“Madam? He’s here,” Jackie announced, popping her head into the room.
Brooks Taylor entered the room, a small smile forming on his lips. Her stomach fluttered, her heart throbbing in all her pulse points. She’d never perceived her office as compact, but his presence dwarfed the space. Well more than six feet and with broad shoulders that stretched every bit of his short-sleeved shirt, Brooks epitomized a modern day Adonis. When he smiled, his eyes creased a little, and wrinkles formed on his tanned face—a bit weathered, giving him that added charm factor. How old was he? Early or mid-thirties?
“Howdy,” he said, in his unmistakable Texan accent.
His baritone was deep, sexy, and had the power to squeeze her insides. “Have a seat.” She gestured to him, internally demanding her girl parts behave.
He walked up to the chair across from her, sat on it with the same ease as their first meeting, like he owned the place. “What’s your answer, Alexa?”
She squared her shoulders. “I want sixty percent. I have a lot of leverage and know the ropes. For all I know, you may be some rich man with daddy issues who’s bored and wants to drag your family’s name through the mud.” The online research had pointed at his upbringing in an old money, traditional Texan family.
“Seems like you know me already.”
“Therefore, sixty percent or no deal.”
He stood and then paced her office, restless, his body betraying the casual confidence his face displayed. “All right. Sixty percent it is.”
She crossed one leg over the other, shifting in her seat. Should she stand, like him? She didn’t want to give him the upper hand, but standing close to him meant pushing in the scent of spicy, manly notes of wood and bamboo. Meant dealing with his proximity and denying all the signs her body threw at her with the subtlety of a cannon. “We need to discuss logistics. Where do you think we’ll find a virgin male over the age of eighteen?”
“I own farms all over Texas, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Talk to foremen all the time. I can find a couple of church-going, strapping young men who haven’t done the deed yet.”
“I’m not a sweetheart,” she said, annoyed at how her blood went on a low simmer. “Nevertheless, I have to agree to the choice. If anything, my opinion weighs more than yours. I’m a woman and know what women want.”
“And I’m a man. And know a thing or two about pleasing women,” he said, and even though his voice sounded casual, his stare pinned her to the spot. She sucked in a breath and reached for her stress ball, squeezing it until her knuckles whitened.
“I’ll take that into consideration. I have a packed schedule with the selection process of my weekly auctions…but I can trust my assistant to step up while we look for the right guy for the job,” she said, flicking on her screen.
He scratched his chin. “Good. I was thinking…a month.”
“A month?” She laughed. “That’s hardly enough time to create buzz, and how on earth are we supposed to find the right man and the potential female buyers—”
He winked at her. “Don’t worry about the women.”
She tapped her fingers on her keyboard. If Brooks thought he’d just breeze through logistics, he had another think coming. “Well, it’s my job to worry. I’ll have you know, Mr. Taylor, I take what I do very seriously. So if you think you can snap your fingers and I’ll agree with whatever, you’re wrong.”
A spark lit in his cocoa-colored eyes. “Wouldn’t expect that from you.”
She pushed her keyboard aside. Before penciling down dates, she needed to make sure he understood what was involved. “Is there a reason why you have this ridiculous timeframe?”
He walked around, scanning the board where she kept thank-you notes from her previous auctionees along with a couple newspaper articles about her which she’d framed on the wall. “I want to act on this idea before someone else does. You’re naive if you think you don’t have competition. I know of a couple of other madams in Nevada that could use quick cash, and each day we don’t do it, it’s a day they can.”
“Why didn’t you go to them? Why me?”
“Because you’re the best,” he said smoothly.
She narrowed her eyes. Maybe he had visited the other madams and they turned him down. Why would anyone turn down his offer, though? Apprehension clawed its way down her throat, and for the first time she felt afraid of losing his offer. Afraid of not seeing him again. “You’re a flatterer, Mr. Taylor.”
“One of my many qualities.”
Restless, she got to her feet, walked around her desk, and leaned on it. Even with her heels on, as he stepped in her direction, he only got bigger and taller. “I’ll see what I can do. For this idea to work, we need the perfect candidate.”
“Yep. Must be a guy willing to learn.” He took one step closer, sliding his gaze from her eyes to her lips. A shiver worked its way down her spine and she stepped back, her ass pressing into the edge of the desk. “A woman’s body is like an amusement park. A lot of young Turks take the fast pass to skip the line and get to the ride quicker, but not me…I enjoy the wait. Makes for a more interesting ride,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.
A flush of desire traveled through her. She sucked in her breath. Her breasts rose, and she cursed herself for not moving away from him—for not wanting to. “Fast passes can be wild and fun.”
“They don’t last long enough,” he said, lowering his head.
She stared up at him. Her common sense warned her against him, but for the
