I dropped sixty million dollars at an underground auction to buy a fighter as a pet.

I never imagined that just a few days later, my fiancé would storm my home with an army of lawyers and reporters, trying to force me into signing a marriage contract.

"Your father has already signed over all your paperwork. You're signing this today, whether you like it or not!"

Pinned by a wall of flashing cameras, I squeezed my eyes shut as a wave of hopelessness washed over me.

Suddenly, the doors to my private elevator slid open. A dozen elite operators in black tactical suits filed out.

"Don't move! On the ground, now!"

In seconds, everyone was subdued. The operators dropped to one knee, their voices a unified roar that shook the room:

"All hail, Your Excellency!"

I stared, speechless, at the towering figure striding out of the elevator.

It was the same fighter I'd bought for sixty million.

"That symbol... the black onyx totem. That's the emblem of the personal guard for the supreme leader of the underworld!"

He strode toward me, his eyes burning.

"Blair," he growled, his voice laced with a cold rage. "Did they hurt you?"

————————

1

"Fifty million dollars?"

The man who had just bid one million dollars whipped his head around, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. He was Cole Nash, second-in-command of the Onyx Syndicate.

The Onyx Syndicate had a plan. Their legendary king, Ronan Donovan—known only as "The Phantom"—would feign capture to infiltrate this New York underground auction. Their goal: to root out the traitor leaking their secrets.

They were about to spring the trap. All Cole had to do was pose as a wealthy bidder and use their one-million-dollar budget to buy back a year of Ronan's "services."

They had to be wondering where in the hell a woman who could casually drop fifty million had materialized from.

Cole's face was a mask of calm, but inside, his thoughts were screaming. Boss! We have a problem! Some lunatic just bid fifty million! We don't have that kind of cash!

Boss! What's the play? Do we fight our way out? Do you want me to scare her off?

Boss! Are you even listening to me?

But Ronan seemed to have short-circuited. He wasn't responding.

The legendary fighter, a man known throughout the underworld for his decisive, cold-blooded ruthlessness, was staring, transfixed, at the indolent woman on the second floor—me.

He'd recognized me the moment I walked in. It was a magnetic pull, so potent it could ignite the blood of a man who had lain dormant in the shadows for a decade.

The girl he had secretly loved for ten years.

His Adam's apple bobbed. His pupils dilated. A fire ignited in his blood. A single, primal thought consumed him: he wanted her to take him home, lock him away, and cover her in his scent.

He didn't even register Cole's existence. When he was focused on his prey, he tolerated no distractions.

Cole was desperate. His boss had checked out.

He looked at me, Blair Lancaster, the heiress to a tech empire, rumored to be good for nothing but her money.

If his boss fell into my hands to become some rich girl's plaything, it would be a humiliation for the entire Onyx Syndicate.

"Fifty million dollars, going once!" the auctioneer boomed, his voice trembling with excitement.

Cole couldn't wait.

He adjusted his tie, pasted on a synthetic smile, and ascended to the second-floor VIP box where I lounged. His eyes, however, held a clear warning.

"Miss, I was the intended buyer for this particular 'item.' A word of advice: he's no housepet. He's a caged beast, and he can't be tamed."

"A woman like you can't handle him. For your own good, I suggest you walk away and let me take him."

I rested my chin on my hand, letting out a soft chuckle when he finished. "Can't handle him?"

Without even gracing him with a glance, I raised my paddle.

As Cole's eyes widened in disbelief, I purred, "Sixty million."

A hush fell over the auction house. The smile on Cole's face shattered.

That wasn't just a slap in the face. It was twisting the knife.

He gaped. "You…"

"Can't handle him?" I laughed, my gaze drifting past him to settle on the man on stage, whose obsessive stare hadn't wavered. "That's only because you're not man enough."

"If I want something, I get it. If he were the devil himself, I could put a leash on him."

"Sixty million dollars, going once!" The auctioneer was so ecstatic he nearly launched his gavel into the crowd.

Cole shot a final, desperate look at the stage, his eyes practically screaming. Boss, do something! Glare at her! Anything! Are you really going to let this woman take you home like a common pet?

This time, he got a response.

Ronan's voice was a low, gravelly rumble, laced with a disturbing thread of pleasure. "Cole. Take your men and disappear. You're in the way. I'm getting my first look at my new owner."

Cole's mind went blank.

"Sixty million dollars, going thrice! Sold!"

The gavel slammed down.

I rose, striding toward the stage in my heels, breezing past a catatonic Cole who looked to be rethinking his entire life.

The musky scent of tobacco and leather in the air intensified, and the nerves frayed by my chronic insomnia began to settle.

As I approached, a few bodyguards scurried forward with stun guns and tranquilizer darts. "Miss Lancaster, for your safety, we need to sedate him before applying restraints—"

"Get lost."

I swatted the stun gun aside. "He's my property now. I won't have him damaged."

The bodyguards flinched back.

I reached out, my fingertips gently brushing the grime from his cheek.

"Miss Lancaster! He'll break your arm!" Cole shrieked.

He knew Ronan. Anyone who dared such a provocation would be fish food in the Hudson by now.

But in the next second, jaws across the room dropped.

The lethal aura radiating from the man on stage seemed to dissipate at my touch.

He obediently dipped his head, allowing my fingers to trail across his cheek. His gaze was intense and docile, a tamed predator silently begging for more.

I narrowed my eyes in satisfaction, my fingers combing through the soft, coarse texture of his messy black hair.

I glanced back at the petrified bodyguards and Cole, one eyebrow arched in challenge. "What was that you were saying? Untamable?"

I scratched the chin of the man who was now as pliant as a loyal hound, my tone languid. "It seems he's already chosen his master. Get him cleaned up and send him to my penthouse. Immediately."

Ten minutes later, I was utterly captivated by the enormous prize before me.

The auction house staff had been efficient. They had changed Ronan into a fresh set of clothes.

An unbuttoned black shirt hung from his broad shoulders, framing solid muscles crisscrossed with old scars. A single zip tie loosely bound his hands behind his back as he knelt on the plush carpet, gazing up at me.

His face was brutally perfect.

Sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and a nose that looked chiseled from marble. But it was his eyes that were most striking. Those dark, feral pupils were now fixed on me with a quiet intensity.

This man was precisely my type.

I stepped forward, and that intoxicating scent of tobacco and leather washed over me.

"What cologne is that?" I leaned in, inhaling deeply near the column of his throat. "Tell me the brand. I'll buy the entire company."

Ronan's Adam's apple bobbed. "It's my natural scent."

"Natural?" I murmured, my fingertip tilting his chin up. "And your name? Your full name."

"Ronan Donovan."

"Ronan Donovan…" I rolled the name on my tongue, a low laugh escaping me. "Remember my name. It's Blair Lancaster."

"Blair," he repeated, his voice a low rasp.

"What, no 'Boss'?" I teased, my fingertip sliding from his chin to the hollow of his throat, pressing lightly. "Didn't the auction house teach you the rules?"

Ronan's eyes narrowed. The man who ruled New York's underworld, being told to call a woman "Boss"?

Anyone else would already be dead. But now…

"Boss…"

The word was uttered with a low seriousness, the final 's' hissing, drawn-out and seductive.

It didn't sound like submission. It sounded like a promise whispered on a pillow.

A tingle shot through me, leaving half my body weak. This man was sinfully good.

I sidestepped his scorching gaze and sliced through the zip tie on his wrists.

With a soft click, the plastic fell away, revealing powerful forearms and pale wrists.

The movement caused his shirt to slip further down his shoulder.

My gaze froze.

His otherwise perfect musculature was a roadmap of countless overlapping scars. Some were faded white lines, others looked raw and new.

I remembered the bloody rumors about the underground fighting rings. It had to be them. Those brutes. Who knew what they'd done to him, how long they'd abused him to force his obedience.

"Did they do this to you?" I asked, my voice softening as my trembling fingers traced the jagged old scars.

Ronan froze. These were medals of honor, earned over a decade of clawing his way to the top. In a few more days, the newest wounds would have vanished without a trace.

But seeing the undisguised pity and misunderstanding in her eyes, a new, delicious idea sparked in his mind.

"Mmm, it hurts…" He frowned, his dark eyes misting over like a wounded animal. "It will only feel better if my boss kisses it."

God, a fierce man feigning innocence. A lethal combination.

"Okay, okay… I'll kiss it better." Clutching my wildly beating heart, I fumbled for the first-aid kit and knelt before him.

"Hold still. This might sting."

I dipped a cotton swab in antiseptic, carefully cleaning the grime from the long-healed scars on his torso. After each wipe, I lowered my head and gently blew a cool breath over the spot.

The warm, moist air on his skin sent a tremor through his entire body.

I was completely absorbed in my task, utterly oblivious to the heat of his gaze intensifying from above.

Ronan felt no pain. Only a tingling, electric current that spread from every point of my touch. He devoured me with his eyes.

He watched the delicate flutter of my lashes as I worked, the way my lips pursed in concentration, the vulnerable, pale skin of my nape.

It was a ravenous look, the look of a predator about to devour his prize.

"Lift your arm," I commanded, still blissfully unaware.

Ronan obediently raised his arm. To get to the scars on his back, I had to lean in, my body almost flush against his chest.

"Don't move, the gauze is tangled," I muttered, trying to work out a knot.

Just then, Ronan’s knee shifted—accidentally, of course. I lost my balance and pitched forward.

"Oof!"

I fell into his rock-hard, searing chest. The next second, a powerful hand clamped around my waist.

My world tilted.

The man who was supposed to be my subdued prize grabbed me with one hand, and with a single, fluid motion, flipped me onto my back, pinning me firmly to the soft carpet.

The zip ties were gone. Or perhaps, they had never been a constraint to begin with.

He loomed over me, his dark eyes a vortex threatening to pull my very soul into their depths.

"You've got some nerve, Blair," he said suddenly, his voice a low, husky growl.

The large hand that had just been bound was now caressing my waist, his rough fingertips an abrasive whisper against the fabric of my dress.

The sudden reversal sent my head reeling. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I refused to show fear. "Know your place, Ronan," I managed, forcing a steady voice. "I'm the one who bought you—mmph!"

"Is that so?" he chuckled, his knee pressing insolently between my legs. The searing heat of his body burned through the thin fabric, sending a jolt through me.

"Weren't you the one who just threw yourself at me, Boss? But…" His tone shifted, his gaze lazily sweeping over my pinned hands before finally landing on my lips.

"Since you're so eager, it seems only right that I be on top. All the better to serve my boss."

The air crackled. We were inches apart, our breaths mingling.

His gaze slid from my eyes, down to my lips, then lingered on my neck and collarbone.

It was too hot, that look. It melted my bones.

My mind raced. What is he going to do? Kiss me? Or maybe…

I should have pushed him away. Sixty million or not, he was a dangerous stranger. And yet…

That intoxicating scent of tobacco and leather was a potent narcotic, stripping away my will to resist.

A treacherous part of me was secretly anticipating him closing the distance.

Ronan slowly lowered his head. I instinctively closed my eyes, my lashes fluttering, but the kiss I expected never landed.

Instead, he buried his face in the crook of my neck, taking a deep, greedy breath. His hot breath ghosted across my skin, raising goosebumps.

"Blair…" he whispered, his voice thick with a decade of longing and suppressed desire.

"You smell so good…"

The dominant, yet strangely comforting scent filled my senses. I was on the verge of surrendering completely when a profound heaviness descended on my eyelids.

Years of corporate warfare and family power struggles had left me with crippling insomnia. It had been an eternity since I'd felt a natural wave of sleepiness without pills.

And yet here, in the arms of this dangerous man, I felt an unprecedented sense of security. Like a ship, long adrift, finally finding its harbor.

"You can only… hold me for a little while…" I mumbled, my push against his chest growing weaker. "If you try anything… I'll throw you out…"

The next second, I was sound asleep. Ronan, his head still buried in my neck, went completely still.

He listened to the soft, even rhythm of my breathing and was utterly dumbfounded.

She... fell asleep? Now? In the arms of a man who was seconds away from taking her?

She had actually passed out, using him as a human sedative.

"Ha," he huffed, a helpless laugh escaping him as he looked at the defenseless woman sleeping beneath him.

"You really don't see me as a threat at all."

With a sigh of wry defeat, he propped himself up to head for a cold shower, but the instant he shifted, the sleeping woman's arms snaked around his waist, locking him in place.

"Don't go…" Like a kitten guarding her prize, she pressed her body against his. She nuzzled her face into his hot chest, found a more comfortable position, and drifted back to sleep.

Ronan froze. How in the hell was he supposed to move now?

He gazed at the unguarded sleeping face in his arms, and the raw possessiveness in his eyes slowly melted into a devout, tender kiss on her forehead.

"You're the one who started this, Blair. Now that I have you, don't even think about escaping me in this lifetime."

He reached out, pulling her and the blanket into a tight, seamless embrace.

Across the street, in a neighboring building, Cole watched through a pair of high-powered binoculars. His grip went slack, and the binoculars nearly tumbled from his hands.

It was over.

The ruthless, undisputed king of the underworld had just been reduced to a human weighted blanket for a rich girl.

It was the deepest sleep I’d had in years.

I woke not to a headache, but to the familiar, protective scent of tobacco and leather.

And a wet, ticklish sensation in the hollow of my shoulder.

I blinked my eyes open to find Ronan wrapped around me like a giant octopus, his arms and legs tangled with mine.

One of his legs was possessively wedged between mine, his knee pressing intimately against my inner thigh.

His head was buried in my neck, his warm lips and tongue tracing a path up my collarbone before nuzzling the soft flesh of my shoulder.

It didn't hurt, but it tickled. Worse, something undeniably hard and hot was pressing against my lower back.

As a grown woman, I knew exactly what that was.

"Ronan, stop," I said, my body stiff as I pushed against him.

He lifted his head, a dark, restrained fire in his eyes. He quickly masked the dangerous glint, replacing it with a look of pure, bewildered innocence. "Good morning, Boss."

He nuzzled my palm like a cat, a low rumble vibrating in his chest. My resolve softened.

We had just slept. Aside from the embrace and his… biological morning enthusiasm, he hadn't crossed any lines.

It seemed my sixty-million-dollar fighter, for all his ferocious looks, was a gentleman.

However, I soon discovered the man had a problem.

From the moment we woke up, Ronan was glued to my side. He followed me everywhere, and the moment my attention wavered, he would lean in, persistently trying to nip at my shoulder.

It was almost as if… he was anxious.

I recalled reading about certain animals that bit to relieve stress.

"Arthur," I called to the butler, snapping my fingers. "Go out and buy a collection of the highest-quality stress toys on the market."

Ten minutes later, Ronan stared at the assortment of silicone stress balls I'd shoved into his hands, his face instantly darkening.