Page 64 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

He froze when he saw me, his expression unreadable in the low light.

“Did I wake you?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, like velvet brushing over my senses. It stirred up memories of the dream. I visibly shuddered but it had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I just woke up on my own. I’m on my way to bed.”

His gaze flicked to the blanket still draped over my arm. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Thanks for this,” I said, holding it up slightly. “And for letting me sleep.”

He nodded. “You looked comfortable. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I don’t even know when I passed out.” I laughed softly. “Obviously, the book wasn’t that good.”

“It was probably around eleven,” he said.

“Did you enjoy your book?” I asked.

“I haven’t decided yet. It’s one of those that makes you think, and I’m not sure if I’m in the mood to think that hard.”

He paused for a moment and scrutinized my face. It was like he was trying to read something in my expression, or perhaps sensing the remnants of my dream that lingered around me.

God, what if I had the dream when he was still in the library? What if I moaned his name?

I could feel my cheeks burning.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer. The space between us seemed charged with an unspoken tension. It was just like the moment before he kissed me in the pool.

I forced myself to settle down. There was no way he knew about the dream.

I glanced at the door he’d just locked. “What were you doing in there? It’s three in the morning.”

His eyes darkened, a shadow passing over his features. “Work,” he said curtly. It was clear from his tone that the subject was closed.

I didn’t press further. It wasn’t my business, and honestly, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“Heading to bed?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

“Yeah,” I said, brushing a stray hair from my face. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what my hair looked like. And I probably had a crease mark on my face from where I was lying against the armrest.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered.

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. It wasn’t like I had a long way to go, but it was a nice gesture. I wasn’t going to reject any kind gesture he offered. They were very few and far between. I wanted to encourage more of them.

He fell into step beside me. I could smell his body wash or shampoo. It had a fresh scent to it. It was very crisp and masculine, almost like he had just stepped in from a hike in the mountains.

The hallway seemed longer than I remembered. His presence made the space feel smaller, more intimate.

When we reached my room, he opened the door for me, holding it just wide enough for me to slip past. I murmured a quiet “thanks” as I walked through, but the moment I moved, my body brushed against his.

It was barely a touch—just my hip grazing across the front of him, but it was enough to feel the unmistakable hardness pressing against his sweats.

My breath hitched. I froze, turning to look up at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning with something dark and dangerous that sent a thrill down my spine. Again, it was that same look in his eyes I had seen that night in the pool.

“Kaira,” he said, his voice strained, like he was barely holding himself together.

The air between us crackled with tension, thick and electric. I knew I should step away, should say goodnight and shut the door, but I couldn’t make myself move. He was the one that had said it. We both wanted it. We were both craving sex. There was a running dialogue in the back of my mind going through all the pros and cons of sex with him.

“You should go to bed,” he said, his tone more a command than a suggestion. “Before I do something we’ll both regret.”