The Bachelor Auction (The Bachelors of Arizona Book 1) (13 page)

T
he next morning, Brock yawned over his scrambled eggs and toast, then yawned again as he took a long draw of coffee, and one last time as he stabbed his sausage with a fork.

“Long night?” Bentley said with a grin. “Dreaming about all the possibilities that didn’t actually happen? Dancing like little erotic ballerinas in your head? Ones who rhyme with shame? Lame? Game?”

Brock let out a grunt and flipped off his brother just as Brant helped Jane to the table. Brock nearly jumped to his feet, knocking his chair backward against the floor. “You’re up?”

Jane thanked Brant by kissing him on the cheek, and sat in the chair across from Brock.
The rutting bastard
, thought Brock. “Yes, sorry I slept in.”

Damn, if that’s what sleeping in looks like, sign me up
. From her bright chocolate eyes to the pink spreading across her cheekbones, she looked stunning.

He gripped his fork so damn hard he was surprised it didn’t bend in half.

“Pity, it’s such nice silverware, too. Some might say an antique.” Bentley grinned at Brock’s hand while Jane gave them both a confused look.

“You clearly slept well, my beautiful, sexy, sweet—” Bentley stopped talking the minute Brock slid a knife toward him and glared. “Jane?”

“It’s too early for violence,” Brant muttered.

“Um, I slept okay.” Jane stared down at her empty plate, a smile curving her lips like she was keeping a secret.

Brock found himself grinning at her, like he had a right to, like he’d spent the night in her arms, when really he’d taken a cold shower and slept with half a bottle of whiskey. Thus the hangover currently pounding on both sides of his head.

“Glad to hear it,” Bentley sighed. “I was worried you’d be all hot and bothered.” He paused, sharing a look with Brock. “You know, because of all the blankets I’m sure this jackass piled on top of you before abandoning you.”

“Oh, Brock didn’t abandon me.” Jane shrugged. “We shared a midnight drink last night.”

“No,” Brant said in a dry tone. “That’s a shock. What did he do? Pound down your door and demand you pour whiskey into his cup because he lacks the intelligence to do it himself?”

Brock groaned. “I don’t know why I put up with either of you.”

“Family sticks together,” Bentley pointed out. “Just ask Grandfather.”

The room fell silent and tense.

“Jane.” Suddenly desperate to spend more time with her away from his brothers—even though he knew nothing could come of it—he stood. “Why don’t you eat a few more bites and I’ll start the cleaning.”

Bentley choked on his coffee while Brant hid a laugh behind his hand.

“What?” Brock shrugged. “I’m going to help her. What are you jackasses going to do? Take a selfie and post it on Instagram?”

Bennett removed his hand from his mouth. “Did you just say selfie?”

“Does he even know what Instagram is?” Bentley added. “Jane, do me a solid; check the window and see if one of the pigs is flying.”

Brock clenched his teeth. “I know about Instagram. I just choose not to take pictures of myself with the world’s longest selfie stick!”

“Known as my penis.” Bentley grinned then raised his hand for a high five. Brant hit it and gave Brock an apologetic look while Jane burst out laughing.

Great; he was back to being Boring Brock, getting offended and uncomfortable while his brothers laughed at his expense.

“Why don’t you start with the game room?” Jane said, completely ignoring his brothers. “And I’ll have one of the guys help me up.”

The hell they would.

Brock sat. “I’ll wait.”

“’Course he will.” Brant sighed. “Have you even fed the animals yet today?”

Brock gave them a blank stare.

“Fine.” Bentley stood. “We’ll do it. We’ll start with the pigs. But if you hear screaming you better come running. I’ve heard they eat humans, and I can’t promise I won’t accidentally push Brant into the mud for a photo op.”

“It may be worth all the comments.” Brant nodded thoughtfully. “Think of all the sex I would get. I’d be a hero.”

“Yes.” Bentley blinked in confusion. “A hero for surviving a pig attack. God, I can see the headlines now! Millionaire falls into pigpen, gets up, and walks right out! MIRACLE!”

Brant slapped him on the back of the head as they both made their way slowly out of the kitchen and out of the house. The screen door slammed behind them.

Jane was still staring after them when Brock piled food high onto her plate. “Eat.”

“Am I eating for five people?”

He felt himself tense. “No, I just… You’re small, you need…” Why was he so bad with the words? Why? “Fat.”

“I need fat,” she replied.

He winced. “Something like that.”

“Okay.” She pressed her lips together as though she was trying to suppress a smile. “Then fat it is.” Poking her fork into a grease-laden sausage, she devoured half her plate before finally announcing she was done and that he might need his brothers’ help getting her upstairs.

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

Jane made a face. “Are you sure? Because I just ate enough for three people. I really didn’t mean to take you up on the whole fat-eating but the food was incredible!” Jane seemed giddy; her face lit up like she’d just been taken to the most expensive restaurant in the world. “It’s just, nobody ever cooks for me. The last person to make me breakfast was my—”

As if he’d just been sucker-punched, Brock’s breath stilled. “Your boyfriend?”

After a pause where he prayed to God he was wrong, she answered.

“Mother.” Jane licked her lips, a nervous habit he was coming to despise since it reminded him of kissing her. “She was big into waffles every Monday morning, and during the week she made sausage and pancakes. French toast was always my favorite.” She straightened her shoulders and then wiped underneath her eyes. “Her name was Rosie. She died…from cancer. It was a long time ago but a girl always wants her mother, you know?”

Of course he knew.

He knew because a boy needed his father.

He thought that might be why he’d latched onto his grandfather so completely.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Like I said, it was a long time ago. I just…” Her sadness shifted to a smile. “I have a soft spot for waffles.”

Brock stored that information for later.

Damn it, he’d cook for her every day if he got that reaction. Maybe he didn’t need to be a poet or a wordsmith around Jane; maybe relating to Jane, getting her to like him, had more to do with action.

Action he could do.

After all, his brothers were the talkers.

He’d always been the doer.

His thoughts jumbled as he realized he was no longer flirting with the idea of pursuing her, but actively conjuring up a way to seduce her.

J
ane tried to calm her jittery stomach while Brock put on HGTV without her even asking, and then wrapped a blanket around her while he grabbed her cleaning supplies and got to work.

He stared down at the supplies like he wasn’t sure which to use first and then glanced over his shoulder and winked at her. His expression changed as he took two steps toward her and then pulled the blanket over her feet making sure they were completely covered-as if she could catch a chill with a man like him paying attention to her.

“Are you comfortable enough?” His eyebrows drew together as he leaned over her, his massive frame dwarfing hers. “Do you have everything you need?” He seemed genuinely concerned as he reached for her ankle but then pulled back and looked away.

“I’m…perfect,” she whispered. “And thanks to you, wrapped up like a burrito.”

The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile as he backed off and went back to the cleaning supplies.

Sure, her favorite channel was on.

But Brock was cleaning.

And she was supervising.

Muscles flexed beneath his black T-shirt as he moved around the room, first vacuuming—sending her apologetic looks every time he got close to her and the TV—and next, grabbing Windex and starting in on the windows.

The room was so dusty he’d need to vacuum twice.

But she didn’t want to tell him that. In fact, it would have been smarter for him to vacuum last, but again, interrupting the dream currently taking place in front of her very eyes seemed like a stupid idea.

He didn’t move fast.

He wasn’t graceful.

But he moved with a purpose, like he’d been given an important job and he was going to see it through. Her entire body clenched as his large hands moved across the glass, muscles still flexing. She almost wondered if the windows were going to crack under the pressure; it wasn’t as if he had a light touch.

Though she knew him capable of one.

Shivering, she pulled the blanket closer.

Why was he even helping her?

Was it out of pity? Or because he really did want her company? Maybe he even blamed himself for the rooster attack?

“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.”