Page 30 of Auctioned Surrender

I feel Bryanna’s presence and glance up. “The information that you need from me?”

I won’t lie and don’t. “Yep, I was talking to Matt, one of our security team. His wife is head of the trafficking division for our team. She’ll help us sort it if we can get her enough information.”

“I see. So whatever you’re told goes to her,” Bryanna asks, searching my eyes. She’s not disagreeable, just seemingly curious.

“Depends. I’ll listen, and if it’s pertinent in helping us find out who’s behind this operation, then I’ll share it with her. If it’spersonal and doesn’t shed light on the case, then it stays between me and you. Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Hmm, for what I need to share with you, perhaps a glass of wine, maybe two.”

I’m not usually a fan of drinking while we’re exploring emotions, but she’s been through hell, and I won’t deny her as long as I’m close enough to keep her safe. “You like a sweet red,” I say, and she glances up quickly, clearly surprised that I know her preference, but then nods.

“Brian hired our team to find you and bring you home. That meant researching your habits and such. That’s how I know,” I explain, pouring her a glass of wine before replenishing my mug with a flavored decaf.

She contemplates and then nods. “I thought as much. Are you hungry?” she asks.

“I am, and will make us something while we talk.”

Bryanna smiles, one that lights up her entire face and enhances the green of her eyes, before shaking her head. “You took care of me last night, made me breakfast, took care of me when I was an emotional mess. It’s my turn. I love to cook. Can I make us something for dinner?”

“I’d be honored. Let’s see what we have in the kitchen for something to tide us over. We’ll have a nice dinner later on and can talk while we’re cooking.”

“While I’m cooking!” she sasses.

“Careful, young lady, or I might have to spank your ass to make my point.”

Her cheeks color beautifully, and her eyes smoke over with desire. She starts to say something, thinks better of it; instead, gives me a playful pout. “Okay, you win. You can help, but what if I truly wanted to do it by myself? To do something to say thank you for all you’ve done?”

It’s my turn to contemplate now. This woman seems to throw me off balance and keep me enthralled at every turn. “As long as you were feeling well, I would allow it.”

She rubs her hands together. “Excellent. Then how about you sit here and ask me all of your security questions while I cook?”

My eyes narrow, and I try my hardest to keep from smiling at her tactic. “I think that can be accommodated. You’ll find everything you need in the refrigerator,” I say, knowing that it’s been stocked for days.

Bryanna moves to the fridge and searches its contents while I admire the heart-shaped ass that fills out her jeans beautifully and which is positioned at just the right height for my inspection.

“It’s still early, but we didn’t have lunch. What about a Mediterranean omelet?”

“Anything you like, Doll. That should hold us over nicely.”

She begins unloading eggs, fresh peppers, onions, and feta cheese onto the counter before diving back to her search. “Found them! Pepperoncini! These are the best. They’ll hold the melted feta, and every bite will be amazing!” she proclaims.

“Sounds great, so you cook, and I ask questions. You still okay with that?” I don’t want to push her any further than she can emotionally go, but time is passing fast, and we need more information.

“I don’t like talking about it, but as long as you’re good with me drinking a bit of wine and cooking, I can probably get through it,” Bryanna says.

There are more pleasurable ways that I could drag it out of her, but she’s not ready for that yet. Tonight, we’ll settle for wine and cooking. “Sounds like a plan.”

She nods, fumbling under the cabinets for a pan.

“Far one on the left. There’s a little sauté pan that’s perfect for omelets.”

She smiles when she finds it and brings it up. “You cook?”

“Here and there. Gaby usually has our food all prepared and delivered to the places we stay, but every once in a while a man just feels like an omelet or Italian food, and I saw it when I was checking the place out. Okay, no more stalling, Doll. First question? Ready?”

“Bring it,” Bryanna says, but her eyes lower, and while she pretends to be paying attention to the oil she has swirling in the pan, I can see her apprehension from here.

“Let’s start with the same question I asked you earlier.”

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