Page 110 of The Auction
“See, that’s where we have a problem.”
He moves in front of me, blocking my view of the ring completely. If Jaxon were looking this way, he probably couldn’t see me at all.
“Because Iaminterested,” he says, crowding me. I take a step back, but he matches it, closing the distance again.
Now I’m closer to the door than I want to be, the cold edge of night air licking in from outside. My pulse spikes. I try toangle around him. “I’m sure you can work out your confusion in therapy, but I said no.”
“Maybe I don’t care what you said.”
He pushes forward again, forcing me to keep retreating, his size cutting off my line of sight to the ring. A knot of real fear starts to form low in my stomach.
And then there’s a heat behind me. A presence so solid, it steals the air from the room.
“I care very much what she says.”
Jaxon slides an arm around my waist, pulling me back into him. His rich, dark voice sends relief rushing through me.
“And she said fuck off.” he growls.
He steps fully in front of me, chest to chest with the guy, who’s suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. Jaxon’s taller, broader, and still slick with sweat from the fight he clearly abandoned—the other man still standing in the ring watching this unfold.
The bearded man throws up his hands. “My bad.”
Jaxon doesn’t move until the guy turns away, melting into the crowd. Then his head whips back but he doesn’t look at me and keeps his eyes dark and unreadable.
He catches my hand, sharp and sure, and whistles toward the door. A man near it nods.
“Let’s go,” Jaxon says.
At the door, the man hands him his helmet, a black backpack, and his shoes. Jaxon makes quick work of pulling on his black jeans and sneakers, still shirtless, hair damp, adrenaline radiating off him in waves.
Then he tugs me outside into the night, not loosening his grip once.
Someone hollers after him as we step into the cool night.
“What about the fight, Kane?”
“I’m done,” Jaxon calls back without slowing.
“That’s a hundred grand you’re walking away from!”
“Keep it.”
“Jaxon!” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to, but he doesn’t stop. He’s moving fast, his hand locked around mine, practically dragging me. I have to half-jog in my heels to keep up.
“Jaxon—your fight?—”
He stops so abruptly I almost crash into him. He’s shaking, and not just from the fight. Full-body, bone-deep tremors. The helmet and bag drop to the asphalt with a dull thud before he turns on me.
“I don’t care about a fucking fight, Cassidy. I care about you.” His voice is rough, almost breaking as he rips the tape from his hands. “Did he touch you? Are you okay?”
He looks like he’s unraveling right in front of me, and my mind flashes back to the barn. The horses. The men he saved me from. His desperate plea in the dark—Don’t let me go, Cass. Don’t let me go or I’ll go kill them.
And right then, I know I never want to let him go. I let myself finally admit it and I’m not going to.
He hastily tugs his black tee over his head, and I step into him, my arms looping around his neck as I rise on my toes.
“Hey. I’m okay.” My nose brushes his, and he fists the fabric of my dress at my hips like it physically hurts him to touch me. His eyes squeeze shut.
