“Nobody warned me.”

My driver, Phillip, turns around and raises his eyebrows as I slide into the back seat of the town car. “Warned you about what?”

“That Ruby Ashworth is a knockout.” I laugh out loud, as if it’s some kind of joke, but it’s not. The burst of energy I got just from looking at her is still thrumming through my veins, and goose bumps run from the tops of my shoulders all the way down to my wrists. I pull out my phone and swipe mindlessly through the screen, just to keep Phillip from noticing that I’m finding it difficult to keep my shit together.

“Is she?”

“Phil, there aren’t words to describe it.”

He turns around, back toward the steering wheel, and chuckles. “Was it love at first sight?”

I scoff. “Hardly. She hates me.”

He shrugs one shoulder. “You can be a little—”

“Intimidating?”

“I was going to say dickish, but I don’t want to get fired.”

“Good man.” Phillip is just about the only member of my staff—ever—that could get away with saying anything like that to me. He’s lucky that I love him. I’m also lucky that he puts up with me. He drove me away from more than one party, blackout drunk, during the college days. And, if I’m honest, some of the boarding school days. That kind of thing is behind me now, but Phillip—well, I’m stuck with him.

“Back to the office?”

The last place I want to go is back to the Blake Building, which is much more than an office. It houses my showroom, my inventory warehouse, and my workshops—not to mention my penthouse. On almost every other day of my life, it’s where I want to be, but not now.

What I want to do is run back inside the Ashworth’s estate sale and find the woman who just made me so hard with one glance of those huge blue eyes that my cock is straining against the fabric of my pants. The way her pretty lips parted when she saw me, and the color that rose to her cheeks when I made my initial offer—it all makes me want to take her upstairs to what I’m sure is a ridiculous number of bedrooms, pin her arms above her head, and make her come so hard her head spins.

I don’t know why the urge is so powerful, only that it is. She looked timid when I first walked in, timid and shocked and vulnerable, but I saw a hint of a spitfire underneath. The questions she raised just by breathing, full breasts rising and falling underneath a navy blue sweater with the kind of demure neckline that’s just begging to get tossed onto the floor alongside the rest of her clothes—god, they’re endless, circling around in my mind. Questions like: Why is she so heartbroken about most of these things? Why is she so desperate to avoid the easy way out? What would I have to do to get her to come with me right now?

“Back to the office, Phillip.”

The day is warming up, and by the time Phillip parks in front of the Blake Building the heat is radiating off the sidewalk. Item one on my agenda: get my suit jacket off. Item two: get my mind off Ruby Ashworth. If I’d known she was going to shake me to the core like this, I might have gone for a different introduction. 

But I didn’t. All I knew this morning was that the Ashworth estate was up for grabs, and I wanted the first shot at it. 

“She’ll call,” I mutter to myself as I cruise through the front entrance, into the smaller showroom that serves as a kind of airlock. Only serious customers come through to the much larger displays in back and the auction room.

An old woman stands at the reception desk, looking anxiously from side to side. Where the hell is the receptionist? Kathy never takes a break unless she’s covered.

It’s a damn good thing I walked in at this moment. If you’re smart about buying and selling—and you have to be, if you’re like me and you want to sift through the entire world and find the most valuable items you possibly can—you never turn down a sale. And this woman clearly has something on her hands. Probably in the massive purse she’s got a death grip on.

I put on my most charming smile. “Good morning, ma’am. Can I help you with anything?”

She looks up into my face. “Young man, I’m waiting to meet with the appraiser.”

“I hope you haven’t been waiting long.”

She tilts her head to one side, then the other. “A little while.”

I extend my hand. “My name is Levi Blake, and I own this little enterprise. I’d be happy to take a look at anything you’ve brought in.”

The woman’s hand tightens on the handle of her bag, and she looks me up and down. She must like what she sees because she gives a firm nod and then shuffles closer to the desk. I step up to her side.

From the purse, she pulls out a faded armband wrapped in a tissue. I recognize it instantly—anyone who’s ever heard of World War II would—but I also know, the moment I see it, that it’s not authentic. The originals were made from heavy cotton or wool, and this one—though it looks old—has a shine to it that signals its polyester origins.

With shaking hands, she puts the tissue in mine, careful not to touch the fabric of the armband with her fingers. “It was my husband’s. He brought it back from the war.” Her jaw quivers. “I don’t—” She breaks off abruptly, raising a hand to her mouth. “I hate what it stands for.” She drops her voice like someone might be listening in. “And I hate giving up his things. If I didn’t need the money...” Her voice hitches, but then she lifts her chin. “What might an artifact like this be worth?”

My instinct is to tell her the truth—that it’s worthless. But her eyes are a startling blue under a sheen of tears. It reminds me of Ruby Ashworth.

I pretend to examine the armband in great detail, and then I level the most serious gaze I can at the old woman. “I can offer you...two thousand dollars.”

Her mouth drops open and her shoulders sag with relief. “You can?” Over her head, I see Kathy, followed by one of my appraisers, Sean, start to rush back in from the main display room. I give them a shake of my head, and they turn around, disappearing immediately from the scene. “Oh, my—” She shakes her head. “I never hoped...” Tears spill from her eyes, and she pulls a handkerchief from her purse and dabs at her face.

It’s a quick transaction—she leaves with a check in twenty minutes, thanks to my skill at expediting matters like this—and I’m left standing in the outer display room, a fake piece of memorabilia in my hand and Ruby Ashworth on my mind. Another jolt of heat runs down my spine.

I should forget about her right now, before I make any other stupid business decisions.

I drop the armband into the garbage bin behind the reception desk and head for the main showroom.

I should push her right out of my head.

I should.