Page 8 of Auctioned to the Reaper

“Keep going. I’ve been called worse.”

She raises her hand again.

I catch her wrist before she can land another one. Not hard, just enough to stop her. Her pulse hammers beneath my thumb.

“Easy, sweetheart. You got one free shot.”

“One?” She jerks her hand away. “I have ten years’ worth of shots coming, Grayson Blackwood.”

“Then we’re gonna be here awhile.”

“Don’t you dare make jokes.”

“Wasn’t joking.”

Her eyes flash. Christ, she’s beautiful when she’s pissed.

Actually, she’s beautiful all the fucking time. I know because I’ve spent the last six months catching glimpses of her around town like some pathetic bastard who doesn’t have the balls to cross the street.

Ten years ago, she was eighteen, all freckles and stubbornness, with a smart mouth that regularly got us both into trouble. Now she’s twenty-eight, with curves that make my trousers uncomfortable and a confidence that wasn’t there before.

And she still looks at me like she can see straight through my bullshit.

Unfortunately, she always could.

“Autumn.” I lower my voice. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Oh, now you want to talk privately? Funny, because the last time I tried to have a conversation with you, a nurse told me you didn’t want visitors.”

That lands harder than the slap.

A few guests are openly staring. Jerry the auctioneer looks like he’s considering calling security.

I glance toward the nearest exit. “Please.”

She folds her arms beneath her breasts. My eyes drop before I can stop them.

“Are you seriously looking at my boobs right now?”

“Trying not to.”

“Try harder.”

“Not one of my strengths.”

She makes an outraged noise, but I catch the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth.

There she is.

Then it’s gone.

“Fine. Five minutes. Somewhere private.”

I lead her through a side door into an empty corridor, keeping enough distance between us that she doesn’t feel cornered. The music fades behind us. At the end of the hall, a pair of French doors opens onto a covered terrace overlooking the mountains.

Autumn marches outside.

I follow.