Bachelor Auction (23 page)

me later?”

He smiled. Good. He’d lost some of the

discomfort she’d caused. “I need some advice.”

“Hmm, the green one goes with your eyes.”

Pulling the emerald scarf from around his neck,

he handed it to her. “Then that one is for Mom. We

have the same color eyes.”

She ran the scarf through her fingers, enjoying

its silky texture. It reminded her of the lingerie she’d

packed with Marcus in mind—black satin with slits

in all the right places. She couldn’t wait to see his

expression when he saw her in it.

He cleared his throat. “How about Mel?”

“She likes yellow.”

He passed her the lemon chiffon. It wasn’t as

soft as the silk, but it was nice against her skin.

Sifting through the rest, he set aside one after the

other until he was down to two. She wondered why

he didn’t ask her opinion for this selection, and why

he glanced at her every few seconds then grew

flushed. Was he buying it for her?

The thought warmed her. More than it should

have. Still, she could make it easy on him. “The

orange one is pretty.”

“Would it clash with brown hair? Maybe I

should get the purple?”

Brown? Her fists tightened around the material

in her hands. “Melody doesn’t look good in orange,

but I don’t think she’d like the tie-dyed purple

either.”

“It’s not for Mel. But you’re right. The purple

one is more appropriate for a younger woman.” He

tossed the orange scarf back in the pile and reached

for the ones she clutched. “Let me have those before

you wrinkle them.”

She stared after him as he strode to the front

counter and added them to an assortment of items to

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be rung up. Picking up a glass globe with a wooden

pedestal from the shelf near the register, he shook it

and grinned at the fake snow that drifted through

the watery sky to engulf the miniature town at the

base of a mountain. “She’ll love this.”

Behind him, Charlotte fought the streak of hurt

and disappointment that ripped through her at his

barely audible words, obviously not meant for her to

hear. Instead she concentrated on keeping her pride

intact. He wasn’t going to tell her who
she
was. Well,

that was fine. He didn’t have to. Natalie Weaver was

both brunette and young.

So much for her Prince Charming theory.

It was time to snare the Beast.

****

Or at least that’s what it seemed like when

they’d returned to the suite and Marcus had pleaded

exhaustion then hightailed it to his room. He’d heard

the frustration in her voice, seen it in those

goddamned blue eyes of hers.

He yanked a towel off the ring with enough force

to bring down the wall, stepped out of the cold

shower and began a brisk rubdown, hoping to dispel

some of his own frustration along with his goose

bumps.

He sure as hell didn’t look forward to spending a

night between cold sheets. Alone. And with visions of

Charlotte tied to his bed with the same silk scarves

she’d run through her fingers, her naked body

writhing and moist from where his mouth...

“Hell, go tell her you want her,” he grumbled as

he leaned against the sink to glare at the mirror.

“Just do it and get it over with.”

But the image staring back at him didn’t budge.

He couldn’t. Not if he wanted to live with himself

after this godforsaken weekend finally ended.

Regardless of what she thought, he cared about

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Charlotte.

With a disgusted sigh, he left the bathroom and

sat on the edge of the wide bed to towel dry his hair.

A light tapping sound filtered through the brisk

rubbing. He lowered the towel to his neck and

waited, not sure if wishful thinking had affected his

hearing. The knock came again, but not at his door.

It came from the suite’s main entry.

The door to Charlotte’s room opened with a

squeak, followed a few seconds later by the sound of

a deadbolt being unlocked at the main door. The

murmur of a male voice and Charlotte’s husky

laughter brought him off the bed.

He seized a pair of jeans from his suitcase,

jammed one leg in, then the other, and jerked his

bedroom door open, determined to have it out with

Wylie once and for all. If the guy thought he could

take advantage of Charlotte’s restlessness and steal

into her bed just because Marcus wasn’t in it, the

bastard had another think coming.

“Geez, I needed this.” Her breathy whisper came

from the dimly lit entryway.

Damn, was the asshole taking her against the

wall?

Marcus rounded the corner at a run and stopped

in his tracks. The red-faced grinning teenager,

probably sixteen if he was a day, stared at Charlotte

with calf-like eyes as he backed into the hall. His

gaze shifted to Marcus, and the smile on his face

slipped. He swallowed and returned his gaze to

Charlotte. “If there’s anything else I can get you, Ms.

Reese, you be sure to let me know.”

“Mmm,” she moaned again. “Thank you, Tim.”

The door shut, and Marcus waited for her to

turn around. When she did, her eyes collided with

his and rounded. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up?”

Marcus felt as if he’d been sucker punched. He’d

been so concerned with the boy he hadn’t noticed her

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appearance. Her face, scrubbed clean of makeup,

held a healthy glow. Her long lashes and perfect

brows were a shade darker than her hair, her lips

pale pink. Her blonde hair was brushed into a

ponytail at the back of her head, wisps hanging in

disarray around her face and ears. The white cotton

nightgown was thick enough he couldn’t see through

it—maybe why she felt comfortable answering the

door in it—with narrow shoulders straps and tiny

buttons from the center of the low cut bodice all the

way to the ruffle at the top of her knees.

She was the picture of virginal innocence, and

he had never wanted her more.

“Marcus?”

“Uh, no, I—” He cleared his throat and clutched

the towel around his neck. “I was taking a shower.”

Her gaze skittered over his bare chest, making

him wish he’d grabbed a shirt, and lingered on the

top button of his jeans he’d left undone. He quickly

rectified that error, which drew her attention back to

his face for a brief moment before she swept past

him, muttering something about needing chocolate.

He did a one-eighty and followed her to the bar

as if she held him by some imaginary leash. Once

there, she flipped a switch on the wall and soft light

filtered over them from the lamp above the pool

table. She perched on a high stool and proceeded to

stick her finger into whatever concoction the bellhop

had delivered.

Mesmerized, he watched her insert the goo-

covered finger into her mouth. She closed her eyes

with what could only be described as orgasmic bliss

as she sucked. His mind screamed for him to run,

but his feet remained stationary, rooted to the spot

as she slid her finger out and licked her soft pink

lips. So much for a cold shower.

“Mmm, this is so good.” She wiped her hands on

the paper napkin she pulled from a plastic packet

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along with utensils. With the spoon she nudged a

cherry to the side of the large bowl.

Against his better judgment, he ventured closer.

“What is it?”

“A hot fudge sundae with extra, extra, extra

fudge. Next best thing to sex.” She scooped a

heaping spoonful into her mouth.

Another moan of pleasure escaped her, firing

Marcus into retreat across the room before he proved

her theory wrong. He really should leave her to the

dessert, but for the life of him he couldn’t. Instead,

he began assembling the balls on the pool table.

Anything to stay active and keep his focus off her

while he kept her talking. “What is it with women

and chocolate?”

“Well, if you can’t have sex...”

He jerked a glance over his shoulder, sure her

open-ended statement was an invitation, but found

her once again savoring the ice cream. He tried his

damnedest to drag his gaze from her, but it refused,

same as his feet, giving in only enough to stray to

the low-cut bodice of that damned virginal white

gown. It lay open, several buttons undone, to reveal

the valley between her breasts. Had it been

unbuttoned earlier?

Charlotte smiled as Marcus grabbed a pool stick

and turned his back on her to make the break. She

slipped off the barstool, taking her hot fudge sundae

with her, and padded barefoot toward him.

When he’d suggested they turn in early after

such a long day, she’d labeled the night a bust. With

thoughts of Natalie wearing on her confidence, she

hadn’t bought his excuse. The sting of yet another

rejection had demanded chocolate.

The decadent dessert seemed to be working its

magic, but his inability to keep his eyes off her did

more to soothe her wounded self-esteem than the

fudge.

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Settling on the arm of an overstuffed leather

chair, she indulged in another taste of vanilla ice

cream and hot fudge, licking the spoon to get every

morsel. A heated awareness filled her. She peered

from beneath her lashes to find him watching her

again. His eyes, darkened with lust, traveled from

her lips to her crossed legs, caressing them with fire.

Her favorite nightgown—not one she would have

selected for seduction, definitely not the black satin

she’d hoped to surprise him with—had ridden up to

mid thigh.

A few inches higher, moisture gathered and a

slow throb began. She uncrossed her legs and re-

crossed them, squeezing her thighs tight to ward off

any command her body might make for her to hurry.

Marcus wasn’t the type she could rush even if she

wanted to. “Would you like some?”

His fiery gaze flew to hers, and she was hard

pressed to keep her expression innocent as she held

out a spoonful of ice cream. “You keep watching me.

I thought you might want some.”

Frowning, he leaned against the stick and shook

his head. “Not what you’re offering. I want it all.”

“You ask too much.” Uncertain they talked

about the same thing, she added, “You should never

try to separate a woman from her chocolate.”

That got her a smile. And oh, what a smile. “I’ll

play you for it. A game of eight ball.”

“Pool?”

When he nodded, she stood and made her way to

his side of the table. Propping a hip against the edge,

she said, “I didn’t have you pegged for a chocolate

lover.”

“I’m not.”

“So why do you want the whole thing?”

“Because,” he raised a hand to palm her jaw,

releasing all the tiny butterflies in her belly,

“watching you eat the damned thing is a sexual

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orchestration I’m not sure I can endure.”

She didn’t move as his thumb grazed the

underside of her bottom lip and came away with a

smudge of chocolate fudge. He stuck the digit in his

mouth and gave a nod of approval. “Not bad. Not bad

at all.”

Then just like that he resumed his game while

she stood breathless, longing to glide her hands over

his chest. To trace that little line of feathery black

hair down his rock-hard belly and lower.

From the hard ridge she’d palmed through his

tuxedo pants the night of the bachelor auction, she

knew she wouldn’t be disappointed in what she

found. And from the bulge she saw there now, his

words weren’t idle chit-chat. She hadn’t come onto

him, yet she’d turned him on. And he wasn’t

running.

Charlotte didn’t bother to analyze the how or

why of the situation but considered his challenge

and the opportunity it presented. She could turn his

wager around and get what she wanted if she played

her cards right. Or rather, her balls.