Free The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) by Naima Simone

kitchen, a den, past a home office, a media room with an actual movie screen, and a library that wouldn’t have been out of place in an English manor home. A library , for God’s sake. She shook her head. If Caroline could see her son now, she would’ve most likely lectured him on one person not needing this much space…but a huge, proud grin would’ve lit her lovely face for the entire sermon.
    A wisp of sadness curled through her as Aiden entered the bedroom—of five—that was to be Noelle’s during her stay. His mother should’ve lived long enough to see this, to live in this…
    “ Jesus H. Christ, ” she blurted.
    Hands thrust in his pockets, he stood in the middle of the room. A small, wry half smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “First ‘holy shit’ and now ‘Jesus H. Christ.’ I’m guessing this meets with your approval.”
    “I…” She shook her head, the words stuck in her throat as she surveyed the luxurious bedroom. Decorated in lush hues of turquoise, blue, and dark pink, the room could’ve graced any magazine. There was a plush carpet, a huge sleigh bed, another of those wraparound terraces, and a cavernous fireplace. Delight, slow and heady, melted inside her. She had a weakness for fireplaces. In the stories she used to read, the characters always had fireplaces that warmed their rooms, casting their orange-and-red flames across the floor. Providing heat but also beauty. None of the apartments she, her father, and brother shared had boasted one. And now Aiden had gifted her with her first.
    “Noelle?”
    She blinked and clutched her box tighter to her torso. “I feel like Julia Roberts,” she said, loosing a hard crack of laughter. “Well, except for the whole hooker thing.”
    He cocked his head to the side. “And the safety pins in your boots.”
    Surprise winged through her, momentarily distracting her from the pity party she’d been about to dive headfirst into. “Did you just get my Pretty Woman reference?”
    He snorted and strode toward the opposite side of the room. “Since you were the one who made me watch it, of course I did.” He waved toward a closed door. “Here’s your bathroom, and the closet is behind you.”
    For a moment, she didn’t move, stunned. That was his first reference to their time together, and it set off a sharp twinge in her chest. After his heroic rescue from the party from hell, she’d believed that would be the end of hearing from him. But it had been the beginning. Phone calls, meeting for coffee, dinners. And movie nights. Those had been the best because he’d invited her into his home—trusted her in his home—to sit together on the couch, laughing, enjoying one another’s company. He couldn’t know how much those nights meant to her. How she’d sometimes covertly pinched herself to make sure it wasn’t one of her many daydreams about him.
    And then he’d snatched them away, leaving her cold and swirling like a leaf caught in the torrential rain of a storm.
    Turning, she spotted the door he’d indicated and she’d missed. Twisting the knob, she managed to smother the curse that leaped to her tongue upon flicking on the light. Damn, is everything in this place gi-freaking-normous? She lowered her box to one of the shelves lining the walls. All of her clothes would fit onto one of the many racks and a couple of drawers in the walk-in closet. Her boots and shoes would fill one stand.
    The blast of humiliation and duck-out-of-water syndrome she’d been experiencing rushed back in full force. Charity case . You don’t belong . You’re out of your league .
    The words slowly ricocheted off the walls of her skull with blinding, nauseating speed, until they bled into one self-debasing hashtag. CharitycaseYoudon’tbelongYou’reoutofyourleague .
    “So,” she said, rubbing her suddenly damp palms down the front of her jeans. “What are the ground rules?”
    He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
    “The ground rules,” she