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He pressed his forehead to hers, the tip of his nose skating against hers. It would be so easy to close the distance between them, to press his lips to hers. Her breath came in hot puffs against his skin. He could kiss her. Christ, he wanted to kiss her. And he was pretty damn sure she wanted him to.

“Luna—”

A heavy knock rattled the door in its frame, and his eyes fell closed as the moment slipped out of his grasp. Logan called from the hall. “Becks? Kat? The auction’s about to start.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“Where did you two sneak off to?” Jo asked with a knowing grin when Kat joined her at their table in the ballroom.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kat watched Logan and Beckett made their way to the front of the room where the other guys were already waiting as some local television weatherman at the podium on the stage explained how the auction would work.

Kat pointed at the champagne flute in Jo’s hand. “Can I have a sip of that?”

Jo handed it over and didn’t seem to notice the way Kat’s hand shook.

What had just happened—what had almost happened—was so against the rules, they might as well have set fire to the rule book. Though maybe they’d already done that when she’d let him watch as she got herself off.

She drained the rest of the champagne, setting the glass down and jabbing a fork into the salad in front of her. But she didn’t want a salad—she wanted Beckett, his hands and lips on her skin, his eyes locked on her like nothing else existed. She wanted him, and judging by the awkward way he’d adjusted himself as they left the bathroom, he wanted her, too.

But wanting each other had never been the problem.

She shoved a forkful of salad into her mouth, heat searing through her, heat that could only come from one source. Across the room, Beckett’s eyes were locked on her, his gaze heavy, determined. She knew that look. A thrill of anticipation shot through her at the recognition, at the memory of all the delicious things that came after that look.

Could wanting each other be enough? For the next few weeks, before they went their separate ways, could they have this? Would she be any less destroyed when they said goodbye if she kept denying how much she wanted him?

At the front of the room, Nico bounded onto the stage, taking the steps two at a time. He grinned at the audience as the weatherman-turned-auctioneer introduced him to the audience, paddles immediately flying into the air. A woman in a floor-length sequined dress competed against a woman two tables over in a stunning black jumpsuit, lobbing bids back and forth like tennis balls.

“Five thousand dollars to the lady in black!” the auctioneer announced, pointing in her direction. Immediately, a volunteer in a crisp navy suit ushered the woman away, presumably to pay for her prize.

Nico hopped off the stage and sauntered back to their table, dropping into the seat next to Jo and swiping a cherry tomato from her plate. “How was that?” he asked.

Jo flicked his hand away from her food. “Remember, no hooking up with the winner.”

Nico waved her off. “She’s not even my type anyway.”

Next up was Logan, shifting uncomfortably on his feet as the auctioneer opened a new round of bidding. Thirty-five hundred dollars to a woman with a fishtail braid all the way down her back. Four thousand for Zach to a woman in a short purple damask dress. Jackson winked at the woman who bought lunch with him for fifty-five hundred, raising his rocks glass in silent toast from across the room. The woman’s face turned the same shade of pink as her dress. One by one, each member of Midnight Storm returned to their table, the winning bidders whisked away to make good on their pledges.

Beckett made his way up the steps carefully, his limp unnoticed by anyone but Kat. Unlike his bandmates, he didn’t seem to pay attention as the auctioneer introduced him, his eyes fixed on her. At the table next to theirs, a thin blonde with dark roots and a white column dress with a low back whispered to her friend, “I bet he knows how to make a woman scream. Did you see the size of his hands?”

Kat scowled, driving her fork into an orange segment.

“It’s just lunch,” the woman’s friend whispered back.

“And I’m on the menu,” the blonde replied, thrusting her paddle into the air. “Three thousand.”

Somewhere across the room, a woman with an elaborate updo quietly raised her paddle.

“Isn’t he engaged?” the woman’s friend asked. Kat ran her thumb over her engagement ring.

“For now,” the blonde said. Anger rose in Kat’s throat, hot and acrid, as the woman called, “Four thousand!”

The auctioneer accepted her bid and scanned the room for any others. “Going once, going twice—”

“Oh my God,” the friend hissed. “You’re going to fuck Beckett Hayes.”

“Forty-five hundred!” Kat shouted, raising one of the paddles from the center of the table.

“I think that’s my paddle,” Nico said.