Page 6 of The Silver Fox Bidder

She holds up a finger. “You know full well my heart belongs to Captain Wentworth.”

I laugh, some of the tension in my chest easing. “Fair enough. But honestly, Stella, I don’t know what to do with Tank. He’s… a lot. Older. Brooding. Intense.”

“Not to mention ridiculously hot,” she supplies helpfully.

I glare at her, but she just grins wider.

“And let’s be honest, Lucy, maybe an actual man is exactly what you need. You’ve spent enough time babysitting your past boyfriends.”

She’s not wrong.

I bite my lip, letting the thought settle. The men I’ve dated were easy. They didn’t demand much from me beyond a goodtime. They didn’t challenge me, didn’t ask for anything real. But Tank?

Tank doesn’t seem like the kind of man who asks.

Hetakes.

And the most unsettling part?

A traitorous part of mewantshim to.

“I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” I say finally, shaking off the thought. “Let’s see what kind of date they plan for us before we start romanticizing them. Deal?”

Stella considers me for a moment before nodding. “Deal.”

But as I turn back to my display of teas, my pulse still racing, I can’t help but think that I might already be in trouble.

Chapter 5

Lucy

IstaredownatTank’s message on my phone.

Dress for a hike on Saturday. I’ll pick you up at noon.

That’s all it says. No hints, no explanations. Just like the man himself—blunt, to the point, and a little mysterious.

By the time noon rolls around, I’m dressed in black leggings, hiking boots, and a fitted long-sleeve top. My hair is pulled into a high ponytail, and my nerves hum beneath my skin as I wait on my porch.

The low rumble of an engine reaches my ears before I see it. A black truck rolls up my driveway, sunlight glinting off the hood, and then he steps out.

Tank Walker moves like the mountains belong to him.

His presence is steady, unshakable, the kind of quiet confidence that doesn’t need to announce itself. His dark jeans fit just right, and his worn henley stretches across broad shoulders and strong arms. I know he’s older, but standing here, watching him approach, he doesn’t seem like a man past his prime. He seems like a force of nature.

“You ready?” he asks, his deep voice sending a slow, simmering heat through me.

I nod, climbing into the truck. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

A ghost of a smile tugs at his lips. “Nope.”

The drive takes us deep into the mountains, the winding roads getting narrower, the trees growing denser. The only sounds are the hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Eventually, Tank pulls off onto a dirt path that doesn’t look like it leads anywhere.

Then, we hike.

And it’s not some easy, well-worn tourist trail either. Tank leads me through rugged terrain, his long strides steady and sure. The forest closes in around us, thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. At first, I focus on my footing, but I can’t help but steal glances at him.

He moves with the kind of effortless strength that shouldn’t be possible for a man his age. He takes steep inclines without slowing down, steps over fallen logs like they’re nothing, and when we reach a narrow, rocky stream, he doesn’t hesitate.

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