The Auction (Club Indulgence Duet, #1)(76)

"Guess they don't have commitment issues," I blurt out, then immediately regret it.

Riggs's face hardens. He questions, "You have something you want to talk about, pet?"

Heat flies into my cheeks. "No," I lie.

"Seems to me you have something you need to get off your chest," he asserts.

"I don't have anything to discuss. Is there something you need to talk about?" I question, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.

He veers onto the expressway, then he briefly pins his eyes on me before accelerating and weaving in and out of traffic, grinding his molars.

Why did I say that?

I put my hand on his thigh. "Thank you for helping me. I'd be lost without your assistance."

His face softens. "You're welcome. But you'd be fine."

I shake my head, insisting, "No, I wouldn't. You ask questions I don't think about, and contracts make my head spin."

"Is that the real reason you never read mine until I made you?"

My chest tightens. "No."

"Then what was it?"

"My father—"

"The truth would be nice, pet," he interjects.

My pulse creeps up. His eyes dart between me and the traffic until I cave, confessing, "I wanted to stay with you. It didn't matter what was on it."

"And now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Knowing all the things you know about me, would you still sign it? If I handed you a stack of papers and said, 'This is a new contract, sign it,' what would you do?" he asks.

Goose bumps break out on my skin. "A new contract?"

"Hypothetically speaking. Humor me," he adds.

Is he asking me this because he wants to keep me longer? Or is it really hypothetical?

He pushes, "Cards on the table, pet. Would you sign without reading it? Or would you study it and then decide? Or, would you toss it back at me and tell me to fuck off?"

My mouth turns dry. The flutters in my stomach somersault.

In a hurt voice, he asserts, "I guess the answer is so bad you can't admit it."

"Don't put words in my mouth," I scold.

He glances over his shoulder, veers into the left lane, and accelerates past a semi. The Porsche rattles, and he replies, "Well, your silence says a lot."

I toss back at him, "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because we're talking about contracts."

"Really? You want my honesty but can't even be honest with me in return?" I accuse.

Tension fills the car. He keeps his eyes on the road, pulls off the exit, then speeds down several streets before parallel parking.

For the first time in weeks, I'm pissed. I reach for the door, and he grabs my arm.

"Did you forget my rule?" he questions.

I sneer, "Which one? You have so many."

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what? Someone who can open their own car door?" I seethe, internally cursing myself for expecting him to change when he never will. He'll always just be playing games. No matter what I mean to Riggs, he'll never let me in.

If I even mean anything.

"It's for your safety," he claims.

I roll my eyes. "My safety?"

"Yes."

"There's another lie," I mutter.

"How is it a lie?" he questions.

I insist, "It's so you can control me."

"No. It's actually not."

I scoff. "Can you at least not lie to my face like I'm a moron?"

His face turns red. He blurts out, "When you step out of your car and get shot—and for no reason—then you can decide if I'm being a control freak or actually give a shit about your safety."

My gut dives. "Did that happen to you?"

He grinds his molars, then shakes his head. He lowers his voice and says, "You live in a bubble, pet. You always have. And hey, I'm glad you do. But don't ever question what I do to keep you safe." He gets out and slams the driver's door.

Ugh! What have I done now?

He walks around, opens my door, and holds out his hand.

I take it, rise, and say, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"Change the subject, pet."

"Riggs—"

"We have a meeting to get to," he states, then guides me into the hotel. He goes to the counter and checks in.

I stay quiet, and he leads me into the elevator, down a hallway, and into a suite.

"Make yourself comfy. We're going to be here all day," he announces, then pulls his laptop out of his bag.

I slide my arms around his waist, hugging him from behind.

His body stiffens.

I blurt out, "I'm sorry. I would read the contract this time."

He spins. "Why?"

I swallow hard. "So I know what I'm getting into and ask for what I wanted."

Surprise registers on his expression. "What do you want that I haven't given you?"

My pulse skyrockets, and my stomach flips.

The doorbell rings. Too scared to tell him what I want, I turn toward the door and announce, "I'll get it." I walk a little too fast to the door and open it.