Page 93 of Valentine’s Billionaire Auction

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what did you have in mind?”

“I have a few ideas,” I murmured, pulling her closer.

Kaira laughed. “I’m all ears.”

I let myself get lost in her for a moment, savoring the way she tasted, the way she felt.

Eventually, we dragged ourselves out of bed and into the shower. It was a slow, teasing affair that had us both laughing and stealing kisses under the warm spray. I couldn’t keep my hands off her. She didn’t seem to mind. By the time we emerged, the tension in my chest—the tension I always carried—felt like it had melted away entirely. I felt like a whole new man.

Kaira grabbed one of my shirts to wear, the fabric practically swallowing her. She glanced at herself in the mirror, tugging at the hem. “This looks ridiculous.”

“You look amazing,” I said. “But if you go downstairs in just that, the staff will know exactly what happened.”

She arched a brow at me, her lips curving into a smirk. “And do you care?”

The question hung in the air between us, and for a moment, I thought about it. Did I care? About the whispers or the knowing looks?

I surprised myself by shaking my head. “No. I don’t. But I’d prefer I was the only one peeking at your ass.”

She grinned and disappeared into her room, emerging a few minutes later wearing leggings beneath the oversized shirt. It wasn’t much different, but it was enough to keep things relatively modest.

“Come on, I’ll make you breakfast,” she said.

“I have a cook.”

“And I happen to know he doesn’t come in this early,” she said. “And if he is in there, I’m kicking him out. I’m making breakfast.”

“Lead the way.”

I managed to start coffee, pretty much the extent of my culinary skills. Kaira rummaged through the cabinets like she owned the place, pulling out eggs, bread, and a block of cheese. I sipped my coffee, leaned back, and enjoyed the show.

“We’re making French toast and scrambled eggs,” she declared.

“Are we?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly, pointing a spatula at me. “And you’re helping.”

She was mesmerizing.

Before I realized it, I was watching her the way my father used to watch my mother—like nothing else in the world mattered. That realization hit me hard, but instead of pulling away, I let myself sink into it.

This felt right.

“Tell me what to do,” I said.

Kaira glanced at me, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Why don’t you start by grating some cheese for the eggs?”

I nodded, setting down my coffee mug and moving to the counter where she had a block of sharp cheddar waiting. As I began to carefully run the cheese over the grater, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Kaira as she expertly cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked them together.

“Do you do a lot of cooking?” I asked.

“I wouldn’t say a lot and I don’t know if it’s called cooking,” she said. “Usually, it’s whatever is in the pantry and typically involves pasta. Pasta is cheap and you can dress it up a hundred different ways.”

I nodded, even though I really had no idea. I had never bought myself food beyond using my app to order something for delivery.

I couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder. This was so far removed from my normal routine, yet it felt so natural. There was an intimacy to it that I didn’t want to analyze too closely.

It wasn’t long before our breakfast was done. We sat at the kitchen island to enjoy our meal. The food was simple but delicious. The company was even better. Kaira told me about the plot of the book she was working on, her face lighting up as she spoke. I could see the passion in her eyes, the excitement that came with creating something entirely her own.