Page 53 of Billionaire Bad Boy Auction

Who else was going to be at the hospital with him? His asshole brother that had nearly cost him his life. I walked to the window and looked up to his house. To my surprise, the lights were on.

“What the hell?”

He couldn’t possibly be home from the hospital already. I groaned and shook my head. He didn’t go. Of course, he didn’t. The man was insufferable.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I walked out along the back of my property to his place and knocked on his back door.

He answered shirtless and in sweatpants. He looked surprised to see me. I was just as surprised, not to see him but to see him half-naked. I’d seen him in the firelight, but that was a tease. This was all hot muscle and sex. He’s beautiful.

“Portia,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, I just came to ask you the same thing.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I thought you were Seth coming to grovel.”

I managed a small smile. “Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a moment, then held the door wider. “Yeah. Come in.”

I stepped inside, glancing around. There were a couple of lights on in the kitchen that offered just enough light for me to see the living room. It was nice for a bachelor pad. It was clean, minimal, and surprisingly cozy.

Dean closed the door behind me. “I was just enjoying a drink. You want one?”

I nodded. “A cup of tea would be nice.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Do I strike you as the sort who would have tea on hand?”

I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “Hot lemon water?”

He arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

I laughed. “Water is fine.”

Dean poured me a glass and handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine. As I took it, I noticed the burn on his forearm.

“Dean,” I said, reaching for him. “You’re hurt. Did you go to the hospital?”

“No.”

“Did you let the medics take a look at you?”

He pulled away, his tone dismissive. “It’s nothing.”

I shook my head, my voice firm. “Let me see.”

He hesitated, then stretched out his arm. I reached for him, my fingers gentle as I examined the burn.

“You need to clean this up and put a bandage on it,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Dean pushed back again, his voice tight. “It’s fine, Portia.”

I put my foot down. “You will let me tend to this, Dean Jackson, or I swear to God, I will pester you until you die.”

He gave me a small smile, the kind that made my chest tighten, and finally relented. “Alright. Do your worst.” He turned. “Can you look at my back? It feels like it might have gotten singed a little.”

I followed him into the kitchen, where the light was better. He turned around, his broad shoulders tense as he stood there, waiting. My breath caught when I saw the faint red marks across his back. The fire had gotten closer than I’d thought. It looked like he had a sunburn.

“Dean,” I said, my voice softer now. “This isn’t nothing.”