Auctioned By The Ceo

Chapter 23

With as much dignity as she could manage, Hannah somehow managed to stand.

“I didn’t agree, Mr. Bryce, and tal

king to me like that at my workplace is akin to sexual harassment. I’m just going to go and pretend we

never had this conversation.”

She got as far as opening the door, before he was on top of her. One hand on the door, he slammed it

shut, and the other hand on her abdomen pulled her back into his large frame. His hot breath ghosted

across the sensitive skin of her neck, and she swallowed a moan at the feel of his long, hard erection

pressing against her back. She couldn’t move, could scarce breathe, because his mere presence

overpowered her. Traces of the cologne he wore, yet clearly hadn’t applied this morning, mixed in with

the virile essence of unkempt male. The predator under the guise of the gentleman, who she had no

doubt would make good on his promise to spank her ass right here in the office and damn the

consequences. That really shouldn’t be such a huge turn-on, and had he carried on like this, she may

well have managed to resist him, but he nuzzled into her neck, and she could feel the tension in his

body. The sheer desperation in which he held her, breathed against her skin, and rested his head

against hers.

“Please, stay. I need you. We need you.”

That gruff plea and the admission which he ground out through clenched teeth, did her in. There was a

world of hurt behind those few words.

“I can’t lose Rhia.” Original from NôvelDrama.Org.

Images of the little dark-haired cherub flooded her mind, and Hannah swore under her breath.

“I told you not to make this about her. It’s not fair, she’s—”

“But this is all about her, don’t you see?”

He released her, and bereft of his body heat, Hannah shivered. Her hand tightened on the door handle,

but she couldn’t bring herself to use it and turned around slowly, to see him slumped back behind his

desk. Her heart ached, seeing him this dejected, as though he carried the weight of the world on his

shoulders.

“Fine, explain this to me then. Why are you so set against Rhia going to live with her grandparents?”

His head shot up, and the silent anger in his dark gaze made her stomach flip over.

“How about the fact that Rhia has no idea who the fuck they are? They disowned Claudia, told her

never to darken their door again. She still extended the olive branch, invited them to the wedding, and

then Rhia’s christening. I told her not to bother, they would never come, and they didn’t, of course.

Rick, he…” He trailed off, ran an unsteady hand through his hair, and shook his head. “From what I can

gather that was the first time he hit her.” Hannah couldn’t help her jerk in reaction, and Logan’s smile in

answer didn’t reach his eyes.

“Rick didn’t want Rhia christened at all. He hated anything to do with church, so much so, that he

robbed Claudia of her dream of the big white wedding—they got married at Gretna, I kid you not.”

“Well, that’s … did they elope then? Do folks still do that?”

Logan laughed.

“She was pregnant by then, and she wanted to get married before she showed, so my asshole brother

convinced her this was the best way. It was shabby and cheap, but she was happy at least. Me, I could

have strung him up. So many better places to get married quickly, but I digress. I talked him into the

christening. Stressed how important it was to her, and he seemed okay with it. Little did I know that he

was venting his frustrations privately on her with his fists.”

Hannah’s eyes filled with tears at the scenario he was describing and the weight of guilt which made

his voice hoarse.

“You’re not responsible for your brother’s actions, you know. You couldn’t have known he—”

“Bullshit.” That one word sliced through the air like a whip. His hands clenched around the armrests of

his leather chair in a white knuckled grip, and he blew out several long breaths, before he relaxed his

hold.

“We both have a temper. His has always been more volatile than mine, or rather, he never really took

the time to control it. Rick thrives on confrontation. Then again when you fight for a living, you have no

reason to rein in your temper. He was a rising MMA fighter, until…”

Logan stared in the distance, and Hannah cleared her throat.

“I see—well, I don’t see. I don’t follow that. Never saw the point in watching men pummel each other for

sport.”

Logan made a rough sound at the back of his throat, and Hannah couldn’t stand the distance between

them any longer. Rounding the desk, she sat on top of it, and put her hands over his.

“That still doesn’t mean you should have seen this coming. Plenty of fighters who don’t go around

beating up women.”

Logan’s hands clenched, the tension traveling up through her fingertips almost too much to bear as he

grunted.

“I know that, but I still should have seen this coming.”

Hannah rolled her eyes, and gave those tense digits a squeeze.

“How? Jesus, yes, he was your brother, and she was your friend, but that doesn’t mean you should

have known. I’ve met enough abused women and men for that matter in my time volunteering for the

shelter to know they’re very good at hiding things.”

He pulled his hands out from under hers and regarded her through narrowed eyes.

“You volunteer? At the shelter?”

Hannah nodded, and he rolled his shoulders and shook his head.

“Why do I not know about this?” The question appeared aimed at himself than Hannah, but she

answered it anyway.

“No one knows, apart from the people involved, and I’d like to keep it that way. Folks only ever jump to

the wrong conclusions. At best, they make me out to be some form of saint, and I really am not.” Her

voice caught as her painful memories chose that moment to make a chokehold reappearance on her

vocal cords. Damn it, not now.

Logan shot to his feet, drew a cup of water from the water cooler in the corner of his office, and handed

it to her.

“Here.”

Hannah smiled at him, and took some much-needed sips of the cool liquid to get rid of the frog in her

throat.

“Thank you, like I was saying, I’m no saint. On the flip side, I don’t need to see the pity in people’s eyes

when they assume I must have some form of tragic history. As though I would ever let a man lay as

much as a finger on me, let alone hit me. I had enough of that as a child.”

Logan’s short laugh stopped her tirade.

“Well, that’s not strictly speaking true, is it, little dove? We both know you enjoyed me doing much more

than laying a finger on you.” His dark eyes glittered in barely disguised amusement, and while her heart

leapt in relief that he’d lost some of his earlier despair, she also wanted to thump him. That thought

brought her up short. She wasn’t a violent person, abhorred the concept, and yet, he seemed to be

bring out the worst in her. He was just so darn infuriating. What was it about this man in particular,

which got under her skin?

Well used to taunts, she ought to be able to shrug it off, treating his suggestive and at times downright

lewd behavior with the icy contempt it deserved. Any other man would have received the cold shoulder

treatment, but Logan … she couldn’t ignore him.

Maybe it was the glimpses of a tortured soul, the shared hurt of a violent past, or maybe it was simple

lust. Maybe that was indeed all that was at play here, and if that was the case, then perhaps she ought

to stop fighting it.

“That’s not the same, and you know it. I gave my consent, and it was…” She couldn’t bring herself to

continue, and besides there was no need to. Even now curls of desire unfurled in her belly, made her

breathing hitch and her breasts ache for this man’s touch. If he made a move now, she wouldn’t,

couldn’t stop him.

A vague sense of disappointment filled her when Logan pulled back, seconds before the knock on his

door made her jump and scramble off his desk. She hastily took a seat in the chair facing him, and

picked up a notepad and pen—an action which earned her a short laugh from Logan—before he bade

the person on the other side of his door to come in.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Mr. Bryce,” Claire Jackson, the company’s HR manager entered and looked at

Hannah with a frown

. “I was told there might be a problem here that needs my intervention.”

Logan steepled his hands in front of his face, and smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes, and the fine hair on

Hannah’s arms rose at the expression on his face. Her stomach twisted at the barely concealed anger

she sensed in him.

“Now, why would you think that, Ms. Jackson?” His voice held an edge of steel, his disapproval of the

other woman’s interruption like a visible wall he erected around himself, and Claire took a step back.

“Forgive me, the other staff … well, they were concerned, and it is my duty to look out for all the staff,

so if Hannah is having some sort of disciplinary action taken against her then I need to be here.” She

straightened her shoulders, lips pressed into a firm line, and Hannah’s estimation of her grew. It was

certainly true that HR always tried their best to accommodate everyone.

Logan shook his head, glanced at Hannah and smirked. Her stomach clenched in worry of what he

might do next.

“Your professional interest is duly noted, Claire, but I can assure that any disciplinary action I wish to

take with my fiancée is none of HR’s concern.” He held Hannah’s gaze, daring her to disagree with

him, and it was on the tip of her tongue to refute that notion, but his tense shoulders stopped her.

He nodded once when she didn’t reply, and focused his attention on a flustered looking Claire instead.

“If that is all?”