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Kalim Raschid liked what he saw. In fact, he blamed her for his uncharacteristic capitulation. How could a man focus on winning when a beautiful woman was his contender? 
Impossible. He couldn’t. And hadn’t. 
He should have been annoyed at losing, should have tried harder, but in the end the powerful urge to meet her, know her, proved far stronger. She could have the brooch, if it meant his success.
Witnessing the barely repressed glint in her blue-violet eyes and the firm set to her jaw each time the auctioneer turned the bid towards her, Kalim had been impressed by such dogged determination and decided quickly he wanted her to have the brooch.
Easy decision.
Lust had won out.
Now, however, she seemed overwhelmed by her victory, with pupils dilating and her already porcelain complexion bleaching whiter. He couldn’t hold back the hint of a satisfied smile however as his gaze slid over her. To his connoisseur’s eye, her flawless skin was a perfect match for the cascade of blonde hair that fell in a ripple of waves down her slender back.  He imagined it caressing his bare skin.
He watched her walk behind the auctioneer, the gentle sashay of her hips and the curve of her calves encased in rich black leather boots elicited a tightening in his groin.
That she was beautiful, graceful, elegant, and very sexy, soothed his conscience at losing, and fuelled his desire.
Kalim imagined lifting her foot, resting it on his thigh and the bite of her heel as it dug into his flesh. He imagined too, sliding the zip of her boot down very slowly. His jaw tightened and he swallowed back a groan.