Her gaze drifted to him.His jaw was set, his expression cool, but she remembered the warmth of his palm and the way his stance had shifted, subtly shielding her from the crowd earlier.
Friends, she lectured herself.Friendship was safer.Smarter.
She forced her eyes forward, pretending not to notice the phantom heat at her back.Sighing, she decided that friendship was right.Good.Perfect.
So why did she suddenly feel like she was suffocating in her own logic?
They walked side by side into the rows of chairs, her mind stubbornly shoving thoughts of kissing, touching, and any otherRylan-relateddistractions into the farthest corner possible.
Natalie had been to plenty of auctions before, but never one like this.The air practically pulsed with money and ambition.At other events, she’d been the silent professional, scouting for pieces her clients wanted to build a room around.Here, it was different—the prices whispered in hushed conversations were astronomical.The atmosphere was intoxicating, and Natalie couldn’t help but be swept up in the energy.
Rylan picked up his numbered paddle and guided her toward a row at the very back.
“Why are we sitting back here?”she whispered, her curiosity tinged with anticipation as the room filled around them.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing the sensitive curve of her ear.“Some people prefer to sit in the front in order to see the art better.I prefer the back so I can study the competition.”
Natalie’s lips curved faintly at his strategic response, though she wasn’t entirely sure she grasped the full scope of his approach.Her expertise was in curating luxurious, sophisticated interiors for Philadelphia’s elite—seamlessly blending high-end art with bespoke furnishings.While she was no stranger to valuable pieces, her world didn’t usually involve the cutthroat adrenaline of a live art auction.Still, there was something about the charged energy in the air—and Rylan’s quiet focus—that made her pulse quicken with anticipation.
The auctioneer began with several lesser-known works, their soft, impressionistic charm echoing the great masters.Bids started modestly but climbed in steady, competitive increments.Natalie found herself quietly aghast at the final prices—sums that could buy an entire home in one of Philadelphia’s most exclusive neighborhoods.
Then came the flower painting.Natalie’s breath hitched.Delicate yet vibrant, the brushwork seemed to defy gravity, a tangle of colors blooming in impossible harmony.She sat up straighter, her attention locking on the auctioneer as paddles shot up around the room.
The bidding was fast and relentless.The air seemed to thrum with each call of a higher number.Just as it appeared one buyer might secure the piece, Rylan’s voice cut through the din—calm, deep, commanding.His bid jumped the price by a staggering margin.
The room went still.The auctioneer’s gavel came down with a sharp crack.“Sold!”
Natalie turned toward him, eyes wide.“I didn’t think that painting spoke to you,” she whispered, her voice tinged with awe.
“It didn’t,” he said smoothly, his gaze fixed ahead.
She blinked at him, confused—until he added, almost offhand, “It reminded me of you.”
Her jaw slackened, her pulse stuttering.She opened her mouth to reply but no words came.Rylan had already shifted his focus back to the front of the room, as if the admission had cost him nothing—while she sat there feeling like he’d stolen her breath.
The next few paintings passed in a blur.Then the one that had first caught Rylan’s attention was unveiled, and the atmosphere shifted.
Natalie felt him go still beside her.His relaxed posture tightened just enough for her to notice; his jaw set, his gaze locked on the canvas with an intensity that made her forget to breathe.
Bidding opened briskly, hands shooting into the air.Rylan didn’t move at first.The restraint was deliberate—predatory—like a hunter letting others tire themselves out.When his paddle finally rose, the energy in the room spiked.
Numbers climbed quickly, each increase met with his steady, precise countermove.Then, without warning, another paddle joined in.
Max.
Natalie’s eyes widened.He was seated a few rows ahead, his expression calm but his bids sharp and confident.The crowd buzzed as the back-and-forth escalated, each man raising without hesitation.
The tension was electric.Rylan’s paddle lifted, measured and sure.Max answered.
Then Max turned, glancing back.For a long, loaded moment, the two men locked eyes.
Something unspoken passed between them.Max inclined his head slightly, lowering his paddle in a gesture that was both concession and acknowledgment.Rylan returned the faintest nod—a silent recognition of the favor, and of the cost that would come with it.
The gavel came down.“Sold!”
Natalie let out the breath she’d been holding, her heart still pounding.
“You two were bidding against each other?”she asked, still watching Max.
