The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(27)

He relays, "There's movement in the US accounts going into the offshore ones."

"Fuck," I mutter. Hugh is really testing my patience. I can't wait to take him down. I add, "I need you to hurry up and get me access to the Cayman accounts."

"I'm on it, but I thought you should know," Jones says.

"Thanks, man. Keep me posted of any other activity," I demand, then hang up.

Traffic's bad like always, and it's later than I anticipated when I pull up to the boutique. The staff loads my trunk, and I fight more traffic on the way back to Malibu.

I make another stop to pick up dinner at a local farm-to-table restaurant. I down a beer while I stare at the waves crashing into the rocks, waiting for the food to be made. For the millionth time today, I wonder what Blakely is thinking about the contract.

By the time I get home, it's almost dark. I don't realize how anxious I've been all day about leaving her on her own until I walk in and see her standing at the window.

Her arms are crossed, and she's wearing one of my flannel shirts. She has the sleeves rolled, and her hair is tied into a loose bun.

It's another thing I really like—seeing her in my clothes. Knowing she's naked underneath and waiting for me to come home gives me such a hard-on. I consider going against my rule and fucking her tonight even though her birth control won't be effective yet.

I can pull out.

I push the thought to the back of my mind, knowing it's a bad idea. If you give a sub too much too soon, it can backfire on the training process.

She's drinking red wine, tapping her finger against the glass. My heart beats harder. She's so lost in her thoughts that she doesn't realize I'm there.

I glance at the notepad on the table, but it's shut. The contract's neatly stacked and sitting in the middle of the table where I left it.

I'm not sure how to take things. Is she lost in thought because she wants to back out, or is she lost in thought thinking about all the things in the contract that I'm going to do to her?

I creep up behind her, inhaling her sea salt and driftwood scent, wondering how she always manages to smell so good and the same. She has no perfume here, so it has to be her natural scent. I slide my arm around her stomach, tugging her into my frame.

She jumps and gets flustered, turning her head to pin her blues on me, admitting, "Riggs, you scared me."

I glance at the wineglass. "Sorry. You drink red now?"

"You said to help myself," she reminds me, then smirks. "Don't worry, I didn't break rule thirteen. I'm not abusing it."

I'm pleased she memorized what rule it was, but I also have to make sure she remembers that I'm the boss. I warn, "You're begging for a punishment with that tone."

She spins into me and tilts her head, giving me a look I can't decipher. Is it apprehension and nerves? Is it disappointment?

My stomach flips again, and my fears race through my mind.

What if she's not down with the contract?

I'll convince her.

It will never work if I have to convince her. I've tried to do that before with women, and it's a disaster. I end up having to enforce rule fourteen, and all it does is cost me money.

Blakely knows how to submit. She did it last night. She's defiant, but I know she has it in her.

I decide to only show confidence and ask, "Did you call and quit your jobs?"

She shakes her head, not flinching, as if challenging me.

My nervousness increases. I ask, "Because you wanted to disobey me and see how I'd punish you or for some other reason?"

She hesitates and answers, "I don't have to work until tomorrow. I thought it would be best if you answered my questions first, before I upend my entire life."

I don't like her answer. That means there's a possibility she's not okay with something and might decide to walk.

No, she wouldn't.

Maybe she would. She walked away from everything that her family offered her. She had the whole world of riches at her fingertips, yet she did everything she could to stay away.

What if I somehow get added to that category?

I release her. I point to the table, pull out a chair, and motion for her to sit. "Let's eat dinner and talk."

She obeys, and I grab two plates, the bottle of wine, and another glass. I refill hers, pour one for myself, and make two plates of salad, sea bass, and couscous.

I sit across from her and nod for her to begin eating.

Her lips twitch. "You're making me nervous."

"That so?" I question, hiding the fact that I'm also nervous. I don't want her to know that.

She takes a few deep breaths and continues staring at me.

"Eat," I order, pointing at her plate.

She takes a few bites, as do I, but I'm no longer hungry. She puts her fork down and asks, "Can we start the conversation?"

Relief hits me. I can't handle the suspense anymore. I coolly state, "If you'd like."

"I would."

"Okay. Ask me anything."

She opens her notepad, and I glance at the page full of ink. She pulls it closer to her so I can't see it, furrows her eyebrows, and her cheeks grow redder.

I reach across the table and grab her hand. "No need to be embarrassed. I expect you to have a lot of questions."