Page 61 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

“Ha. Ha. Just get that thing going.”

I had seen a few books by Dean Koontz that I had a feeling would hold his attention. I picked up the book and took it back to the sitting area.

The fireplace was on. “It’s just a remote,” Roman said. “Just push the button, set the temperature, and you’re good to go.”

Roman took the book from my hands. A slight frown creased his brow as he flipped through the pages, scanning the blurbs and the author’s note.

“What’s this one about?” he asked.

“Murder, mystery, a bit of psychological twist. It’s gripping, pulls you into the mind of both the detective and the killer. Thought it might be something you’d appreciate—the strategy, the analytical side of it.”

“Sounds good.”

We settled in with our glasses of wine, the warmth from the fireplace and a newfound peace between us.

22

ROMAN

Iglanced up from my book. It was so strange to be sitting with a woman I was physically attracted to and not be all over her. We had been sitting in the library for two hours, drinking wine and reading in mostly silence. Occasionally, I would ask her about my book or hers.

She seemed to enjoy discussing the plot twists and the characters’ motives, her eyes lighting up each time she unfolded a new layer of the story. It was a different sort of interaction than I was used to, one that didn’t involve pressing for more physical intimacy or showcasing my usual charm. Instead, it felt genuine, like we were actually connecting on a level beyond surface attraction.

I had to admit, it was refreshing not to play the part I usually played around women. With her, it felt like I could just be myself—whatever that was. As I turned another page, I found myself wondering about her life outside of these walls. Who was she before she showed up in my life?

I glanced up from my book and smiled.

Kaira had fallen asleep on the chaise in the library. Her book had fallen onto her chest, her lips slightly parted. I sat and watched her. The golden glow from the fireplace cast a soft light over her features. Her breathing was even, peaceful. I didn’t have the heart to wake her. She looked like she belonged.

I felt an attraction to her, but it wasn’t like the same pull I felt last night. Yes, given the chance, I would take her to bed right now. But this felt different. There was something profoundly serene about this moment, watching her sleep. It stirred something within me that I hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever. It wasn’t just desire, it was respect, admiration even, for the way she carried herself, for her intellect, her passion for the stories she read.

She wouldn’t be able to sleep so peacefully if she didn’t trust me. My eyes lingered on Kaira’s sleeping form. Maybe she was right; perhaps there was merit in sharing parts of our own lives to forge true connections.

I quietly got up and walked to the bench in the corner. There were blankets neatly folded for those that might want to cuddle up while reading. The blankets were essentially new. I grabbed one and carefully covered her. She stirred slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before settling back into her dreams.

I picked up our empty wine glasses and made my way to the kitchen with the half-full bottle of wine.

The kitchen was alive with quiet conversation. A few members of the night staff were gathered around the island, sipping on cups of coffee and laughing. They stopped the moment I entered, their voices cutting off mid-sentence as their eyes darted to me.

I wasn’t usually in the kitchen. Not like this. My presence made them uneasy. I hated that I had created an environment where they felt like they couldn’t relax in their own space.

I probably never would have noticed their behavior but now that I had seen them with Kaira, I saw the stark contrast in their attitude when I was around.

They scrambled to make themselves busy, wiping down already spotless counters and organizing the coffee station.

I nodded toward the coffee pot. “Any left?”

Marilyn, my head of cleaning staff, nodded cautiously. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to pour you a cup?”

I shook my head, putting the wine glasses in the sink. “No, I’ve got it.”

I could feel them all watching me like they were waiting for me to yell at them or start screaming orders. Their uncertainty was palpable as I poured myself a mug and added a splash of cream. I leaned against the island, stirring the coffee slowly, aware of the furtive glances they were exchanging.

“Do you want something to eat?” Marilyn asked. “I can make you a sandwich or I believe there are some leftovers in the refrigerator.”

“I should go make sure things are locked up,” Tim said.

“Please, stay,” I said. “Everyone, have a seat.”