Bidding For Her Curves Read Online Flora Ferrari

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Romance Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45796 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 229(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 153(@300wpm)

Read Online Books/Novels:

Bidding For Her Curves

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

Flora Ferrari

Book Information:

Another charity dinner? An auction? I think I’m gonna heave.
“This is the last one,” I tell my personal assistant. After thousands of these things, a lifetime spent building an empire, and traveling the world, I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.
Who I’m looking for. What I really want. I need someone to share all this with.
Not just anyone. The one. I’ve searched, I’ve waited. If it doesn’t happen tonight, which I highly doubt it will, I’m finished.
Done. One more stupid dinner. Then maybe I’ll just buy a mountain, go live in a cave.
Two words strike a morbid fear into my anti-social, awkward, very single, and lonely existence: Charity Auction.
Did I sign up for this? My time in exchange for a charity donation, my wages paid by the owner of the company I work for. Every dollar donated matched by the man himself.
Mason Thorne.
The only two words that actually get me to said Charity auction.
Once I find out he’ll be there… once I find out I might even get to see him in person… Maybe even meet him…
But nothing’s ever that easy, I know that. My boss from hell seems determined to make not only my day off miserable but goes out of her way to make sure I might not even make it at all.
That is until I meet the man himself. Way before the bidding starts. Long before the hammer falls, I know I’m in deep and we both might just end up with a lot more than we bargained for.
For better or for worse.
*Bidding for Her Curves is an insta-everything standalone instalove romance with a HEA, no cheating, and no cliffhanger.
Books by Author:

Flora Ferrari

Chapter One


“I know I signed up for it, but I really do feel sick. I’m burning up.”

There’s a cold silence from the other end of the line.

If there’s one person I can’t bullshit, it’s my boss, Karen. It’s why she’s the boss.

That and whoever her Malibu Barbie ass blew to get the job.

“Jules,” she finally sighs. “I heard you snorting like a pig, laughing with that other thick one. What’s her name?” she muses, talking about us as if she isn’t even talking to me.

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter the charity gala is at six. I’ll need you in the office way before then to run out the last of the programs. Plus I’ll need you to get my new gown pressed at the dry cleaners. If you can be trusted to do that.”

I roll my eyes and stifle a groan. I can see my eyes in my bedroom mirror. They’re narrowed to slits, and not from illness.

It’s Saturday for God’s sake, and this woman is still treating me like her personal slave.

But it’s a job, and it’s the only one I’ve managed to hold down for more than a few months. Plus, like I said, the witch can see and hear right through me.

Why, oh why did I sign up for some stupid charity auction? Maybe I should have started my fake illness back then, might’ve been more credible.

Karen is still talking, and once I finally come back to earth, I hear her listing off anything else that pops into her stupid, dumb bimbo head.

“...There’s the week’s accounts too. I need that formatted… Maybe I should run those programs up myself… they’ll be going straight to Mr. Thorne after all…”

A low animal sound escapes my lips, as my mouth goes dry and I feel myself needing to sit down on the edge of my bed.

I shiver a breath in, feeling suddenly weak and very, very wet in the downstairs panty department.

Mason Thorne.

“It’s no use trying to sound sick Jules, moaning, and groaning won’t save you now.”

I swallow hard, feeling the dry lump in my throat as a result of my entire body’s moisture draining south.

“Did you just say…Mason Thorne?” I croak.

Karen huffs out an impatient breath. “No. I said Mr. Thorne and I’ve already decided I’ll take those programs over to him. You can do the week’s account and clean my office bathroom. You’re not the only one who’s been ill this morning y’ know.”

I struggle to listen to her.

I’m already gone. Done.

The mere mention of Mason Thorne is enough to have me, have any woman with an ounce of hormonal activity drenched in seconds, swooning just at the thought of him.

“But it is Mason Thorn?” I ask again, still in shock. “Is he coming to the charity gala?” I ask innocently.

Excitedly, feeling butterflies multiplying in my stomach, which I absently run a hand across.

Wishing there wasn’t so much of it when I imagine Mr. Thorne and me…

“Coming? He’s the guest of honor!” Karen spits. “Look. Just get your ass over to the office by lunch, alright?” she says, commanding me more than asking me before she slams her phone down.

I let my own phone drop, along with myself, falling back onto my bed.

My nervous excitement turns to terror in an instant. I want to worry about what I’ll wear, how I’ll look but the only thing I can really think of is Mason Thorne.

Mr. Thorne.

Mr. and Mrs. Jules Thorne.

Pressing my legs together, I picture him. It makes sense he’s hosting a charity gala. He is the richest man in the state.

The most eligible bachelor in the country.

How the hell did I not know he would be there?

I don’t really have a hobby, just work.

If I was to list any interests Mason Thorne would be top of my list. Ever since I can remember before I even knew what that tingle was every time I saw his picture or heard his name.

He gave a speech at our college once. I actually fainted, had to be taken to the sickbay where the nurse thought I’d had a seizure because the back of my dress was so wet. She thought I’d wet myself.

No. It was Mason Thorne who wet me, still does to this day, this very minute.


Bolting upright, and I shudder again. My throat feels red raw and my joints feel suddenly tender. My head’s pounding and I wonder if I’m really…

No. Oh no, you don’t!


I’m not sick. I can’t be. Karen just told me so.

Rushing to get up off the bed, I feel dizzy, black spots swirl in front of me and I feel my knees going out from under me.

“I’ll feel better after a shower,” I tell myself aloud, brushing off the obvious.

“All that talk of Mason Thorne’s gone and done it, that’s all.”

Yes, that’s it. A nice warm shower. I’ll have to wash my hair and-