Page 5 of The Silver Fox Bidder

I won’t let anyone else win her tonight. She’smine.

Chapter 4

Lucy

Thescentofdriedlavender and rosemary lingers in the air as I arrange a fresh display of herbal teas on the front counter of The Wildflower Apothecary. Normally, I’d find the task meditative—the rhythmic sorting of jars, the soft rustle of dried herbs, the satisfaction of organizing chaos into something orderly and beautiful.

But today?

Today, my mind is tangled up in one impossibly rugged, ridiculously handsome man.

Tank Walker.

He bid on me. And not justbid. Hedominated.

There was no hesitation, no uncertainty. Just that deep, gravelly voice cutting through the crowd, outbidding every other man in the room like it was already decided by fate that he’d be the victor.

And now, I have a date with him.

A thrill rolls through me, sharp and electric. My palms smooth down the front of my apron in a futile attempt to ground myself. I should be wary, shouldn’t I? Tank is older. Much older than the men I usually date. The ones I pick tend to be charming, flirty, and about as deep as a puddle. They talk a big game, but when it comes down to it, they don’t have a clue what a woman actually needs.

Tank?

Something tells me he knows plenty about need.

The way he looked at me during the auction sent a slow heat curling in my belly. He didn’t just want me. Heclaimedme. Like I was something rare, something valuable, somethinghis. I can’t remember the last time a man’s gaze made me feel like that.Maybe not ever.

But I barely know him. He keeps to himself and speaks in few words when he does come into town. People whisper theories about him like he’s a living legend, part ghost, part myth. And yet, for all his mystery, one thing is abundantly clear.

Tank Walkerwantsme.

There’s no way a man like that spent five thousand dollars just to support The Brassiere Initiative. He didn’t do it for charity. He did it for me.

Heat rolls through me at the thought.

The bell above the shop door jingles, pulling me back to reality.

Stella saunters in, arms crossed over her chest, amusement written all over her face. She doesn’t even try to hide her smirk as she leans against the counter.

“So,” she says, dragging out the word. “A certain rugged recluse bid an outrageous amount of money for a date with you.”

I groan, rubbing my temples. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting.” She grins. “Tank Walker, Lucy? That man is practically folklore. Half the town thinks he’s some kind of mountain cryptid. And you,” she taps a finger against my arm, “are going on a date with him.”

“Like you’re one to talk.” I arch a brow. “Pete Callahan is just as reclusive and mysterious, and he pounced on the opportunity for a date with you like a mountain lion on an injured fawn.”

Stella’s cheeks flush a satisfying shade of pink. “That’s different.”

“Oh? How so?”

She fumbles for a response before huffing, “He supports the library, that’s all.”

I snort. “Right. He’s just in it for thebooks.”

Her lips press together. “Even if heisinterested,” she stammers, “you know I have standards.”

I shake my head. “The kind set by fictional men. Mr. Darcy, Rochester—”

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