just how many men were out there. She brought her hand up to shield her eyes.

She'd never been so scared in her life. What if men didn't start bidding on her? Scratch that. What if they did? She told herself to calm down, but standing on a stage about to be auctioned off to the highest bidder had her a bit frazzled.

A bit? That was a severe understatement. Terrified out of her mind would be more accurate. How else could she explain why she thought posing as a courtesan at a gentlemen's club in Seattle would help her find her missing sister? Did Aimee stand on the stage like this, on this very spot? Did she have a hard time breathing in the get ups they made her wear? Was she terrified, barely able to breathe just like Mia?

The first bid came in and she took a deep breath, holding it in until it burned in protest to be let out. Darting her gaze away from the crowd, she spotted a striking man leaning up against the wall next to the emergency exit. It was too dark to really get a good look at him, but even with all the shadows she saw how rough-cut and intriguing his looks were.

Hmm. Would he make a bid on her? If other men out there looked like they could double as a male underwear model, she wouldn't mind sharing a drink with him. A shiver washed through her as she thought about what else they'd share. A kiss? The chance to explore each other's bodies?

A bed?

His hands in his pockets, he seemed interested in everyone in the room. Everyone except her. Was he even bidding? Not once did he glance up at the stage. Instead, he kept scanning the room, carefully, slowly. Why would he be here if he didn't have any interest in the latest woman up for bid? Maybe she wasn't his type? For some unexplainable reason, that bothered her.

"One thousand." Mia squinted to see another man sitting in the shadows, sipping at the contents of his drink. He offered her a grin and a raise of his glass when their eyes met. Not eyes. Eye. He had a patch over the other and, with the puffy white shirt he looked just like a pirate. Ah jeez. He'd probably have her swab his deck before having her walk his plank. She really hoped this time "X" did not mark the spot.

"One thousand, five hundred." Her gaze darted over to yet another man who couldn't quite bring his gaze above her breasts. Great. So far she had a pirate and a boob-gazer. He even licked his lips as he gawked up on the stage at her, which sent an uncomfortable shudder ripping through her.

"Two thousand." Back to the pirate.

"Four thousand." The boob-gazer challenged the pirate.

The man against the wall flicked his gaze up at her before bringing his attention back to the men bidding on her. He shifted feet before standing and taking a step toward the stage.

"Five," the mystery man finally spoke in a rich baritone that hummed through her system. With a single word he challenged both the pirate and boob-gazer and had them uncomfortably fidgeting in their seats. He kept his attention on the crowd and not her. Again the display wounded her.

"Six. Six thousand dollars for a night with this voluptuous goddess in black leather." Some guy with a fake Latino accent spouted out. His false moustache barely hung to his lip. Not much of a disguise, buddy. He had more gold wrapped around his neck than Mr. T in his early years. Mia closed her eyes and prayed someone, anyone, would bid higher.

She wanted to desperately cover herself with her hands, but fought the urge and instead coiled her fingers into fists at her side. The black leather corset she had strapped on constricted her breathing, and the tiny excuse of black panties barely covered the curls of her mound, let alone anything else.

"Sixty-five hundred." Her eyes still closed, she had no idea if the pirate or the boob-gazer made the bid. Either way, she was screwed.

Literally.

"Seven." She knew the mysterious man made the bid. His voice held an edge of authority that couldn't be denied.

"Eight thousand." Mia blinked her eyes open to see the pirate stand. His angry eyes--eye--on the mystery man, he added, "I will pay eight thousand dollars for the rights to this wench."

Wench? Didn't people stop using that term in, like, the eighteenth century? Besides, The Emerald Club used the term courtesan to label their wenches. Apparently whore was just too racy a term for the hot underground Seattle club.

The mystery man casually turned toward the boob-gazer. The man shook his head slightly and, finally, lowered his eyes. Taking another step toward the stage, the mystery man lifted himself and partially sat on the stage, still keeping his back to Mia and his attention on the crowd.

"Ten thousand," he said curtly, directing the words toward the pirate. Wow, really? He was willing to fork out ten thousand dollars for one night with her? No doubt he'd want her to perform whatever little sexual perversions he had in mind. Still, spending even one hour with this handsome stranger far outweighed an entire night with the pirate.

She looked out over the wave of men all drooling as they stared at her standing on the stage. She felt completely exposed in the tight-as-hell corset. The thigh-high stockings were a nice touch, and coupled with the four-inch stilettos, she had to be a sight. The shoes hurt like hell and her toes had already gone numb. But, as the other girls informed her, beauty was painful and she'd just have to deal with it.

The mystery man bidding on her stood and squared his shoulders in an obvious dare for someone to make another bid. His voice rang with command when he asked, "Anyone else?"

The boob-gazer had already called it quits, and the Latino guy didn't make another bid, so she assumed he'd withdrawn as well. The pirate glared at him, but gave him a slight shake of his head.

Mia felt a warm glow flow through her, and tried to ignore it. She refused to enjoy the way he just stepped in and saved her from God only knew what. She didn't know this man. What he had in store may be far worse than whatever the others wanted to do. But she couldn't stop herself from watching with smug delight as the others slunk back into their corners.

He turned to her then, robbing her of breath and completely captivating her senses. Steely eyes as gray as the heavy smoke above an angry fire bore down on her. He had hair the color of midnight, and well-toned arms with ripped biceps. Oh mama. She parted her lips and tried to suck in a breath. The way the corset constricted her airways made that quite a challenge.

She couldn't help but let out a breath in a smile as he captured her gaze with his. Grateful. That was the only word she knew to explain the feeling stirring deep inside her. Well, there were a few others floating around in her brain. Hunger. Lust. Fear.

Silence fell on the room. The owner of those hard eyes also possessed one hell of a set of shoulders. He wore a black leather sleeveless top, and well-fitted jeans. The cowboy boots added a mouthwatering look to the outfit. As he continued to stare up at her, he ran his fingers through his short, dark hair and offered her a slow, almost reluctant grin.

For some reason, the gesture had her nipples taut, straining against the leather binding them. A tightness started in her womb and with jolts of erotic lightning spread down to the folds of her pussy, drenching them.

After several seconds, she heard the gavel slam down. The sound broke her of her trance and she glanced over to see the announcer offer her out to the very man she'd been ogling.

Maybe this whole courtesan act she had going wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. Reaching out to her benefactor, she almost touched him when the fight broke out.

"I wanted her," the pirate slurred, pushing Steely Eyes. Her mystery man finally broke their contact and turned toward the belligerent pirate.

"Guess you should have brought your other wallet," he retorted in that rich baritone that kept her body vibrating with delicious tension. He turned then, and when he doubled up his fists, Mia tensed.

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Pirate threw a punch. Steely Eyes blocked and threw one of his own. It connected with Pirate's one good eye and down he went.

Mia took a step back, awestruck two men were fighting over her. Men, she reminded herself, that paid well for the right to have sex with her. That thought broke her of her lust-induced interest in the mystery man. He wanted sex. They all wanted sex.

Sex.

Sex.

Sex.

Nothing else. Mia chanted it over and over, knowing what she had to do, and not liking it. Still, if she wanted to earn her place here at Seattle's hottest underground club, she needed to blend in. It was the only way to stay on Aimee's trail.

Shaking out his hand, Steely Eyes ignored the man writhing around at his feet and instead swung that hefty gaze back up to her, painfully stopping her heart a beat.

"Shall we?" He reached to her. The corners of his lips curled up ever so slightly and, just like that, the rest of the world disappeared once again.

A flicker of apprehension coursed through her. This man, this gorgeous human with bottomless gray eyes, wanted her. Her! Although she may look the part, she definitely didn't have the sexual experience he no doubt expected. Would he ask for a refund? Could he even do that?

Glancing down at his offering, she placed her shaky hand in his. His grin faded as he furrowed his handsome brow. Oh no. He already knew. The lump stirring in her stomach shot straight to her throat.

"Come on," he said easily and, keeping his body between hers and everyone else's, led her over to the stairs on the side of the stage. She barely stayed upright in the stilettos and as she took the first step down, lost her balance and fell forward.

She twisted her ankle and flipped around, falling back first. He caught her in his strong arms and simply held her there. One hand on her back and the other on her breast, when he realized where his hand landed he immediately moved it down to her waist.

His other hand remained on the small of her back and the gesture made her feel warm and safe. She immediately shook that thought. This man had just purchased her for a night of sex. Nothing more. And, she thought with a shudder, nothing less.

"You okay?" That sweet baritone voice reverberated through his chest.

With her arms on his hard chest, she slowly looked up into his eyes. Her breath hitched when he looked down at her, their lips a tormenting inch apart. Straightening, she stood eye level with him, thanks to the heels.

"Yes," she lied and swallowed hard. No, she wasn't all right. She was about to have sex with a perfect stranger. And he was perfect.

Stepping back, he gave her a slow and sexy once over, raking his gaze across her entire body and drawing a quiver from her. Her body betrayed her. She shouldn't feel the least bit excited by his touch. And yet, she did. Her already hard nipples pushed against the leather corset. Wetness in her nether lips expanded her already stimulated clit.

Wrapping his fingers around hers, he pulled her in front of him and placed his large hand back onto the small of her back as he led her over to his table. When he didn't slow as they passed his table, she did. He pushed her to keep going and when she tried to roll out of his hold, he gently grasped her hips and kept her moving.

"Where are we going?"

He turned to her and gave her another lazy grin. "I have a room reserved upstairs."

A room? They weren't going to stay out here and maybe have a drink? Or two? God knew she needed something to take the edge off. Posing as an overpaid whore had her tense, to say the least. And these shoes were killing her.

Why would he reserve a room unless he'd expected to buy one of the courtesans for the night? The thought that she wasn't anything more than a woman to share his bed for the night had her feeling oddly bruised.

She'd read the contract before she signed it and knew she had no choice but to follow him out of the darkness of the club and into the elevator. He pushed the button for the second floor.

This had better work. She'd already done everything else she could think of. After filing the missing persons report, she fully expected the entire team from CSI to show up on her doorstep and work their magic. She expected every detective in Seattle to take a personal interest in her case, to make it his priority. They'd find Aimee and return her home all safe and sound.

But she didn't get any of that.

What she did get was a phone call by one of the desk cops at the Seattle Police Department asking her the same questions she'd already answered on the missing persons report. It took all of fifteen minutes and a, "We'll let you know if anything comes up" answer. That was almost three weeks ago.

So she started her own investigation. After paying a private investigator her entire life's savings only for him to tell her Aimee's trail stopped at a club in Seattle's underground nightlife, Mia decided to take matters into her own hands. She'd pick the trail up where the PI left off and find her sister.

She had to. Aimee was her only family left.

And now here she stood, rigid, her nerves dancing with anxiety at what this man would want her to do. Would he tie her up? Blindfold her? Both? An alarming thought jumped into her mind. What if he wasn't alone? What if he had a group of friends waiting in the room for her? That would certainly explain his eagerness to offer ten thousand for a night with her. Ten thousand split five ways wouldn't break the bank for any of them.

Five?

She needed to get a firm hold on her imagination. When the elevator doors whooshed open, she tensed, fully expecting a group of men to reach in and grab her.

Instead the doors opened to a hallway. He stepped out and looked both ways before nodding and motioning for her to follow him. She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. "How many are there?"

He mimicked her gesture. "How many what?"

"Are you alone?"

Spiking an ebony brow, he gave her a sideways glance as he started down the hallway, conveying how crazy her question sounded. "I'm sure those colored contacts don't make your eyesight that bad. Come on."

Stunned he could tell she wore contacts, let alone they were colored, she followed him until he stopped in front of a door and swiped a card. The door clicked open and he stepped into the room.

Mia stopped at the threshold. Her distress gnawed away any confidence she'd built up. She was about to step into a room with a complete stranger, about to open her legs and offer up to him something she'd only offered up to a man she'd been in love with.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he stated gently and held the door open for her. With a wink that nearly dropped her to her knees, he nodded toward the door. "Come in. Let's have some champagne."

A drink? She definitely needed that. With a deep breath she stepped over the threshold and into the room. A small room, with a tiny table and chair in one corner and a sink with a bottle of champagne buried in ice in the other, the majority of the space was taken by the king size bed in the middle of everything. It had a metal headboard and four metal posts. There was no doubt what this room had been designed for. Her stomach lurched.

When the door closed, she jumped. A deep chuckle pulled her attention to the man. "Don't be scared. I promise I won't bite."

Something in his manner soothed her rattled nerves and she let out a breath. "Right."

He walked over to the sink and popped the top on the champagne, poured them each a glass. Offering her a flute, she walked over and almost lost her balance again, grabbing onto the table to stop herself from going down. She recovered just as she accepted the glass from him.

He didn't even try to hide his smirk. "Let's get you out of that get up. Those shoes have got to be murder."

"You have no idea." Her already erratic pulse jumped, her heart in her throat as it thudded in her ears. She breathed deep to keep her emotions in check. You can do this. It's only sex. You've had sex before. It's like riding a bike. Only this time you'll be riding something long, hard, and without any training wheels.

That didn't help. A cold knot formed in her stomach, tensing whatever nerves weren't already so stretched they were close to snapping. Closing her eyes, she took a long drink and prayed this night wouldn't end like Aimee's last night here.