"Do we have one twenty?" the auctioneer asked. "One twenty for Hans Whitfield�s Desolate Rains, Series Two?"

For a moment it seemed no one else had any interest. Disappointment settled into Dorian�s stomach�the painting had to be worth more than a paltry $110,000.

"One ten, going once," the auctioneer said. "Going twice�"

"One fifty," Duchanes said.

Before Dorian could respond, another bidder jumped in at one seventy-five.

The woman.

He glared at her, unable to hide his surprise.

She raised her eyebrows, offering Dorian her best innocent-looking smile, the kind that was clearly anything but. "I couldn�t let him get away with that."

Heat raced through Dorian�s veins. "You�re after my painting, love?"

"I�m after a lot of things. Care to raise the stakes?"

"One seventy-five," the auctioneer said. "Do we have one eighty?"

"Two hundred," Dorian said.

His woman squared her shoulders. "Two fifty."

"Two seventy-five," Dorian said.

"Three."

So she likes to play hardball too.

He grinned, filing away the information for later. "Three fifty."

Duchanes jumped in at $360,000, and then another bidder offered $400,000. Dorian�s pulse kicked up with each new bid.

This is more like it.

He leaned forward, eager to keep his head in the game. His mystery woman might feel differently about what made these events bearable, but Dorian loved this part�the hunt, the strategy, figuring out when to jump in and when to ease up, knowing exactly when to deliver the final blow.

But by the time the bidding reached $600,000, the other bidders bowed out, leaving only Dorian, Duchanes, and his woman.

"Six fifty," she said.

Dorian narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out her game. This wasn�t a tag sale. You didn�t show up at an exclusive art auction to browse the shelves, pick up a bit of this-and-that for the summer cottage.

What are you playing at, darling?

"Do I hear six seventy-five?" the auctioneer asked. JrNovels.com