Taken by the Highest Bidder

Sunday afternoon finally arrived. Gabby should return by dinner. To pass time Sam tidied Gabby’s room, sorted clothes, reorganized toys and then with nothing left to do, headed outside to visit the garden.

Restlessly she wandered around the garden, through flower beds and then past the fountains to the pool.

Taking a seat on one of the chaise lounges at the pool, Sam pulled her knees up against her, propped her chin on her hand and gazed out at the ocean. The sea was still so beautiful here, layers of cobalt-blue and azure-green. She didn’t think she’d ever get tired of looking at the water, and as long as she just concentrated on the water, on the tide and the breaking surf, she’d be okay. But the moment she lost focus, the moment she let herself think about her, Gabby, Cristiano—she just lost it.

She loved Cristiano.

And that’s all it took for her eyes to fill with tears, and her mind to spin off in futile directions.

She loved Cristiano but he wanted different things than she did. He wanted glory and she just wanted security. Family. Peace.

Closing her eyes, she wouldn’t let herself cry. She’d cried far too much this past month. Cristiano’s not dead, she told herself, he’s just away.

And he’ll come back. He will. He has to.

Next time she opened her eyes the sun was lower in the sky and a light blanket covered her shoulders. Blinking, disoriented, Sam shifted, stared up straight into Cristiano’s shadowed face.

Cristiano? Sam sat up swiftly, knocking the blanket off her in her haste. “What are you doing here?”

“Brought Gabby home.”

“What time is it?”

“Almost six.”

“Six?” She put a hand to her head, still dizzy from sitting up so quickly. “That long?”

“You’ve been asleep since I got here, and we’ve been back a couple of hours.”

Sam stood, busied herself folding the blanket. “Where’s Gabby?”

“Playing in her room.”

This was so strange, she thought, surreal. She hadn’t seen or talked to Cristiano in weeks and weeks and she’d done nothing but miss him and now here he was and they were having a conversation as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

The fact that they could have a normal conversation made it that much worse.

There was no reason for them not to be together. There was no reason…

Other than the fact that she feared losing him in a violent accident and he refused to acknowledge how difficult, or heartbreaking, such a loss would be for her and Gabby.

“Congratulations on the win in Bahrain,” she said now, holding the blanket against her as she faced him. She was so full of conflicting emotions, emotions that hadn’t dulled in the weeks since they said goodbye.

Some people just felt right, she thought.

Some people just made sense.

And except for this crazy, dangerous, reckless career of Cristiano’s…. he made perfect sense to her.

“Thanks,” he answered, hesitating. “How is everything?”

Her gaze searched his. God, she’d missed him, missed that face, the deep grooves near his mouth, the fine creases at his eyes, the dark hair, the mouth…kissing that mouth.

Horrible, she wanted to tell him. Terrible. I hate life without you, I hate that you’ve moved on so quickly, moved on so completely without me. “Fine.”

Her voice wobbled and she forced herself to smile to keep the sadness from showing in her face.

She adored Gabby, loved being with Gabriela, but she wanted more than to be just maternal. She wanted the rest of being a woman—the love, the passion, the skin, the sex. To be a lover, not just a mother.

“You’re well?” he persisted.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak this time.

His hazel-green eyes narrowed as he studied her, expression shuttered, giving nothing away. “You look tired.”

She started for the house and he fell in beside her. “I don’t sleep as well,” she said carefully. “But it’s probably just all the changes.”

His mouth tugged grimly. “Chef Sacchi said you don’t eat anything he makes anymore.”

“I eat.”

His gaze was critical as it swept over her. “No, it doesn’t look like you do. You’ve lost weight, and you were already thin to start with. I can’t have you starving yourself. It’s not a good example for Gabby—”