Page 15 of Auctioned to my Boss
She shakes her head. “I don’t understand.”
Oh, right… I smile; so eager that I skip a step. “Marry me, Sloane. Let’s belong to each other.” Now her mouth drops open and I laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re shocked. I’m not just in love with you, little girl. You make me feel alive. Say yes and really make everything perfect.”
She leans close and kisses me so sweetly that I think my heart will burst. “I feel exactly the same, Easton. And, yes, I’ll marry you.”
I grab the marquise and slide it on her finger, then stack the other two on top of it, just to hear her laugh. Pulling her into my arms, I hold on tight, breathless with something that seemed new and frightening to me just a few days ago. Real happiness.
“What do you want to do next?” I ask. “Anything at all.”
“Well, we really should go downstairs so you can meet my grandma.”
“Absolutely,” I say, turning to search for my shirt.
She grips my arm and pulls me back, a wicked smile on her beautiful face. “I think it can wait a bit longer, though…”
Epilogue
Sloane
Three years later
I raise my paddle to bid for the early nineteenth-century chandelier we’ve been waiting for and the auctioneer nods, acknowledging my bid. Easton leans over and whispers in my ear.
“Is that the last thing you wanted? For some reason, being at an auction again makes me horny.”
I stifle a giggle since we’re surrounded by upper-class snobs who are very serious about bidding. I admit, it makes me feel naughty too, even though it took me quite a while to face going to an auction of any kind again. My sudden obsession with antiques made me venture into this one because, while I want that chandelier, there’s something else that I’m dying to have.
“One more thing,” I say, squeezing his thigh.
“That’s not helping,” he says, covering my hand with his to keep me from getting really naughty.
I fan myself with my paddle and smile, trying not to get sidetracked by my husband’s arm around my shoulder, his fingers tracing along my shoulder. He knows how quickly he can make me wet, but I’m determined.
“Is this something for Gran?” he asks, looking at the row of things that are coming up.
Ever since Gran moved in just around the corner from us, we’ve both been shopping for the perfect bits and bobs to decorate her apartment. She prefers clean, modern design though, and turns up her nose at all the antiques I’ve filled our place with.
She’s loving France though, and I am so happy having her close by. She already signed up for French classes where she met a nice, older gentleman she swears is just a friend. They have been spending a lot of time together at dark little jazz clubs in Montmartre.
“It’s for us,” I tell him. “Just be patient a bit longer.”
Things have been a whirlwind since the wedding. My new job and our jet-setting lifestyle have been exciting. I didn’t think I could be happier, but now, with Gran living here full-time, I’m ready to stay put in one place. Plus, I have a bit of special news for my husband.
I glance up at Easton, who raises his eyebrow at me. He’d give me anything I want, but he sometimes doesn’t see that all I want is to be with him. Our lazy Sunday afternoons when he turns off his phone are more special to me than fancy trips or the business meetings that used to give me such a thrill. I’ve been so ready for this change, hoping and praying for it. Now that it’s here, I feel a bit anxious.
“This is it,” I say, my attention whipping back to the front as the stunning seventeenth-century baby cradle is carefully lifted onto the block.
Its curved lines and glossy wood make my heart sing and I can already picture it in the room I have all planned out. I throw my paddle in the air but so do two other people, and soon we’re in a frantic bidding war.
Easton’s eyes bore into the side of my face, clearly confused, but I can’t spare him a look, locked in a furious battle for the cradle. I finally win it, but at an exorbitant amount, and I avoid Easton’s gaze as we settle up our payments and arrange for my winnings to be delivered. I’m bursting with excitement, but keep it well hidden on the short drive home, getting excited in another way as he moves his hand up and down my leg.
Once we’re in our vast apartment with a view of the Seine, he wraps me in his arms, already trailing kisses down my neck. I’m about to pop with my news, but can’t seem to find the right opening since Easton was so eager to get home that he forgot all about what I bid on.
He accidentally kicks the birdcage with a succulent in it as he hurries me past the sunny windows and my houseplants. He groans and looks at my indoor garden.
“Tell me that cradle wasn’t for more plants,” he says, nodding toward my unconventional planters lining the entire wall and the balcony outside. He must see something in my face because his expression changes. There’s hope in his eyes. “Really, Sloane,” he says seriously. “Tell me the cradle’s not for plants.”
I can’t help but tease him a little. “Would you be disappointed if it was just for plants?”
