Page 50 of The Auction
My framed photos. My books. My clothes hanging in the closet—perfectly organized by color. My brush on the vanity. My favorite plush blanket draped over the foot of the bed.
“What the hell?”
“You were taking forever,” he says, shrugging. “Figured you needed help packing.”
“You went and got my things?”
“Pshht. No, I sent someone.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “And you’re welcome.”
“You realize this is only for thirty days, right?”
“Sure.” He shrugs but doesn’t look at me.
Just drops my duffel next to the bed and lingers in the doorway, arms crossed. Watching me.
“I want to know why,” he says eventually.
“Why what?”
“Why you did it. Why you went up there.”
I avoid his gaze, setting my cosmetics bag on the vanity. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“I could hack you,” he says casually. “I could find out.”
“No, you won’t.” I turn and hold his stare. “You won’t invade my privacy like that. Idle threats don’t suit you.”
He grinds his jaw. “You’re infuriating.”
“You’re not exactly easy-breezy yourself.”
The air grows thicker. Every second that passes coils tighter between us.
I stare down at the bed, fidgeting with the zipper on my bag.
“So, um,” My voice is smaller when I finally ask, “When do you want to, um... do this?”
Theres a long pause but I can feel the shift in him. Like he went from Captain Annoying to Rico Suave in a blink.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says, voice like silk-wrapped gasoline. “Can you be specific?”
“Seriously?” I snap, glaring at him. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Do I?” he tilts his head, pure menace and mischief.
“You’re infuriating.” I huff and I know I sound like a pouty brat. “You probably just plan on holding me hostage until the month is over, don’t you?”
He steps closer. Close enough that the heat from his body ghosts over my skin.
“Oh, I intend to get what I paid for, Cricket.” He steps behind me, his hands go to my arms and slide up them. I feel his nose in my hair as he takes a deep inhale, then lowers his mouth next to my ear.
His voice drops, dark and deliberate. “And you’ll beg me to do it.”
I lift my chin, refusing to back down as I turn and face him. “I won’t beg you for a single thing.”
His smirk is slow. Dangerous.
“Keep telling yourself that, baby.”
