something down. Not to be outdone, she went right behind him and raised the bid by two thousand. Her heart pounded as she returned to Ryan’s side. The bids were now sitting at twice what the entire trip was worth.
She checked her watch.
Mystery man met her gaze and quirked his eyebrow again. He was handsome, she acknowledged, with thick dark hair and chocolaty eyes that warmed as a hint of a smile tipped his lips, a challenge if she ever saw one. She gave a nonchalant smile and a shrug, as if to say, “Whatever.” There were six minutes left.
He walked over to the table. A smile played over his lips as he saw her entry. And then he upped the bid again.
He stepped back, smiled broadly and walked off.
She was dying to know what he’d written down, but she was already in too deep to make any rash moves or give him the opportunity to outbid her again. She shrugged, then turned to Ryan and made small talk with their host, Kit Merchant, as the seconds ticked down in her head. Kit had arrived late and was regaling them with sailing stories. Molly listened with half an ear, the other part of her brain busy ticking away the moments until she could make her move.
When there were just thirty seconds left by her count, she sauntered over to the table, wrote her name, looked at his bid, took a deep breath and wrote a new number only one hundred dollars greater than his final bid. She put down the pen and turned around. He was about to step forward when the emcee called, “Bidding is now over. No more bids will be accepted.”
She’d won.
ERIC CHAMBAULT TOOK a deep breath and stepped out of the elevator, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. He’d had an acquisitions meeting early this morning. Then he’d headed for the airport in order to make his flight. Montreal to Victoria was a long trip, and he’d enjoyed the few hours with his phone in airplane mode. Once he’d landed, though, it had buzzed and rung nonstop. On the last call, he’d told his assistant that every call for the next ten days was to be directed to the appropriate VP and that he would be out of contact. Then he did something he hadn’t done in nearly eight years. He turned it off and left it off.
He’d be lucky if his blood pressure wasn’t skyrocketing again. Thirty-four years old and his doctor had cautioned him about stress and told him to take a vacation. He wasn’t interested in lying on a beach somewhere. Instead he’d taken the advice of one of his friends and started looking into outdoor adventures. Joe had gone on one a year or so ago in South America and said it had been the best trip he’d ever taken.
Initially, Eric had thought it would be a vacation for two. Then the divorce papers were served and it was clear no couples trip would be on the agenda. What followed had been eight months of legal wrangling that had cost him an exorbitant amount in billable hours. In the end, he’d paid his legal bills and hers, too, as well as a settlement that still made him grit his teeth: just over thirty million in a lump sum. The only saving grace was that he wouldn’t have to worry about paying alimony every month for the next four or five decades. Murielle had got her money and he was left with a bad taste in his mouth and a heart full of disillusionment.
He waved his key card over the hotel-room door and it turned green. With a twist of the handle the door swung open and he stepped inside, pulling his large suitcase behind him. He could have had a bellboy bring his things up to the room, but right now he didn’t want to see any other people. He wanted to be alone. Take a shower. Perhaps have a nap before the group dinner tonight, which he was dreading. Because people.
But maybe a shower and a power snooze would put him in a better frame of mind. He just wasn’t there yet.
A sound touched his ears and he frowned. Water running? He looked around and spied a Vuitton case on the luggage rack. What the hell? Was there someone in his room? Eyebrows knit together, he strode toward the bathroom and opened the door.
The string of profanity that greeted him, complete with splashing, had him shutting the door immediately. But not before he’d had a chance to spy long, soapy legs, the tops of some very lovely breasts that were covered with bubbles, and a flashing pair of blue eyes below dark hair, damp from the steam in the room.
A man could notice a lot in two seconds, apparently.
He spoke through the now closed door. “Um...you’re in my room.”
There was a splash and then her words came, sharp as knives. “You’re in my room and I’ll thank you to get out. Now.”
Eric sighed and pressed his fingers to the spot at the top of his nose, where suddenly all his tension had centered. “I just checked in, and I assure you, this is my room. But I’ll wait for you to get dressed. I’m sure the hotel will get this straightened out and you’ll be in your own room in no time.”
And probably a smaller one. At least he’d been put in an executive room, complete with a lavish king bed, a comfortable seating area and a view of Victoria Harbor that was incredible.
There was a great deal of splashing now and the sound of water draining. Eric stepped back from the door and took a breath, then went to the window to look outside. Seriously. He just wanted to relax for an hour. Was that too much to ask? This was supposed to be a first-class hotel with top-notch service. How did this sort of mix-up even happen?
Noises sounded from the bathroom. Unhappy noises. Apparently a little peace was indeed too much to ask for.
When the door opened he schooled his features and turned around.
And nearly swallowed his tongue.
She was angry; there was no doubt about that. Her blue eyes, framed by sooty lashes and set above lips that remained full and plump even as they were puckered in displeasure, snapped at him. She was wrapped in a hotel robe, and it was big on her, but he still had the picture of her legs in his head and the front of the robe gaped just enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage.
He swallowed. Hard.
“I suggest you take your bag and go right back down to the desk,” she snapped.
He offered what he hoped was a calm, pleasant smile. “I think we should go down there together. I’ll wait for you to get dressed.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But possession is nine-tenths of the law,” he reminded her. “So I’m not leaving. That—” he pointed to the bed “—is my bed and I’m going to be taking a nap on it, so let’s not be difficult.”
A smile touched her lips. “Don’t quote law at me,” she said, a bit of mockery in her tone. “I’m a lawyer.”
Ugh. “Of course you are,” he muttered. He frowned as he looked at her face more closely. There was something unsettlingly familiar about it, but he couldn’t quite place it.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She put her hands on her hips, which only made the gap in the front of the robe wider. He tried really hard not to stare, but damn, she was attractive. There was no denying that. Where had he seen her before?
“It just means that the only thing worse than having someone mistakenly in my room is having a lawyer mistakenly in my room.” He knew it was
