Page 38 of Auctioned To Be Mine

I removed the bib—finally—and folded it on the table with as much dignity as the act allowed.

Victoria pressed her lips together, clearly fighting a smile.

“Not a word,” I said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

She laughed and I realized I needed to hear it again. I craved that sound. We stood and walked out of the restaurant. I opened the car door for her and she got in. We headed out into the night.

I wasn’t ready for the evening to be over. “Want to get dessert?” I asked.

“The two hours are technically up,” she said.

“They are.”

“So I can go home.”

“You can,” I agreed. I let a few seconds of silence pass. “Or you could come up to my place for a drink. I’m in the hills. The view is worth seeing.”

She turned to look at me. I kept my eyes on the road but I could feel her working through it, weighing the options, having some internal debate.

“One drink,” she said finally.

I grinned.

She turned back to the window. “And you’re not allowed to pull any fire alarms if you want me out of your house. Just order me an Uber. Don’t get me wet.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something really inappropriate. Like really, really bad.

I drove toward my sprawling house that was surrounded by other mansions. Celebrities and tech gurus were my neighbors.

The house looked its best at night. During the day it was impressive, all clean lines and stone and glass. But at night, with the city spread out below, it became something else entirely. Something that justified the price tag. It was a ten-million-dollar view and worth every penny. It was quiet and relatively private despite the concentration of homes in the area. We all had lots of land, high fences, and higher shrubs.

“Wow,” she said when I pulled to a stop in the driveway. “This is gorgeous.”

I tried to see it from her eyes. I had plenty of soft lighting that highlighted the walkway and trees. The lawn and the water feature were also illuminated.

I watched her face when I opened the front door and she stepped through into the living room, where the far wall was entirely glass. The view was unobstructed all the way to the ocean.

She stopped walking.

“Okay,” she said softly. “I see what you mean.”

I went to the bar near the kitchen and poured two glasses of a Scotch I’d been saving for no particular reason. I carried the drinks out through the glass doors to the terrace. It was a cool night. I considered turning on one of the patio heaters, but the chill felt good.

She was already standing at the railing when I got there, her hands resting on the stone ledge. Her hair was moving slightly in the breeze. She didn’t try to fix it, just let those wild curls swirl around her.

I handed her a glass and stood beside her at the railing. Not close enough to crowd her.

“It truly is beautiful up here,” she said.

“I like it. I thought about a house in Malibu, but then I saw this one and knew it was the one for me.”

“I owe you an apology,” I said eventually.

She looked at me sideways. “For which offense specifically?”

“The sidewalk.” I turned toward her slightly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going and I knocked you down. I didn’t apologize. That was a dick move.”