Page 2 of Fallen Dane

Holy shit. I recognize that voice. I shouldn’t look, but my eyes betray me, and I find him in the crowd.

He stands near the back of the room, arms crossed. He’s just as I remember him. Hot as fuck, even for a man in his late forties. Tall and broad-shouldered in a charcoal three-piece suit with dark hair and silver threading at the temples. His face is all harsh masculine angles with a sexy five o’clock shadow.

Dane Sinclair.

Everyone in the Ravens, no matter their place or rank, knows who he is. He’s from a founding family, a Council member, and the head of Talon enforcement. He’s the man they call when someone needs to be dragged back or permanently removed. His Talons do all of his bidding.

I’ve seen him at Raven events over the years, but haven’t spoken to him since that night.

His eyes lock onto mine from across the room. My pulse is racing at the sight of him. And now my pussy is throbbing.

Just one encounter, and he still has this effect on me years later. I have used the memory of that night and the things he said as a fantasy for me and my vibrator countless times.

The room falls silent. Fifty million dollars is an insane amount for any widow, especially one of my age and inability to produce more little Ravens.

The auctioneer clears his throat. “Fifty million dollars from Dane Sinclair. Do we have another bid?”

Now I focus on Harrison. He’s glaring at Dane, veins bulging in his neck. This isn’t how this is supposed to go.

He clearly can’t afford to outbid Dane, and even if he could, I don’t think he’d be stupid enough to compete with Dane Sinclair.

“Going once. Going twice.” This is it, and they all know it. The gavel comes down with a sharp crack. “Dove #2, Whitney Marsh, soon-to-be Sinclair, sold to Dane Sinclair for fifty million dollars.”

Polite applause ripples through the room. My father’s expression changes, and now he’s grinning. He receives a portion of the auction proceeds for providing the sperm that created me. Him getting a single cent bothers me more than being sold.

Dane moves through the crowd toward the platform. People move to clear a path for him without being told. He climbs the steps and stops directly in front of me. His emerald-green eyes stare into mine.

“I trust you are pleased with this turn of events, kitten.”

Up close, he’s even more overwhelming. He must be at least six-foot-three. His shoulders are broad enough that they block my view of the entire room.

All I can think about is years ago when his hand was on my throat and he told me all the ways he wanted to make me his. He was all talk, because the fucker never did.

“Fuck you.”

I really shouldn’t provoke him. Especially when he’s going to claim me in front of these fucks. But if he thinks I’ll cower, he’s sorely mistaken.

“You should know that only turns me on more.” His mouth quirks.

He shifts to stand beside me and grabs my hand. His grip is firm, and it sends a heated sensation up my entire arm.

“We’re ready for the vows,” Dane says, motioning for the priest. Or whatever supposed man of faith is officiating our marriage to ensure all will be legally processed. Not that it matters, since the Ravens operate outside of the law.

The man leads us in the simple vows we recite. Love, honor, obey . . . the usual shit. And then the man declares that we are man and wife.

“Mrs. Sinclair.” Dane’s voice is rough as he leans into me. “You belong to me now.”

The new name sounds . . . not as wrong as I thought it would. Mrs. Marsh died with Gerald.

I want to say something witty in return.

Thank you for the purchase. I’ll be a good little wife as long as you let my daughter go to college and marry a nice man. Or I’ll kill you in your sleep.

But his hand moves to my throat before I can decide just how difficult I intend to be.

He doesn’t squeeze hard, just grips enough to make it clear who is in control. His thumb strokes along my jawline.

“You know what comes next. Time to show them what it means to be mine.”