The Bachelor Auction (The Bachelors of Arizona Book 1) (16 page)

B
rock couldn’t get the afternoon ride out of his mind. They’d returned to the house soaking wet, and while the twins both gave them looks of complete innocence, he knew better. Hell, he knew their minds sometimes better than he knew his own.

Sending them off had been a complete set-up.

To get them out of the house and alone together.

A set-up he was grateful for and had desperately needed.

He just didn’t know what the next move should be. He knew what he wanted it to be, but ignoring the future was like ignoring a burning house— eventually it was going to crumble around you. And the last thing he wanted was to take her down in the same flames that were going to consume him.

His thoughts darkened, and by the time he was done showering, it was already nearing dinnertime.

Laughter from downstairs gave him pause. The house used to have laughter; hell, it had been filled with it, overflowing to the brim. In fact, nearly all of his memories from before the accident—if he let himself go there—were of laughter.

Memories that no longer refused to stay buried.

But he was starting to realize it wasn’t necessarily his presence in the house that was causing them to resurface—but hers.

She brought life back to death.

Didn’t she say that was her specialty? Looking at something that others would pass by, picking it up, cleaning it, and making it shine?

His gut still clenched when he thought about his parents’ deaths, about his grandfather’s orders to marry one of the women of his choosing.

But it was better.

For the first time since he was twelve, it was better.

He took the stairs a few at a time and frowned when he saw that Brant and Bentley both had their bags by the door and were hugging Jane.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” she asked, her expression sad, causing a little kick to Brock’s chest.

“Sorry, beautiful.” Bentley winked. “We’ve got women to conquer, millions to make, a world to take over.”

Brock rolled his eyes.

Brant barked out a laugh. “Roughly translated, we’ve been summoned by Grandfather.”

“Oh?” Brock asked as he walked into the room. “And what does his highness need?”

“More grandsons to torture. Apparently he’s got last-minute auction crap he wants us to take care of,” Brant grumbled. “Shit-for-brains Bentley volunteered us.”

Bentley rolled his eyes. “The worst he can do is auction one of us off like he’s going to do with Brock.”

Jane’s smile was sad as she glanced down at the floor. “Well, it was really fun. I’m…I’ll miss you guys.”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t good-bye.” Brant kissed her hand. “Just good-bye for now. Oh, and you can’t collect Brock’s life insurance unless you’re married, so my suggestion is to get hitched before you smother him with a pillow. At least fifty million. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Great,” Brock said through clenched teeth. “Thanks, guys.”

“Any time,” Bentley said brightly. “Bye, man. I trust you’ll be on your best behavior?”

“When is he not?” Brant piped up immediately. “Boring Brock would never do anything to disappoint the family, would you?”

Anger surged, bubbling to the surface as Brock clenched his fists and gritted his teeth.

“That’s what I thought.” Brant nodded with a smirk. “See ya!”

The screen door slammed.

His brothers were gone.

But as the car started pulling away in the driveway, his anger grew: the anger that he had no control over his life, that in a couple of weeks he would get the same summons, that he had been living this way since he was twelve.

“They’re gone.” Jane came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

Brock let out a pitiful groan and closed his eyes. “We’re alone.”

“It would seem so. I guess I should get back to cleaning then,” she said in a teasing voice as she pulled her arms away.

He caught her hands and twisted around to face her. “No.”

Damn, that word felt good.

“Did you just fire me?”

“No, I’m”—he gripped her chin with his thumb and forefinger—“I’m re-assigning your duties.”

She winced.

“That came out wrong.”

“Just a little.”

“Jane, I…” He slid his fingers down her neck. “Tell me you want this, too.”

“Yes.”

Never had “yes” sounded or felt so good. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and took a step back. “Good, then you have two minutes to remove every stitch of clothing on your body and meet me in my room.”

Jane gaped and then narrowed her eyes. “What? No please?”

“Now.” His voice lowered. “Please.”

His voice wasn’t soothing; it wasn’t inquiring. He was taking control.

And it felt incredible.

“Jane.” His eyebrows rose. “You have ninety seconds.”

She hobbled out of the room with a laugh and up the stairs just as a smirk spread across his face.

His phone went off in his pocket.

He glanced down at the text from Bentley.

Don’t be a yes man…unless you’re looking in the mirror, then say yes. Or with Jane. Say yes with Jane. We’ll keep Grandfather occupied.

Well, maybe his brothers were good for something.

He stared at his phone then put it back in his pocket, and then very slowly took the stairs one at a time, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it before walking into the bedroom.

Even though he’d told her what he wanted, he was surprised to see Jane waiting for him, completely naked as requested, a stern expression on her face. It was cute as hell, and he found himself falling a little bit harder in that moment as she arched an eyebrow. Then he noticed she was trembling slightly.

He prayed this wouldn’t end badly.

For either of them.

Because his heart was already invested—and if hers wasn’t, he was going to try his damnedest to convince it to beat for him.

J
ane shivered as Brock’s gaze darkened. His slow perusal of her body left her feeling so nervous she almost ran into the bathroom and slammed the door.

She was shy!

She didn’t normally take chances or strip naked because a man had asked her to.

What the heck was she doing? Standing naked in front of Brock, a man she’d only known a few days.

This wasn’t like her.

But he made her feel brave.

He made her feel like he was someone she’d been searching for her whole life.

“You’re beautiful.” He took a step forward, his abs flexing with each inhale. He was shirtless, all golden skin and muscles

“Wait.” She quickly covered herself up, then slowly removed her hands and sighed. “I uh, we need some sort of…rules or something.”

“No.” He said it so quickly that she nearly stumbled backward. Then he ran his large hands across her shoulders and lower, cupping her breasts gently before moving his fingers down to her hips and pulling her body against his. “Do you want this?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then that’s all that matters.” He captured her mouth again and again, his kiss going from aggressive to soft in a matter of seconds. His hands spread across her ass, fingers flexing against her skin as he deepened the kiss, his lips hungry in their pursuit.

He kissed her like he wanted her.

He touched her like he couldn’t get enough of her.

Jane reached up to touch his face. A shadow of a beard was already making an appearance, giving his skin an erotic roughness that made her clench her thighs together.

A small area of chest hair drew her attention away from his face. She trailed a finger down the middle of two impressive pecs to his perfectly chiseled abs. They didn’t make men like Brock anymore, ones who weren’t waxed and fake, or so thin and wiry that a curvy woman would be afraid of breaking them.

In his arms, she was small, perfect.

“Keep doing that and this is going to be over really fast,” he grumbled as she trailed her hands along his sides.

“Sorry.” She gulped. “I guess I didn’t think my touch would cause—”

“This.” He grabbed her hand and pressed it against his erection. “But it’s more than your touch; it’s every damn conversation, every look, every smile, causes this painful need to be inside you, to fuck society and my grandfather and every other person on this godforsaken planet that dares to tell me what I should be doing with my life rather than being in this bedroom, right now, with the only woman who’s ever made me want to say no.”

With each word, he seemed to grow beneath her hand, until she was sure he was going to spring free from his jeans.

With a gruff curse, he backed away from her and swallowed. “You do that to me. Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”

“I do,” she whispered.

He reached for her hips and then slid his hand between her thighs. She let out a moan. “You feel so good.”

“Let me make love to you.” His voice had changed, shifted, as his fingers started to press into her. “Please?”

Another jerky nod and then she was reaching for the button of his jeans, helping him undress while standing there like a naked hussy.

He shoved off the jeans, almost stumbling into her in an effort to be free from them. His boxers were next.

“Come here,” he growled, his mouth hot on her neck. He pinned her hands back against one of the bedposts as he took a nipple into his mouth and sucked. Her back pressed against the hard post as he assaulted her with his mouth making it impossible for her to escape.

She’d always been insecure about her breasts, thinking they were too small for her curvy body. In fact she’d been insecure about everything.

But Brock didn’t seem to mind.

Not at all.

And in the process of him kissing her, touching her, she realized she didn’t mind either; not at all.

His face was rough, the friction of it against her skin was one of the most erotic things she’d ever experienced. It was hard to remain standing with all the wonderful sensations flowing through her, and she started to tremble.

“I’m just getting started.” He kissed down her stomach, and his gaze moved over her body in what looked like reverence.

Apprehensive, she watched as he knelt in front of her, a wicked grin on his face.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“You should watch,” was his answer, right before he lowered his mouth between her thighs.

“No.” She squeezed her legs shut.

It was a bad idea.

But she didn’t know that until he reached between her legs again and hooked one over his large shoulder, holding it down, giving him a better angle, making it impossible for her to think as his tongue tasted the most sensitive part of her.

What was she doing?

She was so exposed!

But it felt. So. Good.

Her hips ground against him, her nails dug into his shoulders, both pushing him away and pulling him closer.

He wasn’t just kissing or exploring her, but sucking, coaxing, making her so unaware of her surroundings that all she could focus on was him, and how he made her feel.

A wave of anxiety was replaced with pleasure as her body pulsed with the rhythm of his mouth.

And then, she broke.

Shattering not just everything she knew about herself, or about sex, but about how it should feel.

With the right person.

With Brock.

His mouth slid to her right thigh as he released her leg.

“I’m not done,” he said, and tremors of pleasure still rocked through her as he slowly backed her up to the bed and lifted her onto it. “Lay down.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. The minute she laid down she jerked his head toward hers, kissing him as hard as she could, sucking his lips between her teeth.

He let out a hiss, deepening the kiss with so much aggression it was almost painful.

“Brock…” She clung to him as if her life depended on it. “I want more.”

His eyes darkened. He pulled away from her and grabbed his jeans. Her heart sank in disappointment; was he leaving? Rejection washed over her, immediately followed by shame.

And then he pulled something out of his pocket.

She was an idiot.

He glanced up at her, taking in her worried expression. “Jane, I wasn’t leaving. I just don’t think an unplanned pregnancy should be part of this plan.”

She just nodded, feeling too stupid to actually use words.

“Hey, look at me.” He cupped her face. “Only a complete idiot would walk out of this room right now.”

“Which is why it’s so surprising you’re still here,” she teased, finding her voice.

He grinned. “Cute.”

“I thought so.”

His eyes flashed as he tapped the packet against his fingertips, “Now, stop talking so I can keep exploring, because we have all night, and I’m not nearly as tired or hungry as I thought I was.”

“You ate?” she asked, confused.

He glanced down at her naked body. “I had a really, really sweet appetizer.” His mouth found hers again. “But I’m a glutton, and I want the main course.”

Maybe weeks from now she’d regret this.

But now she nodded and whispered. “Then take it.”

H
e was going to burn in hell for all the things he wanted to do to her…for the things that he was
going
to do to her.

God, he loved her hips; they fit his hands perfectly. He could spend years getting lost in her curves, in the way she responded with little moans and gasps.

Most of the women he had been with had been older, experienced, jaded, meaning they faked orgasms and screamed so loud you’d think that they were trying to get a part in the next Fifty Shades movie.

Jane’s responses were genuine.

This girl, that had held him at gunpoint, called him old, and laughed when he said he’d clean.

His girl.

Possessiveness washed over him as he slid the condom on and watched her eyes grow big. She was nervous.

“Stay with me,” he whispered as gently as he could, because, really, truth be told, he was dying, dying to be inside her, dying to feel her, dying to watch her fall apart.

She responded with a jerky nod and he cupped her face, capturing her lips again and again. They were red and swollen, and her cheeks were flushed from rubbing against his face.

He had already marked her.

He wanted to howl.

Or at least pounce on her and claim her. It was absolutely primitive, the way that he wanted to make every male in the world aware that she was his.

“Relax,” he soothed. He could feel the tension flowing off her, and he could only assume it was because she felt it, too. He knew this thing between them wasn’t just about sex. These weren’t fleeting emotions that would just go away.

His teeth captured her earlobe before he kissed his way down her neck. Slowly, he pressed himself inside her tight entrance, nearly blacking out as her body bucked off the bed. A moan of pleasure escaped her lips as she hooked her ankles behind his back.

She was scorching.

Burning him inch by inch as he gritted his teeth and kept himself from thrusting completely into her and breaking her in half.

“You’re so…hard.” She exhaled with what he hoped was a satisfied sigh.

“Kind of the point.” He let out a dark laugh. “But glad you approve.”

“I do.” She returned his kiss, grabbing his face, losing complete control as her hips bucked against his.

Brock Wellington was a man of complete control.

A man who knew what was expected of him.

Brock Wellington died in that moment, and was replaced quite possibly with the man he was always supposed to be. Crazed, passionate, slightly drunk on the feeling of the perfect woman in his arms… His destiny felt altered, his world changed.

She met each thrust, her nails digging into his skin as her head fell back against the pillows, her body arching into his, responding, pulling him tighter inside her heat.

Jane let out a gasp as he filled her one last time and stopped—his body throbbing for release.

It was a moment he wished he freeze in time—the look on her face, the feel of her body beneath his, and the absolute certainty he felt in his heart that this was exactly the future he wanted—for both of them.

A future together.

When her eyes opened, he found he couldn’t hold back, not anymore, as with one last thrust she found her release.

His orgasm followed immediately after, and he yelled the first “yes” he’d ever really meant.

For her.

For them.

Brock looked down at Jane, kissed her softly, then smiled.

“What?” She was out of breath. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Because.” He shrugged. “We still have nine days alone, unless you count the animals, but I’m going to be more careful about locking doors from here on out.”

“Oh.” She nodded. “So we’re going to have sex like nine more times? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Nine? Woman, you’ll be lucky to get any work done outside of this bedroom for the next two weeks.”

“Oh, no.” Her face fell in mock sincerity. “I hope my employer won’t be angry with me.”

“He may punish you.” Brock kept a straight face. “Hard time in the bedroom for not cleaning the bathrooms just right.”

She smirked. “Slave driver.”

“He really is.”

She fell into a fit of laughter when he slapped her ass playfully then rose from the bed to grab a towel and start the shower.

They both needed to wash off the sweat and everything else.

He was in his room, so he at least had clothes at hand, but she would want to put on something comfortable.

“Be right back,” he called over his shoulder while she stretched out on the bed. Damn it, he was ready for her again.

He quickly ran into her room in search of sweats or something she could wear so that she wouldn’t have to run around naked—even though that’s exactly what he wanted. But he knew she’d want to be comfortable, or maybe he just wanted her to be comfortable. Because suddenly all that mattered was her.

His eyes locked on the dresser. He walked over and opened the top drawer and cursed as he pulled the drawer out far enough that it fell.

Jane came running at the sound, a towel wrapped around her body. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“Get out,” he whispered.

“But—”

“I said”—he rasped—“get the hell out!
Now
!” He kicked the dresser. Jane’s perfume flew off the top, smashing at his feet, filling the room with her scent.

Her eyes filled with tears.

And she ran.

Good. She should run.

He couldn’t control the rage that filled him. Bracing himself against the dresser he looked down at the drawer.

It never occurred to him that his grandfather would keep things. Keep memories, store them away for Brock to find.

Plaid shirts.

Harmless plaid shirts.

And stuck between them, the stuffed dog his dad had given him—the day before he’d died.

The day of the fight.

“But I don’t want to!” Brock had yelled. “You can’t make us move to California! I belong here!”

His father sighed. “Brock, it’s my responsibility to keep my word to your grandfather and he needs someone in the LA office.”

“Fine.” Brock crossed his arms, “Then you go! I’m staying here!” He threw the stuffed dog his father had given him back into his face. “No!” He stomped his foot. “I won’t go. I hate you! I hate you!”

His parents died the very next day.

He fell to his knees amidst the broken picture frames that had joined the smashed perfume bottles on the floor and didn’t even care that shards of glass were piercing his skin. He welcomed the pain.

The ghosts were free.

And they were relentless.

His parents were gone.

All he had was his grandfather

And his brothers.

Life would be so much easier if there was a map to get through it, but when he wasn’t given one, he’d followed the only family he had left.

And was led to this place.

A crossroads.

He knelt amidst the broken glass and memories for the next hour, feeling guilty as hell, and sad.

Because that was the thing about death.

It haunted the living.

Until they mourned it.

And the more it was ignored.

The bigger it grew.

Until survival was damn near impossible.

It loomed over Brock’s body like a vicious storm, and he didn’t have a damn clue how to get over it.

Which was why he said the yes.

His yes’s were because of this stupid stuffed animal.

And the picture.

He held onto them for dear life and stared.

An hour later, he realized that Jane had returned, and put a blanket over his shoulders.

When he finally acknowledged her, she handed him a mug of something and lifted a shoulder. “I made it a double.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“No, I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know.” Her smile wasn’t present—her strength, however, she wore like a beautiful suit of shiny armor.

“It’s not you.”

“Drink the whisky, Brock.”

He sighed and took the mug. “Yes, ma’am.”

The grandfather clock chimed from downstairs as if to remind them that time wasn’t exactly in their favor. They shared a look as Jane reached across the space between them and gave him her hand.