“Sinclair. Hold up.”
I swore under my breath and slowed my gait, looking over my shoulder. Markus Grammer held up his hand in a hail, an obnoxious smile on his face and lustful hope in his eyes.
Goddammit.
Stopping, I turned to face him fully, crossing my arms with expectation of his request. If I spoke without clearing my throat, I’d snarl at him to back the fuck off from the goddess he was about to ask for.
But that would be bad for business.
That wasn’t my idea of control.
Markus slowed to a stop, breathing hard from the minor chase. He had the fitness level that I expected of a desk-bound politician. He wasn’t fat, but he wasn’t fit, and it showed in his lack of swimming strength, stamina, and overall activities that he didn’t indulge in on my shores.
Raking a hand through my hair, I tugged my tie knot and shook off the residual hunger and fury that seemed to infect me whenever I was in Eleanor’s company.
I had no idea what possessed me to stay with her while she ate. Why I didn’t just leave her at the surgery and let Dr Campbell or any other staff escort her back to her villa.
I wasn’t a chaperone. And I wasn’t some lust-struck fool.
I didn’t know what I was, and that was what made me fucking rage.
Markus looked at me for the first time; his eager smile dropped with hesitation. “Eh, if this is a bad time…I can—”
“It’s fine.” Just as I feared, my voice resembled some sex-obsessed Neanderthal. I cleared my throat, coughing for good measure. By the time I smiled and placed my mask of helpful hotelier and exclusive renter of women back on my face, my voice was normal, smooth, gentile. “What can I help you with? Everything okay with your stay so far?” I smiled wider. “If you require anything, anything at all, be sure to have your private butler attend to you.”
“I know.” Markus nodded gratefully, his floppy blond hair hanging over one eye. Pushing the mess out of his sight, he looked at the sand sticking to his flip-flops before catching my eye again, and rushing, “That goddess we saw in the dining villa. The one who…yelled at you.”
I kept my smile strictly in place. “The one who only arrived yesterday and is still yet to learn my laws?”
“Oh, she’s new?”
“Very.”
“Is she…available?”
I ignored the urge to rip his fucking head off. Since when did I want to maim my guests? Normally, I enjoyed the tease, the negotiation, the power of granting them what they wanted or denying them until they gave better terms.
My animosity toward him didn’t come from wanting to negotiate. It came from not wanting to share.
“That depends. I’m fully aware of the value she’ll command, even being as new as she is.”
“So…she hasn’t been in Euphoria yet? She hasn’t been with any other guest?”
I crossed my arms so I didn’t tear his motherfucking throat out. “No, she has not.”
His eyes lit up with a million candles, his eagerness switching to desperation. “How much?”
And that was the kicker. I’d already milked this man out of a few hundred k. The cost to stay on my shores commanded a steep deposit. Normally, the rate included a single night in Euphoria with a girl I deemed a good match. One night was usually all a man could handle, and the rest of his stay was recuperation from the best fucking night of his life.
However…just like any hotel, there were add-ons and extra activities that weren’t covered in the original price…additional pleasure that could be bartered.
“How much do you feel she’s worth?” I looked over his shoulder, catching the eye of yet another lust-driven guest as he walked by.
Ah, shit.
The supermarket owner noticed me, changed his direction, and closed the distance between us.
So, the bidding war had officially begun.
Markus heard the soft crunch of sand and slap of flip-flops, turning to face his competition.
Jordon Wordworth gave Markus a tight smile, entirely aware he’d interrupted a negotiation and wasn’t too happy about not having a chance to put his own bid forward. I had no doubt he was used to auctions and buying produce quickly, stocking his shelves before the other chains could grab a bargain.
There would be no bargain here.
Only extortion and my still undecided schizophrenia on whether I should sell Eleanor or keep her for myself.
Jinx.
Her name is Jinx.
She is not a person anymore. She is a possession. She is no different than any other girl who provides a service. Don’t mistake her for more; otherwise, the only curse she’ll cause will be you, you fucking idiot.
“Are you discussing that enchanting creature who had the balls to argue with you, Sinclair?” Jordon smirked. His dark hair held streaks of silver, painting him as older than his thirty-nine years. Despite his salt and pepper mop, his body was in better shape than Markus. He’d be athletic behind closed doors. He’d have the stamina to fuck a girl who wouldn’t stop begging for it the moment elixir was slipped down her throat.