The Bachelor Auction (The Bachelors of Arizona Book 1) (22 page)

B
rock woke up to the piercing sound of a rooster. The cock was even invading his dreams now.

Fantastic.

“Wake up!” A pillow slammed across his face.

Twice.

On the third swing, he grabbed it and the person attached to it, shoving them off the bed and onto the floor.

Brant let out a curse. “See if I ever make you coffee again.”

“You made coffee? Do you even know how?”

“It was touch and go for a few seconds before I finally just walked to Starbucks.” He shrugged. “But it’s basically the same thing.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Thank you.” Brant seemed genuinely touched by the insult.

Brock rolled his eyes. “Someone better be dying and why the hell did I hear a rooster?”

Brant held up his phone. “Farm animal app. I’m thinking of buying the company.”

“Please don’t,” Brock grumbled as he got to his feet.

They walked into the kitchen where Bentley was reading the paper.

“Why are you guys always at my house?” Brock snatched a piece of fruit as Bentley slid him his coffee. “Seriously, are you that lonely?”

“Yes,” Bentley said without looking up from the paper. “That’s why we bother you, because we’re lonely.” He smirked. “It’s more like…” After a long drawn-out sigh, he held out his hands. “We made the mistake of bringing some girls home and…” He flipped his hand into the air. “We may have swapped girls in the middle of the night.”

“Oldest trick in the book,” Brant snorted.

“Right,” Bentley agreed. “But somehow they found out and once we asked them to leave…all hell broke loose. One of them started smashing wine bottles on the floor then chucked one at my head.”

Brant bit out a curse while Bentley kept on talking. “We finally got them to leave, but one of them came back and our doorman let her up, the bastard. She spray-painted
WHORE
in bright red graffiti across our doors.”

Brock let out a low laugh. “Oh, that’s fantastic. So your apartments are shame prisons?”

“Basically.” Bentley didn’t look apologetic. “So we’re going to hang with you until things die down. I mean, they’ll get over it; they always do.”

Sighing, Brock took a long drink of coffee and set his cup back down on the table. “You guys can’t keep going on like this.”

“Sure we can.” Brant finally set the paper down. “After all, my life goal includes dying of heart failure during sex.”

“It’s good to have dreams.” Bentley burst out laughing.

“Both of you are going to burn in hell.” Brock snorted.

“Hopefully Grandfather will have paved the way by then.” Bent smirked. “Now, are you ready for tonight?”

Brock paused, his coffee in midair. “I think so; as ready as I’ll ever be. Grandfather doesn’t know what’s going on; he just knows I’m going to try and keep my word to him while still trying to be with Jane. God, I hope that Nadine holds up her end of the bargain.”

“She will.” Brant came around the table and sat, propping his legs up on the chair across from him. “She’s obsessed with a good love story. Her poor grandsons are proof of that. The woman kidnapped a state senator in the name of love. This? This should be a walk in the park for her.”

“Are you going to make a speech before all hell breaks loose? Or just lay it all out there?” Bentley asked.

Brock rolled his eyes. “I have a plan. I’m sticking with it. The end goal is Jane. Anything beyond that? A fucking speech to make people happy? I’m over it. I want her and I’ve found a way to get her and to make sure that Grandfather’s happy. She needs to know I love her. That’s all that matters now.”

The doorbell suddenly rang and Brock cursed as he stomped over to the door, jerking it open.

“Delivery for Brock Wellington.” The messenger had a giant black box. “Just sign here.”

Brock signed and brought the box into the house, closing the door behind him.

He opened the box and saw…plaid.

“What the hell is that?” Brant pointed.

Frowning, Brock picked up the homemade plaid pillow and inhaled. It smelled exactly like his father. They were his old shirts.

The ones from the ranch.

A note was stuck between the pillows.

Fingers trembling, Brock dropped the note and took a step back. She’d done this. For him.

She loved him.

“She loves me,” he repeated out loud. “God, I couldn’t stand another day of this secrecy.”

He was having a hard time breathing—swallowing—functioning as a normal human being. All he could do was stare at the box and wonder how in the hell he was going to be able to wait another eight hours until he saw her again.

And tell her how he felt.

And choose her.

For all the world to see.

Funny, how bidders had donated hundreds of thousands of dollars to be at his side, but what she offered him was more priceless.

Because she was the only woman who had offered something money couldn’t buy.

Her heart.

J
ane gaped at the glam squad currently setting up around her living room. A hairstylist, a makeup artist, and two other people who looked like their assistants were all running around in a rush of excitement.

A glass of champagne was thrust into her hand and then she was shoved into a tall makeup chair, bright lights turned toward her.

“Hmm…” The girl doing her makeup frowned. “The lighting isn’t good enough. Someone open up the blinds and a window or something.”

A window was opened.

Fresh air blasted in.

Finally, Jane relaxed and let out a sigh.

Getting her makeup done was going to be a dream. She’d never had it done before and—

A second team arrived.

They all had white coats on.

A terrifying hush came over the room.

“She a virgin?” One asked in a cheerful voice.

All eyes fell to her.

“No,” Jane said in a quiet voice.

“Waxing virgin,” Another man clarified, eying her up and down with excitement.

“Waxing? What do you mean, waxing?”

Several people chuckled and then her real hell began.

She was waxed within an inch of her life; at one point tears welled in her eyes. When she complained the esthetician simply held her down and said, “You’ll be fine.”

“The hell I will!” she roared.

“We’ve got a screamer,” the esthetician said through clenched teeth as another woman entered the living room. She helped to hold down Jane’s legs.

“Is this legal?” Jane exclaimed.

“Don’t make us bring the duct tape. I’ve done it before. I don’t want to have to resort to it again.” The woman had a terrifying eyebrow arch that just wouldn’t quit.

And she was only half done.

The last thing she needed, Jane concluded, was to be hairy on one side of her body and smooth on the other.

The anticipation was the worst part. She jumped every time the sugar wax ball thingy was applied, mainly because every time it was spread on her skin it tugged hair and then tugged again.

Two tugs.

So help her God, she was going to die on the waxing table.

She shivered as another tug nearly sent her into a screaming fit. Women did this? And paid actual money for it?

“Don’t move unless you want the sculpting and shading to be off,” the woman doing her makeup snapped once she was off the waxing table and in the makeup chair.

Was everyone grumpy in the beauty industry? Was that a thing?

Just as she was relaxing again, a brush tugged at her head. “We’re running out of time. I need to start in on this…mess.”

The lady applying her makeup snorted. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey!” Jane said, and another hard tug had her eyes watering.

“It’s a lot of hair.” The man ran the brush from root to tip. “But silver lining, it’s really healthy.”

“I don’t dye it,” Jane said proudly.

“Oh honey, we know.” The makeup artist smiled. “It’s virgin hair. I can spot it a mile away.”

“Is—is that bad?” Jane self-consciously tugged a few strands.

The makeup artist laughed loudly. “No, it just means no hair stylist is going to want to be your first… Too much pressure.” She scrunched up her nose. “Now, slump your shoulders again and I’m putting you in the harness.”

“There’s a harness?” Jane squeaked.

The makeup artist nodded. “It’s in my trunk.”

“Okay, then.” Jane held as straight and still as she could, hardly breathing as the woman did her makeup and the mean, demon-possessed man brushed out her hair.

It was going to be a really long afternoon.

When Bentley said he’d pick her up at six, what he’d really meant was that he was going to arrive at her house around five-thirty, bring his own champagne, pour himself a glass or two, and then yell at the makeup artist for making her look too beautiful.

He was just being Bentley. Which was a thing in and of itself. The more time she spent with him the more he felt like a brother. A really good-looking annoying older brother who liked to drink and hit on every female he saw.

She had no way of even knowing what she looked like. The team had refused to let her see a mirror. Satan’s minions simply said that they were under strict instructions to keep her away from every shiny surface.

Which of course meant that she had three of the squad, the guy included, helping her into her dress.

Nothing about her body was left to the imagination.

Nothing.

Not one small bit.

Her shame was complete when Doug, the hairstylist, was pulling at the skirt of her dress and wanted to make sure that the lining was pulled tight enough so it didn’t wrinkle.

Why did it matter?

She’d actually asked that out loud and gained nothing but shocked silence.

They weren’t human, these people. They seemed to express emotion only toward inanimate objects: the curling iron, for example. Doug went on and on about its technology for at least a half hour while her makeup artist Leah gasped and moaned like she was…well, like she was having a sexual experience or something.

Doug was lucky to still have a head.

Considering it had been between her thighs about ten minutes earlier, inspecting.

When she’d said something about him looking in places he shouldn’t look he very loudly told her she had the wrong equipment to attract him.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view.” He slapped her thigh, making her shame complete.

“Stop!” Leah sighed. “You’ll make her get all flushed and I did a damn good job on her makeup!”

“Sorry.” Doug made his way out from underneath her dress and smiled brightly, his white teeth nearly blinding as he ran a hand over his shaved and tattooed head. “You look killer.”

“Thanks.” Jane felt a laugh bubble up inside her. “Can I see myself now?”

“Aw, sweetie.” Doug lifted her chin with a single finger. “Not a chance in hell. Now off you go!”

“Off?”

Bentley yelled from the kitchen. “She better be ready in five minutes!”

“Ready!” Jane called, turning the corner to find Bentley pouring another glass of champagne. He slowly examined her, his expression blank until his eyes landed on her face. He lifted the flute of champagne in a salute and chuckled darkly before handing her his glass.

“He’s going to lose his damn mind,” he whispered. “You know, I think I like this sneaking around business.”

“Oh?” Jane took a long sip of champagne then looped her hand through his arm.

“Yes.” Bentley nodded, then leaned in. “You sure you want Brock?”

“Positive.” She giggled.

“Fine.” He sighed. “Then I guess I’ll just have to pretend to be completely enamored with your sexy ass and gorgeous mouth.”

“If Brock heard you say that, he’d kill you.”

“Empty threats.” Bentley whispered in her ear. “Tonight, he’s going to fall to his knees.” He pulled back. “The man cares about you—and now? So will the rest of the world.”

Jane laughed nervously. “I hope you’re right about this. I trust you guys.”

“Good.” He eyed her up and down again. “Good.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he said quickly. Then his smile faded and he locked eyes with her. “Serious moment.”

“Um, okay.”

“You’re absolutely stunning. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. Hold your head high. You belong there. At Brock’s side.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak. Jane nodded and exhaled loudly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He held out his arm. “Now, let’s head to the carriage, Cinderella.”

Jane laughed as they walked outside, her heels making a clicking sound against the concrete as her gold dress swished over her hips. At least she knew the dress fit.

She’d picked it out.

It was a bold choice.

With its slit all the way up her left thigh, all she had to do was trip and people would get more than an eyeful.

The plunging neckline covered her breasts then twisted around to her back in a Grecian manner. Everything about the dress was elegant and simple, modern yet very romantic.

Maybe something Cinderella would wear in this century.

Her shoes were a matching gold-strapped sandal, a little high for her taste but still beautiful, with diamond-encrusted buckles across her ankles.

She was so busy looking down at her shoes that when she looked up she was momentarily stunned. “Is that…” She frowned. “Buttercup?”

“Shhh,” Bentley whispered. “She’s in costume.”

“Does she not like costumes?” Jane whispered back, momentarily wondering if she’d left her sanity back inside the house. Why were they whispering around the horse?

“She doesn’t want you to recognize her. Watch.” Bentley waved her off. “Oh, look yonder at that beautiful young stallion! Garbed in black and gold with the family crest on its noble hide!” Then the oddest thing happened; Buttercup lifted her head and stiffened into a pose with one leg lifted in the air, head held high.

“No way.” Jane’s eyes widened.

“She just wants to impress you. Wellingtons are proud that way.” Bentley nodded and eyed Jane up and down again, then said, “You’re absolutely positive you want the brooding brother? I mean…” He stood chest to chest with her. “Positive?”

His voice lowered.

He smelled amazing.

He wasn’t Brock.

“Yup!” She nodded.

“Had to offer you an out.” He sighed. “Now, let’s go.” The door to the gold carriage to which Buttercup had been tethered opened.

“It’s a real carriage.” Jane said dumbly, glancing around the open, gold-encrusted carriage. It was beautiful, like something you’d see in a historical movie.

Or read about in a book.

It was a real horse-drawn carriage. The seats were a plush black leather, there were two fur blankets with matching pillows on each seat, and it was painted a rich gold with a red ‘W’ in the middle of the door.

Sitting in the opposite seat was Brant. “Wow.” He smiled wickedly. “Brock’s going to lose his mind.”

“Thanks.” She blushed and took his hand as Bentley followed in after her. “So I get two dates tonight?”

“Brant doesn’t date.” Bentley said in a bored tone. “He doesn’t like getting women’s hopes up.”

“Seriously?” Jane frowned. “And one date is enough to make them think you’re going to marry them?”

At the mention of marriage Brant’s face darkened. He didn’t respond. Bentley cleared his throat and slowly shook his head.

Clearly there was a story there, one he didn’t want to tell.

“And now,” Bentley quickly changed the subject as the carriage started to move. “You have a gift.”

The box was simple.

Black.

She pulled off the lid and gasped.

A pair of glass high-heeled shoes twinkled in the moonlight. Black leather material was braided in an elegant design across the top of the shoe before adjoining the glass heel in the back.

A simple note rested on top of the shoes:

Her pearls sat neatly between the two shoes, set in the shape of a heart.

How had he gotten the pearls back from her sisters? Did it matter? Tears welled in her eyes. He’d said “love.”

Love.

And pearls.

And shoes.

More tears stung.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bentley laughed. “Instead of sending me for shoes, he went shopping all on his own.” More laughter. “Brock hates shopping. Looks like the jackass grew some balls.”

“Oh, he’s always had balls,” Jane said without thinking.

Brant snapped his attention back to her. “This is a fun topic, my brother’s balls.”

Her cheeks heated. “Let’s, uh, just put on the shoes. Or I’ll put on the shoes and…” She tried to reach her feet but her dress was too tight.

“You’re either going to rip your dress or flash us both, which will most likely earn both of us black eyes.” Brant rolled his eyes. “Here, let me help.”

“Thanks.” She beamed as Brant tugged off her heels and replaced them with the beautiful black and glass shoes that Brock had given her.

The shoes were beautiful.

But what made her smile was the fact that they were black. Had it only been a month ago when he’d teased her about black shoes and she’d blurted out information about her underwear?

“Damn, I’ve never seen a woman so thrilled to have a pair of shoes before,” Brant said under his breath.

“It’s not just the shoes. It’s what they represent.” She grinned. “I mean, the thought behind them.” Brant’s expression was completely blank. “Come on, haven’t you ever given someone a gift that held memories? Or a hidden meaning?”

Brant’s expression hardened before he offered an easy smile and looked out the window. “I don’t waste my time with gifts. Why should I when I’m never with the same woman more than once?”

Bentley laughed softly.

“We’re here.” Brant held out his hand to Jane and smiled. “You ready for this?”

The carriage stopped in front of Warehouse 215. The entire outside of the structure had been transformed with hanging candles and flowers, making the ambiance magical.

Bentley followed after them and grabbed her other hand. “I believe you have a prince to steal.”

Jane pressed a hand to her stomach. “That’s not making me feel any less nervous.”

The twins merely smiled and escorted her inside.

Directly into the arms of a woman she’d never seen before. She wore bright red lipstick and talked way too fast and before Jane knew what was happening she was showing her license to another lady, who double-checked her name on the guest list.

“Oh look, there you are!” Jane frowned at the flamboyantly dressed woman, who still held onto her arm. She examined the guest list and then nodded. “Okay, now everything looks ready to go!”

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” Jane handed over her check for thirty thousand dollars. It was all she had to bid with.

The woman still holding onto her arm snorted out a laugh and nodded to the lady with the guest list. “Just add it to her account and we’ll deal with it later. Thank you!”

The next person in line stepped up and Jane was tugged away by the pretty, elderly woman. With a giant smile she whispered to Jane, “Wait ten minutes before coming in.”