Page 28 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

DEAN

That was an image I wasn’t going to get out of my head anytime soon. Portia Watson, sprawled out on that dock like she owned the damn lake. Sunlight catching in her hair and a body that was going to play out in fantasies in my head for years to come. I should’ve kept my eyes forward, but of course, they didn’t listen. They never did when it came to her.

I slammed the front door a little harder than necessary, the sound echoing through the empty house. This was supposed to be my escape. The one place in town where I didn’t have to deal with people—especially not Portia. And yet, here she was, renting the house next door like some kind of cosmic joke.

I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and leaned against the counter, staring out the window. The lake was calm today. Normally, it was my favorite view—the one thing that could quiet my mind after a long day in the shop. But today, all I could see was Portia lying there like she didn’t have a care in the world. Like she hadn’t just upended mine.

I shook my head, trying to clear the image, but it was no use. She was there, sexy and fucking beautiful. I forced myself to walk away from the window. It was creepy to stand there and watch her sunbathe. In the itty-bitty bikini that showed off her body.

I shook it off and went upstairs to shower away the grease and grime from the day. When I went back downstairs, I made myself something to eat, doing my best not to look out at the lake.

After dinner and watching TV for a while, I grabbed a cold beer and headed out to my firepit in the yard, close to the beach.

I didn’t think too hard as I got a fire burning. It was one of those things I’d always found therapeutic—something about the flames, the way they crackled and danced. It made it easy to turn my mind off and just check out. I had a fortune in the bank, but nothing beat the sheer joy of sitting in my backyard in front of the fire.

Tonight, the fire was more of a necessity than pleasure. Maybe it was because the past few days had been a mess—Seth running his mouth, Portia stirring things up in my head, the whole damn town suddenly invested in something that shouldn’t matter to me.

I stood near the pit, tossing in wood. The night air was cool, but the fire crackled hot in front of me, sending smoke curling into the sky. I liked this. The quiet. The simplicity. It was the kind of peace I didn’t get often, and I wasn’t in the mood to ruin it. I took a long drink from my beer, already wishing I would have brought two out with me.

I was about to go up to the house when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. Portia stepped into the glow of the fire, something tucked under her arm. She looked different. Less put-together than usual, her hair loose and wearing a hoodie with leggings. She stopped a few feet away, holding up a bag like it was some kind of peace offering.

“I saw the smoke,” she said. “Figured either you were trying to burn the place down or you could use a distraction.”

I raised a brow. “And you decided to be that distraction?”

She smirked, holding up the bag. Marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate. “I thought we could make s’mores?”

S’mores? I’d rather fall into the fire. I shook my head, turning back to the flames. “Go home, Portia.”

She didn’t budge. “I saw the fire, and I want a s’more. So you can sit there and pout while I make one. Then I’ll leave you alone.”

“I was just going up to get a beer,” I said. “Want one?”

“Yes, please, landlord.”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me this was your place?”

I shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered. I assumed you knew.”

“No.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, but it explains why I saw you the other day.”

“Yep. Be back in a minute.”

I walked up to the house and considered my options. I didn’t know if it was a good idea for me to be sitting around with Portia. Something about her made me feel unsettled.

I grabbed two beers from the fridge, hesitating for a moment. The cool air from the open refrigerator brushed against my face, but it did little to clear the tension in my chest. I didn’t want to admit it, but Portia had a way of unraveling me. I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a disaster waiting to happen.

When I got back to the fire, she was kneeling by the pit, carefully spearing a marshmallow on a stick she’d found somewhere—probably from a branch. The flames flickered across her face, softening her features and making her look younger, less polished than the woman who’d been sprawled out on the dock earlier. It was almost disarming.

“Here,” I said, handing her one of the beers.

She took it with a small smile, cracking it open and taking a sip. “Thanks.” Her eyes stayed on the fire as she held the marshmallow over the flames, rotating it slowly. “You know, for someone who owns half this town, you’re not very sociable.”