Park Avenue Prince(31)

I sat back in my chair, shaking my head. “It doesn’t matter,” Sam whispered. “Honestly. This is an experience.” There was something about the way he drew out the word experience that made me want to feel his tongue across my skin, his hands resting on my hips. I tightened my grip around the paddle.

The Brueghel still life was next, and the most expensive of the three lots we’d agreed to bid on. I didn’t think Sam would have picked it out of my shortlist—it didn’t have the instant appeal for people who didn’t know much about art because it seemed so traditional at first glance. But if you took your time to look at it more closely, it came to life and continued to reveal itself at every inspection. Still, it was a great piece and we had a good chance of getting it with our budget of one point two million.

My palms grew clammy as I passed the paddle from one hand to another. I didn’t want Sam to walk away empty-handed from today, and I didn’t want him to think I was totally incompetent and had set our limits way too low. Sam placed his hand around my wrist. “It’ll be fine. Whatever happens it won’t be the best or the worst day of my life.”

It was an odd thing to say, but he was right. We weren’t about to cure cancer. His words slowed my heart. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

I forced by eyes back to the stage as the action began. I should be concentrating on what was going on in front of me, but I wanted to know what the best and worst days of Sam Shaw’s life had been.

Several phoned-in bids drove the price up, but by eight hundred thousand, all but one had dropped out, leaving a single bidder in the room and the one on the phone to compete with. At a million, only the phone bidder was left. I raised my paddle with a deep breath. Shit. I was about to spend a lot of someone else’s money. I hoped I’d picked right and I wasn’t about to buy a turkey. My bid was acknowledged, and I turned to Sam who calmly nodded at me.

We kept bidding, the price nudging higher and higher in increments of twenty thousand until at one million eighty thousand the hammer came down on our bid.

Shit.

We’d done it. My stomach tightened and my body went hot. I hoped Sam was good for the money. I held my paddle in the air as the auctioneer took down my number and Sam grabbed my hand, squeezing his palm against mine.

There were a few mutterings in the crowd and people turned to take a look at the person who’d just dropped seven figures in a matter of seconds. Sam and I sat there as if we shopped like this every afternoon. I pressed my lips together, trying not to show my excitement, trying to stop the adrenaline from pouring out of me.

“You did it,” he whispered into my ear and my nipples tightened against my bra as his breath hit my skin. “Let’s go.” I understood his need to get out of the auction house. There was something so intimate about what had just happened—from the way we’d been sitting so close, whispering to each other, to the fact we’d both been reaching for the same goal and he’d been silently cheering me on. Yet, here we were surrounded by all these people. I wanted us to be on our own.

He pulled me out of my seat and away from the staring faces.

As we headed toward the door, I tried to stop him. “Sam, no. We have to pay.” He grimaced but turned and strode in the other direction. I handed over my paddle and the paperwork I’d been given when we arrived to the woman behind a wooden desk.

“Congratulations,” she said without looking up at us. “You have twenty-four hours to arrange collection. Should I use the card details we have here?”

With one hand Sam reached into his pocket and flipped open his brown leather wallet. I tried to pull away to make it easier, but he squeezed my fingers. Awkwardly, he fumbled and then finally presented his American Express.

I glanced up, and found him staring back at me. He released my hand, and I thought for a second he could see what I was thinking—that I wanted him. My body sagged with relief as he snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me toward him. Did he want me too?

“Come with me,” he said, turning us and walking so quickly I found myself having to run every couple of steps to keep up with him.

A cab idled at the curb. “Seven forty Park Avenue,” Sam told the driver.

“That was a rush,” he said, his fingers tickling over my knee.

I nodded. We both had excess energy. Maybe we should down some shots, dance a little, though I didn’t see Sam as much of a dancer. “We’re going to your place?” I asked. “To decide where the painting will hang best?” I hoped that wouldn’t be the only thing that happened at his place.

He frowned. “If you like, but then I’m going to f*ck you on my new couch.”

I tried to keep my expression steady despite the throbbing between my legs. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such a blunt declaration. “The couch has arrived already?”

“I tell you I’m going to f*ck you and you focus on the couch?”

Only so I didn’t have to think about whether going home with him was a mistake. This wasn’t my normal MO. Sam Shaw wasn’t my normal MO, but I wanted him. Every time I was near him, I wanted him.





I found it difficult to look at him as we got out of the car and went into his building. Even in the elevator I studied the floor rather than glance at him and have him see how much I wanted him. He periodically squeezed my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles, sending sparks of lust across my skin.