The Bachelor Auction (The Bachelors of Arizona Book 1) (11 page)

“You’re really, really aggravating.” She ignored the question just like she ignored the tightening in her stomach. Brock’s kiss had been…everything.

Ugh, she was in so much trouble.

She had over two weeks of suffering, knowing what his lips felt like on hers? What his body was capable of?

“You’re about to break that dish.” Bentley pried it from her hands and started wiping. “Why don’t you go fix your lipstick, since half of it is currently sitting nice on my brother’s mouth, while the other half is smeared just here.” He pointed to her cheek. “Not that I’m not a huge fan of a sexed-up woman; I just want you to be aware that men are attracted to that look, the one you still have, so if you don’t want Brock to attack you again, you may want to”—he lifted a shoulder—“fix it.”

“Th-thanks.” She backed away slowly, tucking her hair behind her ear. How had it come out of its bun? When had that even happened?

Bentley’s smile was slow, dangerous. “You know, once you go Brock you never go back.”

She sighed. “It would be bad enough if there were only one of you, but there’s two. Literally.”

“Ain’t it great?” He winked.

“I’ll just go deal with…this.” She pointed to her head.

“Good. Oh, and Jane?”

She stopped and turned back around. “Hmm?”

“Brock likes ponytails.”

B
rock kicked the side of the barn over and over and over again. The cock clearly thought it was being threatened and came barreling toward him, wings raised, beak out.

“Hell,” he rasped, jumping over the stall wall and joining Buttercup.

Right. He’d just kissed the shit out of a woman that he had no business messing with and now he was in a horse stall hiding from a cock.

As if sensing his distress, Buttercup neighed and nudged his shoulder with her soft nose.

“Sorry, girl.” He patted her head. The last time he’d ridden her had been years ago, but whoever had been taking care of the ranch was doing a good job. The barn was still a bit run-down but it was clean, the horses clearly fat and happy with plenty of roaming room and the best oats money could buy.

But still.

He felt guilty.

Damn it, he was so tired of the constant guilt.

Guilt made him say yes when he wanted to say no.

Guilt had him turning into a complete madman when it came to Jane. Hell, he’d mauled her and then run away.

She’d made those cinnamon buns for him. He knew that. He just didn’t know why—especially after he’d been such an ass to her. Blaming her for things that weren’t her fault.

With a sigh, he patted Buttercup’s nose again and ran his hands down the side of her belly. “Wanna go for a ride, girl?”

Maybe it would distract him from marching back into the house, stripping Jane naked, and having his way with her next to the cinnamon roll crumbs.

His blood heated at the thought.

Buttercup kicked her hoof as if excited to get out and run. There was more thrill then hesitation on his part as he gently placed a saddle pad on her back then positioned the saddle before tightening the first cinch. When he was finished he put the bit into her mouth and ran his hand down the side of her nose.

“You ready, girl?” Fear slid into his chest, warning him against riding a horse he hadn’t ridden since the week of his parents’ accident. She’d been young then, so young that he’d probably had no business getting on her in the first place. And now she was old enough that it was a miracle she still looked so good.

He glanced back at the house, then at the horse. What other choice did he have? Going back into the house only meant temptation, and if he didn’t move away from the cock it was going to attack the shit out of him. He opened the gate and hopped onto Buttercup.

And everything clicked into place.

Memories of riding her.

The trails they used to take.

Being on the back of his horse made Brock feel the most centered he had in a while, especially after kissing a girl who made him want a life he would never have. Was that what it was about Jane? The fact that when he was with her he was tempted to want more and actually believed he could have it? Somehow, kissing her had made him feel more alive than he had in months—years. It felt freeing.
She
was freeing.

Buttercup let out a little snort as she started to gallop across the field, to where his grandfather used to train his old horses back when the ranch was active with horse breeding.

“Good girl.” He patted the sweaty horseflesh and breathed in deep.

“Thought I might find you out here,” a male voice called.

Frowning, Brock turned around and burst into laughter.

The twins were both attempting to ride one of the shortest horses in the barn. Its girth made up for whatever it lacked in height, but the idea that they were both able to stay on it without the horse biting them was impressive.

“What the hell is that?” He pointed to the scruffy bay horse with short legs.

“Oh, this bad ass thing?” Bentley rubbed the horse’s neck. “Don’t listen to him, Frodo, he’s just pissed because his dick isn’t balls deep in—”

“Finish that sentence, I dare you.”

“In his hand?” Brant said with a laugh. “By the way you look really sexy out here, your hair blowing in the wind. I almost orgasmed twice.”

Brock rolled his eyes. “Why are you guys following me?”

“Oh, that.” Bentley kicked Frodo’s sides and the poor horse trotted forward, its eyes wide. “We came to tell you what a jackass you are.”

Brock groaned out loud. “Is this about Jane?”

“It’s sure as hell isn’t about us.” Brant shrugged. “You’re lucky Bentley’s off his game or he’d swoop in and steal her before you could make up your mind if you’re man enough to even go after her.”

“What the hell!” Brock yelled. “She isn’t some prize to be won, and she sure as hell isn’t up for grabs! Not by either of you.”

Brant narrowed his eyes at Brock. “Are you actually going to grow a pair of balls and go after her?”

Brock growled. “Back the fuck off. I mean it. She isn’t like the girls you normally date.” He cleared his throat. “She’s better than that.” The idea that they would even contemplate actually doing more than hitting on her made Brock want to punch something.

“She seemed embarrassed that you just took off after making out with her. Probably isn’t used to all the attention only to have the guy who just kissed her run out of the house like she has Ebola,” Bentley said softly. “And stop looking at me like I’ve grown another head. I’m a manwhore, not heartless.”

“I didn’t,” Brock said defensively. “I just needed to think.”

“We know.” Brant’s eyes flashed. “But we grew up with you so we know how you deal with shit. She, however, doesn’t.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where you two are the ones lecturing me.” Brock shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. They were right. And he hated it.

“So.” Bentley rubbed his hands together. “Who’s going after the girl? First man back to the house wins?”

“First man to the house, my ass.” Brock leaned over the horse’s neck as they glided across the pasture and made it back to the barn in record time. He made sure Buttercup had fresh water and gave her a handful of oats before putting her in her stall, promising to take the saddle off once he made sure Jane was okay.

Buttercup seemed too immersed in the oats to care.

Long strides took him up the stairs and into the house.

The kitchen was spotless.

No Jane.

“Jane?” he yelled.

Nothing.

He took the stairs two at a time and swore as he spotted her, bent over in front of him, washing the floor with a rag.

He gulped. “No mops?”

Her ass was pointed straight at him, and so help him God he wanted to take a bite out of it. He gripped the wall with one hand and let out a rough exhale.

“This hard wood deserves more attention than a simple mop. I want to get in all the crevices.” She didn’t stop moving her hands back and forth.

His dick ached with each movement, as if she was stroking him instead of the wood. What the hell was it about this woman? This small, intimidating woman with her silky brown hair and chocolate eyes?

She let out a little grunt, turning on her hands and knees to get the section directly in front of his feet, and slowly she raised her head, cheeks flushed.

His breathing slowed as she moved one hand back and forth across the wood, and the smell of lemon soap and water filled his nostrils as he watched her work. Pieces of hair poked out of her bun, kissing her neck and shoulders. Her hand moved a bit faster.

He clenched his free hand into a fist.

She was stunning.

From her freckles to her toes.

Damn it.

“You’re really good at that.” Brock wanted to slap himself in the face, or run headfirst into the wall. Did he really just say that out loud?

She smiled. “Cleaning hard wood?”

Hard wood. Yeah, his wood was definitely hard. Fuck. If he kept watching, he was going to explode on the spot, like a teenage boy.

“Cleaning,” he said with a rasp.

“I love it.” She smiled down at the floor, her body visibly relaxing. “I know some people think it’s demeaning, but there’s nothing better than removing the dust and grime and seeing what’s beneath a dirty surface. There’s always something, you know? Something beautiful. No matter how it starts, it ends beautifully. I think objects deserve that, just…” She sighed. “Just like people.”

“You’re a fixer.” He almost groaned. Was
he
her next project?

“I like to think of myself as a helper. After all, you can’t fix others, only yourself.”

“And me?” He just had to ask as he leaned down to her level. “Am I worth cleaning up, you think?” He hated how vulnerable he sounded, how weak the question made him and how hungry he was for her response.

“Obviously.” She stopped moving her hand and glanced up at him. “Or you wouldn’t be brave enough to even ask.”

He leaned forward, cupping her face with his hand.

Her mouth trembled.

“Brock…”

“Don’t say no.”

“But—”

“Please?”

He lowered his head just as something bit him in the ass. Or pecked him. He fell against the couch with a curse.

“Forget to close the front door?” Jane asked in an amused voice.

He kicked toward the cock. “Go away!”

His volume seemed to only encourage the rooster as it made an ear-splitting noise and flapped toward him with a fury that would only be matched by Satan himself. Feathers puffed into the air with each angry flap.

“Son of a bitch!” Brock grabbed Jane’s hand and tried to run, but the floor was too wet. He went down, and took Jane with him.

The cock flew at them both.

A loud whistle stopped the rooster from killing them, and then another whistle had the cock turning around and flapping toward the stairway.

“Saved your life,” Bentley said in a bored tone. “But what can I say, I’m good with my cock.” He winked at Jane.

Brock offered Jane his hand but she was wincing as if she was in pain.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, but then pointed to her foot. “I think I may have twisted my ankle sometime between the cock rising into the air for the final kill and running to escape whatever swift death he had planned.”

“If I had a dollar…” Bentley joked, moving toward them over the slippery floor. He touched Jane’s ankle, giving Brock the sudden urge to growl and punch his brother in the face. “It’s starting to swell.”

“No!” Jane shoved him away. “I swear it’s fine. I can still work.” She tried to stand. “See? No problem!” Tears welled in her eyes.

Despite her claim, Brock lifted her into his arms and carried her into the master bedroom. “Bentley, get me some Advil and ice.”

“On it.” Bentley was immediately gone.

“Please.” Jane’s lower lip trembled. “I really want to stay and work, Please?”

Brock sighed. “Jane, you can’t work with a sprained ankle.”

“I can!” Her nostrils flared. “It’s just a stupid ankle. I’ll be fine.”

Brock pulled off her socks and made a face when he saw the purple and blue bruising that had already moved past her swollen ankle up to her calf. “Yeah, I’m going to have to say no.”

“But—”

“You need to stay off your feet.”

She sighed. “Fine. If you just help me pack my things, I can be gone this afternoon.”

He blinked in confusion. “To the hospital? I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“No.” She groaned, lying back against the pillows. “Home! I can’t do my job, therefore I can’t stay.”

“The hell you can’t,” Brock fired back. “I’m sure it will only take a few days to heal, which leaves you plenty of time to clean later, right?”

She worried her lower lip. “I guess. It’s just, it’s a really big house.”

“I think we can figure something out. After all, the twins are bored; why not let them help me clean while you heal up?”

Jane froze then licked her lips. “You? Clean?”

Brock tried not to be offended. “Of course I can clean! What do you think, I have a maid or something?”

She arched her eyebrows.

“Okay fine, I have maids, but how hard can it be?”

She glared.

“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, I can figure it out, it’s not rocket science.” He swore. “I’m not helping my case at all, am I?”

Jane shook her head and smiled.

“I respect what you do and I will try my hardest to be just as good when I rub out the wood.”

Jane giggled. “Rub out the wood?”

“Oh hell.” Brock groaned. “I meant scrub, clean.” His throat tightened as he swallowed and tried to get the vision of her on her hands and knees out of his mind.

“Sure you did.”

“Bentley!” Brock yelled. “Where are we with that ice?”

“Need to cool off?” Jane teased in a breathless voice. Her eyes were on his mouth. Maybe she was re-living the kiss just like he was—or anticipating more.

Brock eyed her up and down then swore. “You have no idea.”

J
ane smiled when Brock fussed over her ankle, making sure to put a towel between her skin and the ice pack. Truthfully, it hurt bad. Enough that every time she tried to stand to prove to them she was fine, a shot of pain would run up her leg, stealing her breath away.

All because of an out-of-control cock.

“I think he’s jealous of me,” Brock announced when he walked back into the room with a tray of food. “The cock, I mean.”

Jane grinned. “How do you figure?”

“Every time he gets really aggressive, it’s when I’m with you.”

“Has the cock always lived here?”

“Older than dirt, that cock.” Brock smirked. “My grandfather bought it to protect the hens, but it refused to stay in the henhouse. The damn thing used to strut around the ranch like he owned it. I honestly thought it would be dead by now, but apparently he’s as stubborn as Grandfather. You know how they say dogs resemble their owners? Clearly they’ve never met Diablo.”

“Diablo?” Jane asked. “You named the cock Diablo?”

“Satan sounded too tame and Beelzebub wasn’t quite strong enough, so Diablo it is. I figured if he had a name we could stop using the word ‘cock.’”

“You should make him a collar.”

“He’d be impossible to live with.” Brock’s smile was wide, and his dimples were wreaking havoc on her already weakened body. “Now, do you want cream and sugar in your coffee? Or black?”

“Black,” she rasped, reaching for the cup at the same time as Brock. Their fingers brushed, and she jerked back. “Sorry.”

“I’m not going to toss it in your face if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She went with it; better she let him assume she was still afraid he hated her than admit that she was so attracted to him she wasn’t sure how to breathe sometimes when he looked at her the way he was now. Like she existed, like she was important. “Sorry; old habits.”

He made a face and sipped some of his own coffee. “Do you want to…” He licked his full lips and ran his fingers through his long hair. “Shit.”

“Do I want to shit?” She giggled.

His face actually reddened a bit. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.”

“Someone’s feeling better.”

“Advil,” she lied. It was the company. Again, he didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah well, don’t put it past Bentley to try to sneak muscle relaxers into your food, or Molly.”

“Molly? You’re kidding.”

“Grandfather still claims the reason he went to the hospital was dehydration, not the drug; never mind that the drug causes dehydration.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Jane held up her hand. “Your grandfather? The one pushing eighty-two? Was taking Molly?”

Brock shrugged. “He was at a rave. I’ve learned not to ask questions.”

“But he’s old.”

“Doesn’t stop him from doing whatever the hell he wants, believe me.” Brock stared down into his coffee as if lost in his thoughts.

Jane wasn’t sure what to say. Bringing up the auction seemed like a bad idea. She didn’t want a reminder that he was going to be with someone else, and that someone else wasn’t her. The last thing she wanted was for Brock to be thinking about it, too.

Because for a few brief moments today, she’d imagined what it would be like to share more kisses in the kitchen. She’d even get chased by Diablo every day if it meant she could be with someone like him.

She pushed the thought away, because that was all it was—a fleeting thought that could so easily turn into a dream, which meant that when it didn’t come true, it would hurt.

She shivered.

“Are you cold?” Brock quickly stood and walked over to the chair, grabbing a large blanket and tucking it around her body.

“You don’t have to stay, you know.” She kept her voice even. “I know you probably want to relax and…” She lifted a shoulder into the air, not finishing her thought.

“Diablo’s blocking the door,” Brock said. “And the twins are making dinner. Actually, Bentley’s eating the dinner Brant’s trying to make. The point is, I have all the time in the world.”

And he was spending it with her.

She chewed her bottom lip as his gaze lowered.

“Checkers?” she blurted.

Brock’s expression relaxed. “Sure. Just don’t get mad when I kick your ass.”

“Hmm. What do I get if I win?”

“Oh, she likes to gamble.” He flashed her a tempting smile that she felt all the way down to her toes. “If you win I’ll give you one favor. You can ask for anything but money.”

“I would never ask for money.” She said in a horrified voice.

Brock studied her with an intensity that had her nearly squirming in her own skin. “I know.”

She broke eye contact. “And if you win, I’ll give you a favor. Clearly you can’t ask for money because I don’t have any.”

“I would never take money from a woman anyway.”

“You’re making me want to bet money now.” She snorted.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” He winked. “All right, let’s play.”

She nodded and rubbed her hands together. “Prepare to have your world rocked.”

Jane could have sworn she heard him whisper under his breath. “Too late.”