The Bachelor Auction Page 14

  “So.” Brock made his way back over to her after cleaning the last window. “There’s still dust. How is there still dust?”

  She grinned. “You need to dust to make the dust go away.”

  “I knew that.”

  “I know.”

  “I was just checking.” He didn’t move, his smile growing. “And where would I find the…duster?”

  “Close.”

  “Damn it,” he mumbled.

  She would not laugh. Not when he looked that embarrassed and miserable. “You know, why don’t I dust the coffee table and show you?” She leaned over. “It’s right in front of me so it won’t be hard.”

  He swallowed, his eyes shuttering closed before he let out a raspy breath. “All right.”

  Frowning, she waited for him to grab her cleaning bucket and bring it over. Once it was settled in front of her, she grabbed the Pledge and one of the dusting rags and went to work.

  The wood was beautiful beneath all that dust, except for some tiny marks on the edge of the table. It looked like some kid had taken a knife to it in order to keep tally marks for some sort of game.

  “So you just spray it?” Brock asked. “And then…” He made a motion with his hand. “Rub?”

  “Yes, that’s about as complicated as it gets.”

  “Is it hot in here? Should I turn on the AC?” He stood abruptly, nearly stumbling into the table.

  “Actually, I was kind of cold,” she said honestly, pulling the blanket tighter around herself again. “But if you’re hot I’ll just cover up more.”

  “No!” he shouted. “I mean, no, it’s not a big deal.” His eyes flickered to her chest and then back up; he was clearly embarrassed. “I’ll just finish up the table.”

  “Great.” She leaned over again, and his eyes flickered closed as he mumbled a curse. “Brock, are you okay?”

  “Hmm?” His gaze locked on hers. “Yup. Fantastic.”

  “Okay.” She leaned over again and sprayed the Pledge on the remaining dusty parts of the table. only to have him bite out another curse.

  “Hey, Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t take this wrong.”

  “Okay…” Her guard shot straight up.

  “But every time you lean over the table I can literally see directly down your shirt, and as much as you joked last night about me being old, I’m still a hot-blooded male. And the sight of two perfectly rounded breasts keeps taking my attention away from the task at hand, so if you could just…” He gently reached for her and pushed her back against the couch. “Stay. Right here. Then I can finish up before I lose my fucking mind.”

  Stunned, her mouth dropped open, and then she looked down. V-neck. Duh, she hadn’t even thought about it.

  Brock followed her gaze, his eyes heating.

  “Jane.” It was a whisper, it was a question, and then his mouth was on hers—harsh, forceful, but so inviting she whimpered at the contact—and when his hands reached for her breasts, she leaned even more into him, begging him with her body to take what she couldn’t voice aloud.

  It was a bad idea.

  He was a bad idea.

  Taken.

  Ready to be married off.

  But in the game room, on the couch, he was hers.

  So she kissed him back with as much passion as she possessed, her hands digging into the front of his shirt while his teeth nipped at her bottom lip; his hips ground against hers until with a groan he pressed her back against the couch.

  His hands slid beneath her shirt, unhooking her bra with ease as he nudged her thighs apart.

  “You feel so soft,” he murmured against her mouth. “Perfect.” Another plundering kiss, his tongue flicking hers before his lips slid down her neck and sucked. “So damn good.”

  With a moan, she pressed as close as she could against him, nearly riding his leg in an effort to get more of him.

  “That’s it,” he encouraged while she clawed at him.

  “Brock!” Bentley’s voice pierced the air. “Did you need help?”

  Brock froze above her, his face filled with irritation. “Open that door, Bentley, and I’m selling every car you own and replacing it with a Honda!”

  Silence.

  “You don’t mean it.” The knob turned.

  Jane’s eyes widened in alarm as Brock quickly moved away from her and tossed the blanket…over her head. Right, like that was going to look normal. She pulled the blanket off her face and tried in vain to find her bra while frantically pulling her hair back into a ponytail.

  Bentley entered, took one look at both of them and smiled. “Clearly things were dirtier than we thought?” He tilted his head at Jane. “Or maybe not dirty enough?”

  “Out!” Brock barked.

  “But—”

  “Go!”

  “Fine,” Bentley grumbled. “I’m leaving. I just thought you should know that Grandfather called and wanted to know how the maid was working out. I told him that you’ve been helping her since the cock attacked and she sprained her ankle. He was concerned about her finishing the job.”

  “What did you say?” Brock grabbed Bentley by the shirt and gave a little shake.

  Bentley held up his hands. “Chill. I told him that while she’d hurt her ankle she would make a full recovery, that she refused to sue, and that you were taking care of the situation. Because that’s all you’re doing, right Brock? Taking care of the situation…” He peered around Brock at Jane.

  Feeling suddenly more naked than she actually was, she covered herself up with the blanket.

  What had she been thinking?

  It was daylight!

  And his brothers were both within shouting distance!

  The last thing she needed was to be seen sprawled naked across Brock’s chest.

  It was beyond unprofessional.

  Tears burned the backs of her eyes.

  She was being stupid.

  And paranoid.

  “Thanks, Bent.” Brock sighed, running his hands through his already mussed hair.

  Bentley saluted him then added quietly. “For the record, any girl that can get Boring Brock to bend the rules is a keeper.”

  Brock bit back a curse as Bentley shut the door.

  “Boring Brock?” Jane asked.

  “It’s about as bad as it sounds.”

  “Well, I’m Plain Jane, so…I understand.”

  He turned. “You’ve never been plain a day in your life.”

  “I think you’ve already learned that you don’t need to give me pretty compliments to get me to kiss you.”

  “You have seven freckles. You press your lips together to keep yourself from saying things you shouldn’t. You hum when you clean, and though I’m not sure what the tune is, it’s familiar. When you eat, you watch people rather than your own food, and I’m just going to come out and say it: you eat sausage like an animal, the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Jane covered her face with her hands. “It was flattering until you said that last part.”

  Brock laughed. “Seeing a woman dig into her food like she hasn’t eaten in weeks? It’s one of the most erotic visions I’ve ever had.”

  Emotion flashed across his face as he made his way over to her and kissed her again, pulling away with her name on his lips. “Jane, I want you.”

  “Thought I was just the help.” The walls around her heart started to slip; she felt it in the way her body rose against him. Already he’d noticed things about her nobody ever had, and he’d fed her, and he was helping her, and he was beautiful. Was it so wrong to want that? For herself? Once in her life?

  “You’re more than that, and you know it.” His eyes locked on to hers as his deep voice washed over her.

  “You’re getting auctioned off in two weeks and you know it.”

  He paused, his expression going completely ice cold before he looked away and then back at her. “And if I wasn’t? What then?”

  “Then…” She bit down on her bottom
lip. “I’d ask you to kiss me again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Brock paced back and forth in the barn, keeping a wary eye on the cock, who was circling him and flapping his wings.

  Finally, he dialed his grandfather’s number.

  “Brock?” Grandfather answered on the fourth ring. “How’s my favorite grandson?”

  “Brant was your favorite last time I checked. Don’t tell me you’re switching sides now?”

  Grandfather coughed loudly then sniffed. “Well, I think it best to always keep you guys guessing. I find it keeps the twins in line.”

  Brock snorted.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So, what can I do you for? I have a meeting in a few minutes, and before you start asking what it’s about, it’s just to tie up minor details for the ball. I’ve ordered your tux. You’ll be in all black, of course. A matching set, you and I.”

  “And the twins?” Brock tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

  “They can wear whatever they want as long as they aren’t naked.”

  And there it was. Brock, of course, needed to match his grandfather because he was a carbon copy. But the twins? They could do whatever the hell they wanted! Granted, a part of him knew his wasn’t a fair assessment; his grandfather just didn’t want to deal with the twins.

  “Is something wrong? You’re more quiet than usual,” Grandfather asked with another sniff.

  Brock sighed. “Nothing, I just…I was thinking. The auction is a great idea, for charity, but you were kidding about me actually marrying one of those women…right? I mean I know that the press took that idea and ran with it but…” Please laugh, please laugh.

  Grandfather laughed.

  Brock exhaled loudly.

  “I thought you understood how this was going to work,” Grandfather said quickly.

  The sense of dread was back. “I assumed from the notes last week that the auction is going to take place halfway through the dinner at the ball. You’ll pick from one of the five women who bids the most. I go out on a date with them, take pictures, and…” He gulped. “We get good publicity. The shareholders get to see us as a united front, the press goes wild, and everyone wins. I didn’t think, I mean…marriage…”

  “Of course you won’t have to marry right away! But you never know. You may fall for one of the girls. The media is having a field day about where you’ve gotten off to, so everything is working according to plan.” Grandfather lowered his voice. “Brock, I’m not trying to upset you, but things could get bad…”

  Brock gulped and closed his eyes. “How bad?”

  “If I die—”

  Brock inhaled sharply. “Are you sick?”

  “Not now.” Grandfather sighed heavily. “But if I die and you and your brothers aren’t cemented within the company, the shareholders will push you out. Right now the only thing keeping them satisfied is the publicity the auction is bringing in and the idea that Wellington Incorporated and Titus Enterprises could one day merge.”

  Brock wasn’t so sure how he felt about any potential merger with a company that up until now had always been a complete pain in the ass. Grandfather kept on talking. “The auction is a show of good will. Besides, you aren’t seeing anyone. You have to marry someone eventually.”

  Brock rolled his eyes. “I’m a person. With feelings. I want to marry a person I have actual feelings for.”

  Grandfather gasped. “I’ve never heard you admit to such a thing. What is this really about?”

  Brock stared back at the house then kicked at the dirt. “A kiss.”

  With a curse, his grandfather spoke clearly into the phone. “Well, best push that kiss and any others out of your head. A kiss is a kiss, and what you do with your time until the ball is fine, as long as it doesn’t affect our company’s image. This is front-page news. The last thing we need is for the media to catch wind that you’re kissing the maid. That type of news is not what the shareholders need to see. Do you understand?”

  History was repeating itself.

  The way it tended to do.

  The “no” was on the tip of his tongue, ready to slide forward, but at the last minute Brock retracted and uttered the dreaded, “Yes sir.”

  Only this time. It was a total lie.

  He understood, all right. He understood that no matter what he said, he wouldn’t win, and the fear of saying no still made him want to puke, so he said yes.

  But he didn’t mean it.

  “Good boy. You always were the serious one, the one who understood how important our reputation is to the company. My father started this company with his bare hands! I can’t”—his breath hitched—“I can’t imagine it going into anyone else’s hands but yours. I know I’m hard on you, but it’s because I see so much of myself in you.”

  “Right.” The more his grandfather talked, the sicker he felt. It was such a backhanded compliment, because all he’d ever wanted was his grandfather’s happiness. It had almost always been at the expense of his, but he knew in his heart that his grandfather only wanted the best for him. The problem was, they had very different definitions of “best.” “I need to go.”

  “Me too. See you in two weeks!”

  Brock stared at his phone.

  Slid it into his pocket.

  Eyed the cock, and almost asked the damn bird to just end him.

  Buttercup nuzzled Brock’s neck as if she understood exactly what pained him.

  If his grandfather ever found out what Brock had planned for the next few weeks, he’d shoot him.

  But with each step he took toward the house, he realized fully that he was walking toward something he wanted. Not something his grandfather wanted for him.

  And it felt good.

  Empowering.

  Even if he still hadn’t been able to utter “no” to his own Grandfather—his heart still screamed “yes” to Jane.

  And for now, it had to be enough.

  * * *

  When Brock stepped into the kitchen, all heads turned toward him.

  Bentley was sticking his finger into a large bowl of frosting while Brant held a cookie over his head.

  Jane stood on her toes, trying to grab the cookie from his brother’s hand.

  And somehow, the ass had found its way inside and was standing by the kitchen table watching.

  “Give her the cookie, Brant.”

  “No.” Brant held it higher. “I’m saving her the calories!”

  She smacked him on the arm. “It’s just one more sugar cookie!”

  “You heard her, man.” Bentley grinned. “Hand it over or I’m not baking anymore.”

  Brock was sure he’d heard wrong. He knew that his brother could cook but baking was a whole different beast. “You baked?”

  Bentley nodded. “It’s not rocket science.”

  “You baked…cookies?”

  “He makes a mean carrot cake, too,” Brant added. “Don’t be too proud of him; he learned to cook because he found out the cougars liked it when a man knew his way around the kitchen. Think of it as his foreplay.”

  “You’re a conniving bastard. You know that, right?” Brock nodded toward Bentley, who seemed completely unfazed, like it was normal to take up a hobby so you could have more sex.

  Brant lowered the cookie to Jane’s height and dangled it in front of her face. “If I give you this, what will you do for me?”

  “Well, I don’t know about Jane, but if you give her the cookie I won’t strangle you. So there’s that,” Brock said in an irritated voice.

  “He’s got at least twenty pounds on you, Brant. I’d give over the goods.”

  Jane grinned in triumph as Brant shoved the large cookie into her mouth, patted her head, and glared at Bentley. “Make more.”

  “Don’t pressure him!” Jane said, mouth full of food. “We don’t want them burning. I’ve had four. I could eat them until I get sick. That’s how good they are.”

  Suddenly
jealous, Brock frowned hard at his brother. What the hell kind of game was he playing at? Did he know that food was Jane’s weakness? He sure as hell did now with all that moaning she was doing every time she took a bite of the damn cookie.

  The way she moaned, the way she enjoyed even the simplest of life’s pleasures, had him realizing that she wasn’t like most women in his social circle—women his Grandfather would choose. Those types of women ate salad with no dressing. And Brock had a sneaking suspicion that if he offered one of them a cookie they’d take it as an insult, whereas Jane would ask for more.

  A dab of chocolate was on the corner of her mouth. Brock tried not to stare, but he couldn’t help it. She looked more delicious than the cookie she was devouring. Without thinking he reached over and swiped the chocolate with his thumb and proceeded to lick the chocolate from his finger.

  Jane’s mouth dropped open.

  He had no self-control where she was concerned and he knew that if he kept tasting her—he’d be completely lost.

  He didn’t even realize he had moaned until Bentley slapped him on the back. “Problem?”

  “You’re…” Brock narrowed his eyes as Jane let out another breathy sigh and finished her cookie. “I’m suddenly really grateful for your cookies.”

  “Was that a compliment?”

  Brock clenched his teeth. “Don’t get used to it.”

  Bentley snorted. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  They stared down one another until Jane’s moans subsided and she finally was able to speak again. “I need more cookies.”

  “I will literally pay you five hundred dollars to bake more cookies for us.” Brant slapped cash out onto the table. “But make double because Jane is eating them faster than I can get my hands on them.”

  “What about me?” Brock asked, feeling left out. “I didn’t even get any!”

  “You hate sugar.” Bentley shrugged. Jane let out a loud gasp and covered her mouth.

  Strike one.

  “No, I just don’t like cotton candy,” Brock grumbled.

  Another gasp from Jane, so clearly that was strike two.

  Bentley shook his head slowly. “Maybe it’s because your childhood was cut short by the death of our parents? No doubt it caused you to grow up more than us.”