Taken by the Highest Bidder

“What?”

“The, um, kiss.”

Cristiano’s upper lip curled. His expression hardened, turned mocking. “You’re bothered by it?”

“I—” She took a quick breath. “I just wasn’t sure what you meant by it, or if you meant nothing. I’m sure you meant nothing. It was just a kiss.”

She’d been trying to reassure herself, trying to let him know it was okay but somehow she was saying the wrong words. She could tell from his expression that every word that came from her mouth just made him angrier, more irritated. She’d somehow struck a nerve, and hadn’t even meant to.

“What I meant was that I’m sorry I…” Her voice faded away and she bit her lip, tried again. “Sorry I…”

“Kissed me back?”

She blushed, miserable. “I know it shouldn’t have happened. I wasn’t thinking. I suppose I was scared, overwhelmed. Maybe I needed comfort.” She exhaled, wondered where she’d gone wrong, how a simple apology had gotten so convoluted. “So I’m sorry.”

“For what? Needing comfort? Or enjoying the kiss?”

My God this was hard, almost impossible. She was an adult, a woman, and she couldn’t even calmly discuss a kiss. “I don’t have your experience and I’m certain you kiss women all the time, and it’s nothing, I know kissing means nothing to you—”

“I only kiss women I like. Women I’m attracted to.” His lips curved, his expression sardonic. “Women I’d like to sleep with. So don’t apologize. I wanted you, wanted to bed you. It just wasn’t convenient.”

Then he stood, went to the table where he’d been working during most of the flight and sat down again to finish the paperwork he’d started earlier.

Stomach churning, Sam watched him resume reading even as the plane started its steep final descent. Ever since she met him, life hadn’t been the same.

On the ground in Nice, Cristiano’s chauffeur was waiting for them. The driver greeted them at the executive terminal, loaded their luggage into the car and then they were off, heading to Cristiano’s villa on the Cap Ferrat peninsula.

Of course Sam knew that the peninsula was considered a playground for the rich. You couldn’t drive along the coast without being confronted by the lavish villas, fabulous gardens and extravagant yachts moored in the St-Jean marina, but she’d never been included in the parties, or inside any of the villas. She might have married Baron van Bergen three and a half years earlier, and he might have attended events, but she’d never been on the guest list.

Sam felt a wiggle at her side and glancing down saw that Gabriela was trying to sit higher in her seat to get a better look out the window. “I can’t see the houses!” Gabby complained. “There are too many fences and bushes in the way.”

Gates and hedges, not fences and bushes, Sam silently corrected as she ruffled Gabby’s hair. “You’re so excited,” she teased. “You’d think you’d never been anywhere.”

“I haven’t been here.”

Here being Cristiano’s home, and they’d arrived, the car slowing, stopping as the gates slowly opened, revealing little by little an exquisite villa tucked discreetly behind the tall dark green hedges that Gabby deplored.

And yet once they’d passed through the ornate wrought-iron gates, they glimpsed the startling blue ocean and then the Belle Epoque villa that nestled jewel-like in mature gardens marked by fanciful topiaries, verdant lawns, and flowers spilling from vines, pots, and fragrant, vibrant beds.

The car had barely stopped before Gabby was scrambling out, delighted by the endless lawn and the breathtaking view of the St-Jean marina where great white yachts dotted the blue and turquoise water.

Cristiano followed Gabby as she ran toward the stone wall of the terraced garden. “The pool!” she cried, turning around and gesturing excitedly. “Sam, there’s a pool here, too.”

Sam followed more slowly, smelling orange blossoms and pine in the breeze that caught at her hair. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Sam wrapped her thin lettuce-green cardigan closer to her body, hugging herself. She wasn’t cold, just overwhelmed.