Numbly Malora heard the girls in the next cubicle giggling about what all girls giggle and chat about-men. When they left she flushed the toilet and opened the door.

Miserably, Malora walked toward the very large ornate, gilded mirror stretched across the wall. The other toilet seemed to be in use and a thin woman with immaculate hair was perched on one of the gold and cream chairs waiting her turn. There was an air of superior calm about her. Her eyes met Malora's briefly but curiously, before she entered the cubicle that Malora had vacated.

Malora stared at herself in the mirror.
Her face was deathly pale and the cheap mascara she purchased from the market was smudged and running; her lips looked as if she had smacked her mouth on a wall, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. This was what Damian Gold saw. She looked like she felt.

Soiled.

The woman in the other cubicle came out. She looked identical to the woman who had perched on the chair before. With a quick, surprised glance at Malora, she went to stand at the other end of the mirror. She patted her immaculate hair, brushed away imaginary specks of dust from her soft pink leather playsuit and left.

Malora turned on the tap and rinsed her mouth with plenty of water. Scooping water in her palms she washed her face with hand soap and scrubbed it dry with a paper towel. Without her make-up she felt defenseless and naked. But she was not going to try and put lipstick on those swollen lips.

Malora hunkered down and weighed her situation.

There was a sick pervert out there who wanted to rape her and leave her torn and bleeding in the parking lot.

Five times.

Malora could walk away. Say fuck you. Actually, no she couldn't. It was so much money. And he knew it. She needed that money. Malora considered taking the money and not delivering. What could he do? It was not like he could go to the police or she would be running a refund desk. Then she remembered his eyes. How cold and dangerous. No. Anyway, she had always said, she'd rather be the one who bought the Brooklyn Bridge than the one who sold it.

Malora's thoughts turned to the strange man. Why was he on her mind? Probably the way he looked at her. No one. Absolutely no one had ever looked at her like that.

Malora indulged in a moment of fantasy.

Perhaps he wanted her. Maybe he was filthy rich so he would simply give her the money her needed. Gallantly, he would then fall in love with her and they would get married. As Malora was standing inside her dreams another woman opened the door and entered. It was a blonde in a red lingerie. She was tall and severely beautiful with an aristocratic nose and bottle-green eyes. She had the same superior air of some of the people at this club. The same air that mystery man had claimed for himself.

Malora could not help but watch her through the mirror. Their eyes met for a second, then hers slid away, but in that second there was pure speculation. Everybody knew she did not belong. Malora looked at her reflection. The only real thing she had was her sister and nephew. And there was nothing she wouldn't do for them. Malora thought of their father. How easily he had walked away when they had needed him most. How weak his love for them had been. Malora's love was different. She would not walk away even if she had to walk upon a path of thorns. Bleed in parking lots she would. And that would be the test of her love.

She would not let herself be distracted by anything. She would survive any sexual humiliation Damian could dish out. Five encounters? Her champagne-addled brain scoffed, that was fucking nothing. The beautiful blonde had turned away from the mirror and entered one of the cubicles.

Mystery man was welcome to her.

Malora straightened her spine. I can do this, she told her reflection. I love you, sis, better than Dad did, much, much better. Malora practiced the smile she would bestow on Damian in the mirror, and despite the revulsion in her belly she told herself that when she was old and wrinkled she would be glad she made this sacrifice. The price would always be worth it.

Then there was nothing left to do in that opulent loo, but to walk out of it, and face her decision, and the length she would go to for her sister and her nephew.

Malora opened the door and her heart dropped.

Mystery man was lounging casually against the wall of the corridor.

*

He straightened when he saw her. He looked annoyed. Perhaps, he was pissed off about the blatant display Damian had put her on. But, quite frankly, he wasn't the one to be angry seeing as a woman had walked around with clamps on her nipples and a leash around her neck. The very last thing Malora needed was another confrontation. She had quite enough on her plate.

She considered ignoring him and walking right past but he raised a detaining finger. A strong urge to obey everything he said came over her, which made her blink several times.

It was strange.

She looked defiantly up at him. She cursed her lack of shoes as her eyes was to the level of his straight, stern mouth.

His eyes scanned her face, now devoid of all make-up. 'Are you all right?'

Up this close his skin was sun kissed and his voice pure velvet. Malora folded her arms around her body and resisted the instinct to take a step back, such was the immensity of animal power he exuded. It was magnetic and irresistible. It was trite, she knew, but he reminded her of a caged panther. Prowling and ready to pounce, full of suppressed restless energy. Muscular, strong.

Malora raised her chin, met him square in the eye, and in her best secretarial voice, said, 'Yes, I'm fine. Thank you.'

'I need to talk to you.'

Oh God, he was going to lecture her. 'So talk.'

He held his hand out. 'Can we go somewhere private?'

Again, that appealing obedience. Oh God, what was she doing?

The man's grasp enfolded her hand. She didn't even know his name.

They crossed the room, heading toward a heavy wooden door. She halted abruptly.

'Miss?'

Unlike the other men in the room, his gold-trimmed white leather jacket had nothing under it. Well, nothing except muscles and more muscles and tattoos she couldn't make the shape of.

His biceps bulged, and his forearms appeared almost as thick. The leathers he wore for pants were-wow, really tight.

When her gaze managed to move back up to his face, he frowned, lines crinkling around his eyes. Her face heated, and she knew her pale skin reddened.

'You're allowed to look, sweetheart,' he murmured, running a finger down her hot cheek. 'I enjoy having your eyes on me.'

He started to push the door open.

'No. Wait, please.' She held up her hand. 'If it wouldn't inconvenience you, might I take a minute to think?'

'Take all the time you need.' Crossing his arms, he leaned one shoulder against the wall, amusement in his eyes.

Malora paced for a bit, her eyes occasionally darted to him. She stopped and nodded for him to take her somewhere private. The room they entered turned out to be a library slash office of some sort.

Malora walked into the room, and waited until he shut the door before saying, 'What is it you want to say?'

He remained quiet, those intense eyes never leaving hers.

'Well?' Malora prompted.

'Are you over twenty?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure?'

'Of course I am,' she snapped. 'Not that it is any of your business.'

'What will Gold get for his money?'

How he heard their conversation was beyond her. She was ashamed and. . . Oh, Fortunately, a fine anger came to her rescue. How dare he? The audacity. Overbearing, arrogant bastard. With all the hauteur she could manage under the circumstances, she grated, 'That's private if you don't mind, and if that was all. . .'

'It's not idle curiosity. I'm quite happy to double the sum if it's what I think it is.'

Malora stared at him blankly. She could understand why someone like Damian would have to pay, but mystery man? He could have anyone he wanted. Then it occurred to Malora that, perhaps, he was just toying with her. Perhaps it was a thing all rich men do.

Malora's pride came to the fore. She would not be humiliated twice in one night. 'Whatever I have offered is for Damian and Damian only. Now please get away from that door and the hell away from me.' Her voice had risen in anger.

His eyes sparked. 'Do you know your eyes are like the blue of a fire when you are angry.' Then more softly, 'Why would anyone, let alone a stunner like you, get involved with someone who, if the most impeccable sources are to be trusted, is an absolute brute? He beat one woman so badly he broke her jaw, and blinded her in one eye.'

Malora had drunk too much champagne.

The whole situation had become impossible for her to deal with in her present condition. Malora had ventured where she should never have gone. She felt the sting of defeat in her bones. 'What do you want from me?'

He left the door and walked towards her: again that sensation that he was a predatory animal. 'Well for a start. . .'

He reached Malora and suddenly jerked her towards him. Malora fell forward and she pitched against the unyielding hardness of his body. Her palms came into contact with the smooth material of his jacket.

Shocked, Malora was filled with the scent that Damain called old money and establishment. Difficult to define, but it reminded her of rosemary, not because of its smell, but because it was so clear and distinct. Nothing wishy-washy about it.

Everything took on an unreal appearance. The fabulously wealthy interior. The man outside that door that wanted to rape her for money. The frighteningly remote man in front of her that brought into her body sensations she had never experienced before. A pulse at the base of his throat was throbbing. Malora watch it curiously. She had never seen it in a man before.

And then an arm came around her, a fistful of hair close to her nape was grasped and tugged so her confused face was tilted up toward him. 'This,' he said, and his mouth swooped down to possess hers.

His breath smelled like brandy or whiskey. Wicked, anyway.

Twice today Malora had had to endure a stranger's uninvited and unwelcome lips, but her reaction to this overbearing man was shocking and immediate.

His mouth drove her wild in a way that she could never have imagined. Heat rippled through Malora, and the reasoning, reliable part of her brain, that part that had never failed her before, stopped responding. Stopped functioning.

Malora's arms snaked up to twine around his neck and tangle in the thick, dark hair. She thrilled in his possessive hold.

He circled her tongue, sucked it deep into his mouth and kissed her with such ferocity that some slumbering beast inside answered his animal call. A dangerous excitement kicked hard into the pit of her belly. No man had ever done this to Malora in this way before. She clung to him. Like a blind animal that moved only with instinct she pushed her body into his. There was only the need to find more of such addictive heat.

What she found the thick hardness of his desire for her. It pressed aggressively against the softness of Malora's stomach and excited her beyond all reason.

A pleasure that was at once sweet and piercing coursed through Malora's body. This rock-hard erection was hers. She caused it. Heat pooled between her legs. And suddenly Malora was wet with wanting and filled with an irresistible desire to have that hard meat inside her, as deep as it would go. . .

Malora totally forgot where she was.

It was Damian's cold, hard voice that dragged her back into that room. They had both not heard him enter. 'I'm afraid she's rather spoken for,' he drawled, but there was so much suppressed anger that his voice was like a blast of icy air.

Malora snatched her mouth away from mystery man. He was positioned between Damian and her so his wide chest hid her from Damian's condemnation and her eyes, cloudy with confusion and desire, were still caught in his gaze. For a few seconds more he didn't not release Malora, but simply stared into her eyes with something approaching surprise.

Then his eyes turned into hard granite chips and his body stiffened even as his hands tightened and curved protectively around her waist. Slowly he turned to face Damian.

'But still unpaid for, I believe?' he said, and looked down with a smile at Malora's flushed, troubled face.

Malora had two very quick impressions. He was a brilliant actor and he was a cold man. A shockingly cold and unemotional being. Damian directed his astonished, vicious eyes at her. 'You offered yourself to him too?'

Malora stared mutely at Damian while his gaze moved derisively, hatefully over her. She felt herself cringe horribly, but she tried not to show it.

'Does he know how much you charge?'

One sculptured eyebrow rose gently. 'Do you doubt I will be able to afford her?'

Damian shriveled the way a leech that has had salt thrown on it does. 'This is why you invited me here, isn't it?"

It was Malora's turn to be surprised. Damian knew this mystery man, and did he just say mystery man invited him?

'Yes.'

'What a joke!' he taunted, but his jibe lacked any real bite. 'The great Titan Pitts can't find his own whore. He has to steal mine.'

Malora hid her gasp. Her wide eyes stared up at the man beside her. No one in their right man wouldn't know the name Titan Pitts. He was the third richest man in the world.

The Titan Pitts had his arm wrapped around her body?

Oh God, he kissed me!

'I didn't steal her,' Titan noted reasonably. 'I just offered to pay more.'

Damian's eyes bulged, bug-like. 'She's just a cheap bloody tart. I've just finger-fucked her out there,' he lied maliciously, jerking his dandruff-laden head in the direction of the door.

Malora felt Titan's hand tighten around her waist. 'Consider it an unearned freebie, then,' he said quietly, but there was warning in the calm words. A warning that was not lost on Damian. The air became tight with tension. Malora looked from one man to the other. It was like watching two lions fighting for supremacy. But her body knew which lion it wanted to win this fight.

Damian shrugged. He knew he'd be a fool to go against a Pitts. He had much to lose. 'If you think I'm going to fight over her you're mistaken. Have her.'

He turned on his heel and left.

Dedicated to: janey1002

A/N:

Did you expect the turn of events?

Why would Titan rescue Malora from Damian Gold?

Do you think he likes Malora, like those like at first sight thing?

What would happen in the next chapter?