“Your mama raised a very nice boy,” I said and then immediately regretted my words when I saw his jaw tighten. How could I have forgotten? I stopped, placing a hand on his rock-hard bicep. “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “No worries, Emilia.” But those dark brows creased over his sunglass-veiled eyes.

I cleared my throat, still feeling terrible. Taking a deep breath, I started walking again. I decided to ease the awkwardness by talking about a subject I hated as well. “No, I know how it feels whenever someone brings up my dad or asks me about him. I never had a dad. I don’t even know his name so I call him the Biological Sperm Donor because that’s all he is to me.”

He glanced at me sidelong. “You were never curious to meet him?”

I shrugged. “He didn’t want me so why would I want him?” And we kept walking, past the park gardens of Bay Island, alive with bright pinks, vivid yellows—all of spring in a flowerbed. “He was married with a family and he never bothered to reveal that little detail to my mom before he got her pregnant. When she told him she was going to have a baby, he paid her a big sum of money to shut up and ‘go take care of it.’”

“Ah. A right bastard, then.”

“Yep. So I don’t give a shit who he is.”

He glanced at me again. “But he’s well off. You could have, you know, tried to get the money you need from him.”

Now it was my turn to tighten my jaw. “Why ask from him what I can do for myself?”

And I could tell he wanted to say more but cut himself off with a slight shake of his head, his grip tightening on my bag. Was he actually angry?

I paused, watching him carefully. This wasn’t the first time I’d gotten the impression he had torn feelings about the auction—this entire arrangement. I remembered the insults he was slinging around when we first met—and some of the other offhand comments he had made during our brief time in the Netherlands, always questioning my judgment and reasons for entering the auction in the first place.

If he didn’t approve, why had he even bid?

Though I wasn’t about to question him now. In truth, I was glad he did bid. But I was getting this weird tight feeling at the pit of my stomach. It felt like a cold rock sitting there and never moving. It had something to do with the fact that I was allowing feelings to get involved. As much as I wanted the money, yes. As much as I wanted him, yes. I found myself not wanting this to be over yet.

There was too much to find out before that. I wanted to know what drove him. What his fears were. What his goals were. Had he already arrived at the ripe age of twenty-six or was he striving for more and if so, how much higher could he go? And what about a personal life? Why was he driven, after being so successful, to still spend ninety hours a week in his office and half his life on airplanes and in hotels?

Then there were the personal details. Had he ever been in love? Who was Sabrina? Why did he have her name permanently inscribed on his heart?

These were things that I would never know, ever, if we slept together tonight.

But there was another voice inside my head, along with the one dying of curiosity to get to know him better. The logical one. The one that said that a man like Adam would only hurt me in the end if I opened up to him. Just like the Biological Sperm Donor had done to my mom. He’d crushed her and she’d never been able to move on. And if I let just one weakness in my fortress show, Adam would do the same to me.

With new resolve, I swore to carry out the original terms of our agreement, no matter what I was feeling inside.

***

The boat was gorgeous, of course, like all of the other things he surrounded himself with. A one-hundred-foot yacht appointed with the most glamorous details, all chrome and marble countertops, wood paneling and recessed lighting. It looked nicer than the nicest home I’d ever been in—besides Adam’s. There was a large kitchen, called a “galley” from which Adam’s chef/housekeeper worked. She had come along with the captain and they were the only other two aboard besides us, which left us a great deal of room to move about.

Adam told me he often had team parties on the yacht for his employees and used it for other business, about which he was vague. As we talked, I got the impression that his business interests were diversified—he had investments in the hospitality industry and technology hardware beyond just his own company. Draco Multimedia, particularly Dragon Epoch, was his main source of income, but he was beginning to branch out.

We ate a gourmet lunch straight away—poached salmon over a crisp bed of greens. Then Adam showed me the rest of the boat. And I don’t know if was by design or by happenstance, but the last room he showed me was his. A room almost as big as my studio, with a lush king-sized bed.