Page 48 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“Photos,” he said matter-of-factly. “Something convincing. Something that shows we actually spend time together. That all of this is real.”

“We could have taken photos at the restaurant,” I said. “Not that we needed to. I saw all the people trying to pretend they weren’t taking our pictures. Or there is the announcement you made outside your building. And the jewelry shop.”

He chuckled, the sound terrifying and a total turn-on “Oh, those were just appetizers. Now comes the main course. That is easy to fake, and people will definitely call us out for that. We need something intimate.”

The way he said “intimate” made my skin prickle. If he thought I was making a sex tape with him, he had another thing coming. “Like what?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he walked over to one of the bags and pulled out a tiny bikini. He held it up with a grin. The fabric was so minimal it might as well have been a napkin. I had no idea when that got in there.

“How? When?” I stammered.

“I have a pool. You’ll be living here. You’ll need a bathing suit.”

“That’s dental floss!”

He laughed, clearly enjoying this. “It’s fashion, Kaira. Haven’t you heard? Less is more.”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. The transition from an ordinary day to this extravagant lifestyle was too abrupt. And now, he was suggesting—no, almost insisting—that this threadbare piece of cloth was a bathing suit? I crossed my arms, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation.

“If you like it so much, you wear it,” I declared firmly. “And I’m sure as hell not taking poolside pictures of myself and posting them to Instagram. I saw the mob after you. Those pictures will make it to mainstream media and spread around the world. My ass—literally—will be on display for the entire world. No thank you.”

Roman’s expression didn’t change. He simply placed the bikini back into the bag and shrugged nonchalantly. “Alright, we’ll revisit that one,” he said casually as he dug around. I balked in horror when he brought out another one.

This one, while marginally more substantial, was still less of a swimsuit and more of a suggestion. Its vibrant blue color was really pretty. He dangled it before me like a challenge.

“You must have something against fabric,” I muttered, eyeing it skeptically.

He flashed a cocky grin. “I think you’ll look stunning in it. And it’s perfect for a casual poolside photo. Very ‘girl next door goes Hollywood.’”

The thought of plastering such an image on social media made my stomach churn. “Or very ‘girl next door sells her soul,’” I retorted.

“Do I need to remind you of the contract?”

I wanted to throw something at him. Anything.

“No way,” I said, backing up a step. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes way,” he countered, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. “We’re going in the pool. You can put that on or get in naked. I don’t care, but we’re getting the pictures. We need to sell this thing hard.”

Before I could protest further, he stripped off his jacket. And then he started unbuttoning his shirt.

“What are you doing?” I gasped.

I couldn’t look away. He tossed his shirt onto a nearby chair. Any further protests caught in my throat as I took in the sight of him—broad shoulders, chiseled abs, and a confidence that was impossible to ignore. He shimmied out of his pants, leaving him in nothing but black boxers that clung to him in a way that felt borderline illegal.

“Your turn,” he said, nodding toward the bikini.

“I’m not—” I started, but the words faltered as he turned and headed toward the pool, his back muscles rippling under the low light. He didn’t even look back to see if I was following.

“I guess those abs are real after all,” I murmured to myself. I was tempted to take out my phone and snap some pictures to send to Carla. She had been the one wondering about his abs being photoshopped. They were legit but that was just the half of it. The arms. Back. His legs.

And the most exciting part of him barely hidden by those tight little boxers.

I still wasn’t sold on taking pictures, but suddenly, the idea of showing off my body to him was growing on me. I wanted to see what I could make grow on him.

With a deep breath, I snatched the bikini and disappeared into the bathroom to see if it even fit me. It took me longer than it should have to work up the nerve to come out. The thing barely covered anything. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some elaborate joke he’d set up to mess with me. I had a flashback to middle school when someone had switched out my gym uniform with one that was way too small. I had no choice but to put it on. When I walked into the gym with the shorts riding up and my belly hanging out, everyone laughed. That same sense of dread pooled in my stomach now. If he was doing this to humiliate me, I would never forgive him. I would never forgive myself for being dumb enough to fall for this stupid game.

When I finally emerged, I followed the sound of splashing to the pool. Roman was already in the water, floating lazily on his back. The water lapped gently at his skin, and his hair was slicked back, making him look like a damn model in a cologne ad. It was unfair that one person got all the good looks.