The conference centrehad filled in my absence. The reception hall, housing the book displays and vendor tables, was crowded shoulder to shoulder with people browsing amidst an enthusiastic hum of conversation. I passed by its open doors and headed for the auction room, the deep baritone notes of the auctioneer guiding my steps. I signed in with the security man on the door and then slipped inside where a small crowd was watching the bidding on a large ancient tome that looked like it had fallen off the Ark.
Sticking to the back wall, I searched the crowd for Mads. I couldn’t see him at first, but when the bidding stopped and a group of women headed for the door, I finally spotted him sitting close to the front, sandwiched between two men. Angled slightly away from me, his attention was fixed on a book the gloved assistant was holding aloft—the next item up for auction.
Rather than join him, I decided to hang back for a bit. It wasn’t often I got the chance to study the man in his native habitat without him becoming all kinds of self-conscious. The silver-crested conservator observed adding to his nest, so to speak. Because if I didn’t already know this book-collecting stuff was serious business, the earnest expression Mads wore said everything there needed to be said.
I turned to the woman standing next to me and enquired which lot they were up to. Discovering it was a couple of items before the book I knew Mads was interested in, I relaxed against the wall and settled in to watch the show.
After about five minutes, like he’d felt my eyes on him, Mads turned and scanned the room, plainly looking for me. I held up my hand to catch his attention and his worried frown conveyedhis concern about the call. I managed a decent enough smile and a thumbs-up, and Mads visibly relaxed, turning his attention back to the auctioneer.
When the auctioneer came to the first edition Richard Hallas that Mads hoped to purchase, he straightened in his seat, his body rocking to attention, the same way it did when I kissed him, or slid into his body, or him into mine, his entire world narrowed to a single focus.
Not sure whether to be amused or aroused by the fact a dusty old book could affect my man in the same way my naked body did, I decided to focus on the positive and be thankful it wasn’t another man. With that in mind, I also wondered what might happen if I tried reading to Mads... in bed... as foreplay. It was an intriguing thought and worth revisiting. I filed the thought away and returned my attention to the Mads whose attention was glued to the auctioneer as he all but bounced on the edge of his seat with anticipation.
It was just so... Mads, and I swallowed around the lump in my throat as I watched him. A good man. The best. A heart as big as a mountain. A brain to match. Solid and true down to the very last hair on his head. He deserved so much. More than being lumped with me, that was for sure. And yet here we were, making this thing between us work. Loving each other and learning along the way.
And when the auctioneer called for opening bids, more than anything in that moment, I wanted Mads to have that book. I wanted to see the pleasure in his eyes as he held it, the delight from adding to his collection, the joy of being its caretaker.
I wanted him to treat himself. To see himself as I did. Worthy of being spoiled. He was so damn disciplined in every other part of his life. Only in bed did he really let those tight controls drop.
Only with . . . me.
The realisation made me smile, and I followed the bidding with renewed focus.
CHAPTER FIVE
MADIGAN
When the auctionfor the Hallas book began, I let it run for a bit, checking around the room to clock who the bidders were and if I knew any of them. I did, by reputation, at least. A middle-aged balding man and an elderly woman in her eighties, Colin Drury and Brenda Harvey, passionate collectors with much deeper pockets than me.
Disappointment gnawed at my belly. If either of them truly desired the Hallas book, I didn’t have a chance. As much as I wanted to secure that first edition for my collection, I wasn’t about to bankrupt my book account to make it happen. There were lines I wouldn’t cross. Another book, another day. Didn’t mean I wouldn’t be gutted to lose out on this one, but I had to be sensible.
When I heard the words aloud in my head, I almost laughed. The last thing Nick had said before we’d left for the airport was, ‘Would you stop being so sensible about everything. It’s giving me hives.’
But I wasn’t Nick. I didn’t make rash decisions, except of course when it came to letting myself fall for him. Whichshould’ve been a caution in itself, considering the trouble he’d brought with him and the way he’d turned my life upside down.
And I really needed to stop smiling about that.
I would approach buying this book the way I did all potential auction purchases. With calm, thoughtful consideration as to its value, both monetary and emotional. I would make the final decision with my head, the only thing that could be relied on.
When the bidding hit $9,000 and everyone had pulled out bar Colin and Brenda, I pulled on my big-boy pants and entered the fray. Maybe, just maybe, the other two would run out of steam and I would grab the book for under fourteen. A steal in anyone’s eyes.
Yeah, right.
Instead of pulling out, they shot a surprised look my way but barely broke breath, like they knew they had nothing to worry about. Trouble was, they were right. And as the bidding climbed rapidly toward my self-imposed limit of $14,500, the pit in my stomach grew alongside it. I could feel the book slipping through my fingers. At $15,000, when the bidding hadn’t slowed, I was done. When the auctioneer tried to encourage me, I shook my head—it wasn’t his account on the line.
At $18,500, Colin withdrew, and the sale was about to be called for Brenda. But just before the gavel hit the sound block, a bid of $19,000 was tabled from someone at the back, and everyone’s head whipped around, including mine.
Because I knew that voice, goddammit.
Knew it. Loved it. And was about to have an argument with it.
Because there he was.
Nick bloody Fisher.
Looking cool as a cucumber, his level gaze locked on mine with zero apology in those grey depths.
To top it off, the bastard winked. He fucking winked.
