Page 32 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

He ran a hand through his hair. He stood and pulled on his shirt. “I don’t trust women, Portia. And right now… I’m not sure I trust myself. I can’t do this with you.”

I sat up, crossing my arms over my chest. I felt extremely exposed. I reached for my hoodie and didn’t bother shaking it out. I quickly pulled it on and got to my feet as well. I was humiliated.

“I understand,” I said quietly, my voice steady despite the burning humiliation.

Dean stood there not looking at me. He was giving all of his attention to the fire.

“I should go,” I said.

I picked up the marshmallows and graham crackers. I had no idea where the chocolate went, and I didn’t care. I just wanted to get out of there.

“Your whiskey,” he said and picked up the bottle.

“Consider it a gift,” I said. “Goodnight.”

I didn’t look back as I rushed away from Dean’s place, my heart pounding in my ears and my cheeks burning with humiliation. The cool night air did nothing to put out the fire raging inside me. The fire he started and then walked away from. I nearly tripped in my haste, but I didn’t care. All I knew was that I needed to get away, to put as much distance between myself and Dean Jackson as possible.

The path back to the rental was dark, illuminated only by the faint glow of the moon. Every sound felt amplified—the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant hoot of an owl and the occasional splash in the lake. I clutched the graham crackers and marshmallows tightly in my hands, their edges digging into my palms as if they could ground me somehow. I felt so stupid. I took marshmallows and whiskey to his fire. What the hell did I think was going to happen? What did I want to happen?

When I finally reached the rental house, I threw open the door. The moment I was inside, I slammed it shut and turned the lock with a decisive click. I leaned against the door for a moment, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing. But it was no use. My heart was still racing. I couldn’t decide which emotion to give the lead. Embarrassment? Frustration? Anger?

I tossed the marshmallows and graham crackers onto the kitchen counter and headed straight for the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would somehow wash away the heat still lingering on my skin. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, my cheeks flushed and my hair disheveled. I looked exactly how I felt—a mess.

“What were you thinking, Portia?” I muttered to myself, gripping the edge of the sink to anchor me. “You knew better.”

But the truth was, I hadn’t known. Or maybe I hadn’t wanted to know. If there had been a part of me that sensed this would happen, I’d ignored it—because Dean had a way of making me forget everything else when he looked at me the way he had tonight. And now here I was, left feeling foolish and exposed, while he was probably already back to brooding by his fire like nothing had happened.

I noticed leaves and dirt clinging to my hoodie. I quickly pulled it off and that was when I saw the hickey on my neck.

I froze, staring at the mark in the mirror. My fingers brushed against it lightly. Instead of anger, I felt heat pool low in my belly all over again. I knew it was going to leave a mark. Now, I was going to see it and think of him for the next couple days.

“Great,” I muttered under my breath, pulling my hair over my shoulder to cover it. Like that would make it disappear.

I stripped off the rest of my clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the water run hot enough to scald the lingering sensation of his hands off my skin. But it didn’t work. His touch seemed seared into me, a phantom imprint I couldn’t shake.

I got out of the shower, put on my pajamas, and fell into bed. I was going to do all I could to avoid him. I didn’t have the courage to look him in the eyes.