Page 118 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

Dean.

My breath caught. He was the last person I expected to see. Or wanted to see. We’d been doing a great job avoiding each other. For a heartbeat, neither of us spoke. He looked the same—broad shoulders, strong jaw, that intensity in his gaze that always made my stomach flip—but there was something different now. A heaviness in the way he carried himself, a weariness in the lines around his eyes. I felt bad for him.

He glanced at the folder in my arms. “Business is good?”

I swallowed, nodding and trying my best to look casual. “Better than I could have hoped. Got three new clients this week.”

Something flickered across his face—not jealousy, not regret, just quiet realization. “You’re really staying.”

The words hung between us.

“I never planned on leaving,” I said softly. “Not once.”

His throat worked, but he didn’t speak. The silence stretched, thick with everything we weren’t saying.

I shifted on my feet, desperate to fill the void. “And you? How are you holding up?”

Dean exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The movement made his biceps flex under his T-shirt, and I hated that I still noticed. I didn’t think I would ever not notice. There was a connection there that would always be.

“Seth’s doing his time,” he said. “I check in when I can, make sure he’s got what he needs.” He shook his head. “Few more months left, and then we’ll see.”

My heart squeezed. “You’re a good brother, Dean.”

He scoffed. “Not sure he’d agree.”

“I do.”

Our eyes locked, and for a moment, there was no one else. No cars on the street or moms pushing their young children in strollers. It was just the two of us. The love was still there, humming beneath the surface, as real as the summer heat.

Dean swallowed hard. “Maybe we were just bad timing.”

I nodded slowly. “Maybe.”

The word tasted like ash on my tongue. The bitterest lie that I knew I would regret.

Was that all we were? A near miss? A what-if?

The questions burned in my chest. Did he still think about me at night? Did he regret pushing me away? Did he ever imagine what could have been? I found it impossible to believe he really thought what we had was a passing fancy. A fling. That kind of connection we shared went far behind a casual hookup. And it was definitely a lot more than fun.

Before I could stop myself, I stepped closer, pressing my palm against his chest. His heart thundered beneath my fingers, betraying the calm of his expression. That told me exactly what I needed to know. He wasn’t as unaffected by seeing me as he pretended.

Dean inhaled sharply, his hand closing around my wrist. “Portia⁠—”

I didn’t let him finish. Rising onto my toes, I pressed a slow kiss to his cheek, letting my lips linger just long enough to feel the warmth of his skin, the scratch of his stubble, and inhaled the scent of him. The kiss was a promise. A question. A hint of what could be again if he just said the word.

When I pulled back, I let my hand fall.

“Take care of yourself, Dean.”

I turned before he could see the tears in my eyes, walking away with my heart pounding in my throat. But as I rounded the corner, I couldn’t help glancing back.

Dean still stood where I’d left him, one hand pressed to his cheek where my lips had been, watching me go.

And for the first time in weeks, I let myself wonder.

What if we weren’t done?

Could there be a chance?