Page 8 of Auctioned to the Billionaire Stalker

Disaster. Complete fucking disaster. I ran right into a brick wall of a guy wearing some sort of fancy-looking golf clothes.

The bag holding the tomato soup was crushed between my chest and his.

Piping hot, red liquid went everywhere.

“Ow!” he said, shaking soup off his arms. “What the actual fuck is happening?”

“Oh my God… I’m so, so sorry,” I said. Then the guy and I actually looked at each other, and I gulped.

I knew what Jack Lancaster looked like, of course. Everyone in West Bay did. He was one of our most famous citizens. He’d been inPeoplemagazine, featured as one of their most beautiful people. He deserved it, too. He was ridiculously, deliciously, outrageously handsome. And tall. And built.

And so fucking smart. How could one person be blessedwith so much?

Also, what kind of nightmare day was this? So much had happened already. But now I had not only spilled Jack Lancaster’s precious soup all over him, I’d also smashed and soaked his grilled cheese sandwich. I had thought it was going to be bad to have to tell him there were no croutons.

This was way, way worse.

I looked up into his crazy beautiful hazel eyes and sucked in a breath. The pictures in the magazines I’d seen didn’t do him justice. In person? He was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. I swallowed hard. “Um, so about your order,” I started, soup dripping off both of us.

“Don’t even worry about it.” His eyes held mine. And he smiled.

I blinked. This didn’t match the stories I’d heard of the obsessively picky rich asshole everyone at Dinardo’s talked about.

“Let me head back and get you another order,” I said turning too fast, slipping, and almost falling in the soup that coated the beautifully tiled elevator floor.

He hauled me against his broad chest with a heavily muscled forearm.

“Oh,” I breathed as he pulled me up and into his arms, bride-style.

“You can’t go anywhere,” he said. I could feel his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

“I can’t?”

“No.” His eyes were still locked on mine, practically hypnotizing me.

“Why not?”

“Your shirt.”

I looked down and groaned with embarrassment. I might as well be naked. It was like a tomato soup version of a wet T-shirt contest. My eyes shot to his again, and there was no mistaking the heat in his eyes as he stared at my breasts.

“I think I have an extraCaveSphereT-shirt in my office you could wear.”

Someone started to get on the elevator.

“No,” he barked in their direction, barely looking at them as he pressed the ‘door close’ button.

I turned to him again. “But your lunch…”

“Will wait. My grandma has protein bars in her desk.”

“Your… grandma?”

“Yeah, Cynthia. She’s my secretary.” He made a face. “That sounds bad. She’s not really my secretary. She just… gets me. So, she takes care of everything. Runs everything, really.” He was still staring into my eyes.

He was intense. I could feel his energy practically vibrating through his body. I wondered if he was always like this or if it had something to do with getting doused with hot soup.

“She worked for NASA.”