Bachelor Auction (8 page)

“I’m so sorry.” Charlotte pushed off Henry’s arm,

whirled toward the direction of the ballroom, and

kept running.

Marcus reached to steady Henry, and with his

own mumbled apology to Lilly, sprinted after

Charlotte. Henry’s “harrumph” and Lilly’s “Well, I

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never” were quickly forgotten as he gained ground

on Charlotte, whose high heels impeded her escape.

“Charlotte,” he called as she paused in front of

the open door of the ballroom.

She whipped around, pale blonde hair flying

around her. Wide blue eyes filled with distress

stared at him for a fraction of a second before she

ducked inside.

Still in a run, Marcus tried to put on the brakes

but between his slick-soled shoes and the wax on the

floors, slid past the doorway and only managed to

maintain his balance by grabbing the frame. “Shit.”

Mrs. Gardner, one of his mother’s cronies, gave

him a sharp look from just inside the door where she

stood watch, probably to guard against party

crashers. He pulled himself upright and entered

with as much composure as he could muster. His

gaze darted left then right.

Where the hell was she?

He caught sight of her arguing vehemently with

one of the women at the bidding tables. The woman

pointed across the room, and Charlotte looked that

way. He followed her line of vision to where Melody

stretched to hand a stack of papers to a man on the

stage.

The bidding sheets.

His gaze flew back to Charlotte, but she had

already disappeared. A flash of gold in the crowd

spurred him forward, and only then did the voice of

the emcee register.

“And the moment we’ve all been waiting for...”

Marcus cut directly across the dance floor,

skirting the immobile dancers. Several men with sly

grins slapped him on the back as he went. A few

women tried to block his path, but he sidestepped

them. The stage and Melody were just ahead,

Charlotte even closer, when Natalie appeared before

him.

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“Where have you been?”

He tried to move around her. “Not now, Nat.”

She clung to his arm. “But I need to talk to you.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” He glanced over her head

and watched Charlotte fend off Harry Townsend’s

drunken advances. He took a step forward, intent on

smashing the bastard’s face.

“Wait.” Natalie hauled him back. “Do you know

Charlotte Reese bid fifty thousand dollars on you?

She’s made a fool of you in front of all these people.”

He heard the tears in her voice, and since

Charlotte had succeeded on her own to get past

Harry, he focused on Nat once more.

“I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn’t

listen,” she accused. “You were like a hound hot on

the trail of a bitch in heat.” She let go of him, and

swiping a tear from her cheek, she eyed him up and

down. “Well, I guess you found her.”

As she marched away, Marcus felt a little guilty

that he might have given her the impression he was

interested, but mostly he felt relieved. He sighed and

rubbed his hands over his face. He really didn’t have

time for this.

“And our next bachelor...” the emcee’s voice

resounded above the buzzing crowd.

Marcus shot forward again and didn’t stop until

he stood directly behind Charlotte.

“I know I’ve donated more than that before.” She

placed her hands on her hips and bent slightly

toward Melody. “That’s not the point. You’ve got to

stop this. It isn’t right.”

Melody shrugged. “Sorry, I can’t. The bidding

has concluded and the results are fi...” she

swallowed as her gaze met his over Charlotte’s

shoulder “...nal.”

Charlotte turned sideways to glare at him. “Do

something.”

He opened his mouth to ask her what the hell

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she thought he could do; she was the one who had

gotten them into this situation. But the hairs on the

back of his neck suddenly stood on end, and he

became aware of the hushed whispers around them.

“Marcus Preston goes to...” the emcee’s voice

echoed from the stage and silence fell over the

crowd, “...Charlotte Reese for fifty thousand dollars.”

Marcus groaned. Too late.

“No, this can’t be happening.” Charlotte’s words

were drowned out by assembly’s applause, whistling,

and cheers.

“Where are they, ladies and gentlemen? We

need them on stage.”

“Here, here they are,” someone close shouted.

“Get them on the stage. We have to have them

up here.”

Charlotte shook her head, her eyes narrowed on

Marcus. “I’m not going up there.”

“What? You think I want to? I’m not—”

His next words were cut off when a pack of well-

meaning acquaintances waylaid him from behind

and carted him toward the steps. He could demand

his release or shake them off, but there didn’t seem

much point in either. The damage was done. The

only thing to do now was figure a way to play this

thing through without adding to it.

Released beside the podium, Marcus heard

Charlotte screech and moved to take her from two

overzealous teens. The scowl on his face must have

scared them because they shoved her toward him

and hightailed it off the stage. He caught her upper

arms and steadied her. As angry as he was with her,

he couldn’t stand to see her manhandled.

“Geez,” Charlotte whispered as she pushed her

hair from her face. “How could this have happened?”

Marcus wondered the same thing as the emcee

waved a hand toward them and began his speech.

“Clearly, Charlotte was determined to get her hands

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on Marcus. Not only—”

“Looks like she already has,” someone yelled

from somewhere near the stage.

A roar of laughter followed, and Marcus looked

at Charlotte’s silvery blonde hair, matted from when

his hands had made themselves at home. The

absence of the bright red lipstick she had worn

earlier only accentuated her still puffy lips.

“What happened to your cummerbund, Marcus?”

shouted another heckler.

Marcus released Charlotte and stepped back to

check out his cummerbund. Its metal hook caught on

the gold button of her jacket then snapped free,

popping him in the stomach. He bit back a curse as

he rearranged his cummerbund, which had

somehow—and he hated to think how—gotten

turned around, facing backward.

He heard her gasp but was more concerned with

the humiliation of his own dishabille to pay

attention until she suddenly plastered herself

against him, her arms wound tightly around his

neck.

“What the hell?”

She shrugged and fingered his hair off his

forehead. “I’m thinking our only alternative is to go

along, play to the crowd.”

A familiar voice boomed above the noise.

“Where’s your bow tie?”

“Bet Charlotte knows,” someone answered.

Charlotte tilted her head back and toward their

audience. With a lazy smile, she stuck her hand in

his jacket pocket, pulled out his tie, and dangled it

for all to see.

A multitude of bright lights flashed as picture

after picture was taken, and the curse he’d held back

earlier escaped. Not that anyone could have heard

for all the whooping and hollering going on. He

grabbed the black ribbon and stuck it back in his

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pocket. He hadn’t even known she’d removed the

damn thing. How had she gotten it in his pocket

without him knowing? Stupid question. She could

have done anything to him and he wouldn’t have

known it in that moment while she’d played with his

cock.

What the hell was her game? If she
had
bid on

him, had she done it just to humiliate him? If so, it

was working.

“As I was saying, not only did Charlotte break

the record for the least number of bids on a bachelor,

but Marcus now becomes the highest priced bachelor

this auction has ever known. The children at...”

Marcus lost interest in the emcee when

Charlotte nuzzled his neck. He jerked his head away

and tried to step back, but she held on tight, causing

him to stumble. His hands fell to her waist as they

regained their balance. Damn, when had he become

so clumsy?

“What’s the matter Marcus? Can’t you handle

her?”

Marcus tried to locate the joker in the back of

the room but to no avail, and his anger once again

rose to overshadow shock and embarrassment. He

returned his attention to the cause of his

humiliation. “Would you mind telling me what the

hell you’re doing?”

She smiled seductively, continuing to play to the

crowd. “Paying you back.”

His jaw clenched tighter. “For what?”

“Someone altered my bid.” Her finger twirled

around the hair at the back of his neck. “I’m

thinking it was you.”

Of all the things she could be paying him back

for, that wasn’t one of them. “Why would I do that?”

She leaned in close, her angry whisper betraying

the sultry expression she presented to the crowd.

“You tell me. You’re the one who chased me down.

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You’re the one who had his hands all over me in the

closet.”

“I already told you I followed you to apologize,

and I seem to remember an invitation.”

She glanced at his mouth, and her smile

widened. “And I seem to remember how quick you

were to accept.”

The fact that he couldn’t deny her statement

pissed him off royally. He’d been a fool to let desire

rule his actions. “That doesn’t mean I can’t put a

stop to this farce right now.”

Her blue eyes clouded then hardened. “Yes, you

could walk away. We both know you’re damn good at

that.”

An invisible fist punched him right in the gut.

He had hurt her. All night long he had tried to find

the right time, the right place to apologize, and yet

with every word, with every action, he’d managed to

inflict more pain. Still, he hated the position she’d

put him in and couldn’t find the forbearance to take

it all back.

“But you won’t walk away. You can’t. Not this

time.”

Her cocky self-assurance irritated Marcus

enough to make him feel somewhat justified in his

callous behavior. “What’s to stop me?”

“Pride.”

“Believe me, I’ve dealt with wounded pride

before. I’ll weather it a lot better than you.”

“True.” She bit her lip. “But there’s another

reason you can’t leave me standing here.”

“What’s that?

“My missing button.”

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“There has to be something in here I can use.”

Charlotte held her jacket together with one hand as

she searched the desk drawer in the country club

manager’s office.

“If you would wear clothes that actually cover

you, you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” Marcus

grumbled from where he leaned one hip against the

other side of the desk.

“I was doing just fine until your stupid

cummerbund caught on my button.” She knew she

should thank him for continuing the pretense she’d

begun on stage, and not just because of her missing

button. He could have rejected her again, this time

humiliating her in front of Houston’s elite, but he

hadn’t. Probably that innate sense of chivalry he

clung to. Whatever his reasons, he’d played along

until they were finally escorted off stage.

Oh, man had he ever. He had turned the table

on her, kicking up the heat of their charade without

ever laying a hand on her. Even now she could feel

the hot imprint of his eyes as he’d looked at her

while doing his best to remain a gentleman. Yet,

despite the stoic performance he’d given the

audience, the evidence of his desire had told her a

different story as she pressed against him to keep

her jacket closed.

“Things like that ought to come with a safety

chain.”

She grinned in spite of herself. “You didn’t think