Читать книгу Bending to the Bachelor's Will - Emilie Rose - Страница 5

“Another one bites the dust,” Holly Prescott grumbled as she watched the second of her two best friends sashay out of the Caliber Club with a newly purchased bachelor by her side.

If you had any sense at all you’d sneak out right behind them. Instead she was stuck here in hooker-high heels and a dress that ought to be illegal—on her, anyway—fulfilling her part of the ridiculous pact she, Andrea and Juliana had made.

How had she let herself be bamboozled into this disastrous plan? Buying men, for crying out loud! She could think of at least a dozen more useful things she’d rather have for her upcoming thirtieth birthday.

So what if she hadn’t had sex in so long she’d forgotten how it went exactly? She’d hold on to her born-again virgin status until she’d nixed her tendency to choose men who needed fixing because she couldn’t afford any more strays of the two-legged variety. The last one had cost her a bundle and put her hard-won independence in jeopardy. Not that she intended admitting her gullibility to anyone. Too humiliating.

A blast of chilly air from the overhead vent made her curse her clothing for the umpteenth time this evening. Where had her brain been vacationing when she’d allowed her friends to pour her into a dress that looked more like underwear than outerwear? If she had so much as a mosquito bite—or panties—beneath the form-fitting bronze silk, every one would know it.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Holly scanned the ballroom filled with well-heeled guests. She didn’t belong here. Never mind that her father owned the place. She didn’t fit in. Story of her life.

“See if I ever trust Andrea or Juliana again,” she groused without worrying about being overheard by the women swarming the marble floor. The auction attendees had two hours’ worth of free champagne in them, and the normally dignified ladies were too busy screaming their lungs out like rock band groupies to pay any attention to a misfit like her.

On a positive note, their lack of inhibitions could work to her advantage once the bidding on her bachelor began. “Twenty more minutes and I can go home.”

“Talking to yourself?” The rich baritone behind her made her cringe. Eric Alden, her best friend’s brother, had already read them the riot act once tonight about this foolhardy plan. As far as Holly was concerned, he was preaching to the choir. She didn’t need to hear another sermon. But she’d promised to give bachelor bidding the old college try.

Now that her friends had abandoned her, Eric would focus all his cutting wit on her. Might as well cork him before he got started. She turned, but her retort stuck in her throat. Wow. How could she have forgotten how good he looked in a tux? His banker-short dark hair looked freshly trimmed and his strong jaw gleamed from a recent shave.

Holly scrambled to rally her brain cells. “I’m cursing your sister. The dress she and my other so-called friend chose for me is indecent.”

Eric’s navy blue gaze raked over her, and Holly mentally kicked herself for drawing his attention to her attire—or lack thereof. Before tonight, she didn’t think Eric had ever seen her in a dress—certainly not one like this. The nostrils of his straight nose flared, and then he slowly, deliberately circled her, appraising her as if she were the one going on the auction block instead of him.

Holly straightened, tucked her tush, sucked in her stomach and prayed he wouldn’t guess she was completely naked beneath the dress except for the blush coating her skin.

He halted in front of her with only inches separating them, crowding into her personal space. “Definitely indecent. Indecently beautiful.”

The husky timbre of his voice combined with his proximity made her heart beat a quick rat-a-tat-tat and sent a weird frisson down her spine. Hold it. This is Juliana’s brother. Juliana’s rule-following, workaholic, socially prominent brother. That triple no-no-absolutely-no whammy made tingles of any kind taboo. Holly tried to back up, but the tipsy socialites behind her blocked her path.

“You look lovely, Holly. I almost didn’t recognize you without your baseball cap and work boots.”

So much for his ego-boosting flattery. Could she help it if her job required protective clothing? “You don’t look too skanky yourself, Alden, but then Armani probably helped design your birthday suit, so it’s no surprise you look decent in a tux.”

Eric’s smile seemed a little forced. “If that was a compliment, thank you. May I speak with you a moment?”

She glanced left and then right and found women ogling him on either side. They might ignore her, but they didn’t ignore the heir to a banking empire. In fact, they looked as though they’d enjoy nibbling hors d’oeuvres off Eric’s naked body. “Me? Sure.”

His long fingers curled around her elbow, each one soldering a tendril of heat on her skin. He guided her to the far corner of the ballroom where the noise level registered a few decibels lower and released her. His broad-shouldered frame fenced her against the walls.

“Why are you buttering me up with compliments?” she asked before he said whatever it was he’d dragged her over here to say. At five-ten and wearing four-inch heels, Holly only had to lift her gaze a little to meet him eye to eye—one of the many reasons she never wore heels.

Chagrin briefly flickered across Eric’s handsome face. He shoved his hands in pants pockets and leaned closer—close enough that she could taste the mint on his breath—to be heard above the crowd winding up as another bachelor took the stage.

Her mouth dried. Uh-uh. Cut it out.

“I need a favor.”

Of course he did. Why couldn’t a guy say something nice to her just once without having an ulterior motive? She wrestled her wacko hormones into submission and tried to clear her head.

“What kind of favor?” She glanced past him toward the stage. Her bachelor would be up next, and if all went well he’d soon be someone else’s bachelor and she could go home. Alone.

“Buy me.”

Her gaze snapped back to Eric’s. Surely she’d misheard him in the din of screeching women? “Excuse me?”

His body radiated heat, which, perversely, made her shiver. She stepped back—right into the wall. The thump of the cool wainscoting against her spine reminded her that her dress bared her to the waist in back except for the pair of crisscrossed strings that held up the two inadequate triangles of her top.

“Save me from this.” He indicated the proceedings behind him with a jerk of his square chin.

Why in the world would he need saving? She didn’t know what his date package included, but his company alone would bring a high bid. Eric was a handsome, rich hunk, if you didn’t mind buttoned-down, uptight types whom she avoided like she would a communicable disease.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re not looking for a wealthy husband.”

“Amen.” Being his date wouldn’t be a hardship, but Holly didn’t want a date. Even if she could afford to buy a bachelor she could not go out with her best friend’s brother without risking one of the most important friendships of her life.

“No can do, Eric. I’ve chosen my guy. So suck it up and hit the stage. I’m sure you’ll make some lucky lady very happy.”

His palm curved over her shoulder—her bare save-for-that-string-strap shoulder. Her nipples, damn them, tightened—a fact thin silk couldn’t disguise. Embarrassed, she crossed her arms. It definitely had been too long since she’d made love if a simple asexual touch could turn her on.

“Holly, please. I’ll give you anything you ask. Just save me from this ridiculous spectacle my mother is forcing upon me.”

Ah. Spectacle. Now that she understood. Eric had been dumped by his socialite fiancée a few months back. The highly publicized society event of the year had turned into the disaster of the year when the bubbleheaded bride-to-be had literally left him at the altar after screeching a few crushing insults in front of their wedding guests. Eric’s pride had to have taken a staggering blow—even if he’d never shown it.

“What would your mother say if you ended up with me, the only girl to ever be kicked out of cotillion?”

His rigid shoulders stiffened even more. “My mother volunteered me without my consent. Her opinion is irrelevant.”

Sympathy for him battled with Holly’s need to escape. Wasn’t she always a sucker for a guy in dire straits? And hadn’t she sworn off saving men in need?

She liked Eric, but the VP of Alden Bank and Trust, the largest privately owned bank in the region, represented every-thing she’d escaped. Pretentiousness. Snobbery. Expectations she couldn’t meet.

C’mon, Holly, how can you leave him to the mercy—or lack thereof—of the bidding piranhas? “Your sister would never speak to me again. I promised her I’d bid on ‘Light Up The Nights With Franco The Firefighter.’”

Eric’s lips flattened. “I met Franco backstage. He’s shorter than you and he has the IQ of a rock. He’ll bore you senseless.”

Why had she never noticed the sensual fullness of Eric’s bottom lip? Or that he had lush lashes that looked frivolous on such a no-nonsense male? And why was she noticing now? She cast off the unwanted discoveries. “I don’t intend to date Franco.”

Eric’s eyebrows shot up, and he reassessed her outfit with one l-o-n-g perusal from those intensely blue eyes. Surprise, speculation and then something she didn’t recognize invaded his expression. “Then you’re buying him for what? Stud service?”

Holly’s mouth fell open and her cheeks caught fire—the curse of a redhead’s complexion. Her pride stabbed her with the mother of all stings.

“Do you think I have to buy a man to get laid? I might not be the elegant model-slim sort you usually date, but I do okay in the dating department.” If you overlooked her tendency to choose losers. And she’d had her share of sex—none of which rated inclusion in the Memoirs of a Debutante Dropout she intended writing one of these days.

He drew back and compressed his lips. “I didn’t say that.”

Holly gathered what was left of her dignity. “For your information Juliana, Andrea and I wanted to support the charity. No, that’s not exactly true. Your mother—” she poked his chest “—the event organizer, ordered us to support the charity. So the three of us agreed to bid the trust fund money we’ll receive on our thirtieth birthdays on bachelors tonight.”

She held up a hand when he would have interrupted and wished she hadn’t touched him when her finger wouldn’t quit tingling. “But here’s the good part. We set a price limit. The firefighter will go for more money than we agreed upon. When that happens I’m home free. No bachelor. No broken promises. No unwanted dates.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Then she’d be stuck with a guy with more brawn than brains.

Worse, she’d be in a financially sticky situation. “He will. He posed for a firefighters’ calendar last year. I’ll bet most of these women have a copy and want to see if the real Franco lives up to the promise in that G-string.”

The crowd roared as the firefighter took the stage. “See. They love him. And they can have him.”

Frustration rolled off Eric in waves. He faced the stage and folded his arms across his chest, looking as stoic as a captain going down with his ship. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Holly waved her numbered fan high over her head, launching what she hoped would be a bidding frenzy. Time inched past as if in slow motion and then the bidding stalled thousands below her maximum allowance.

“Just my luck,” she muttered under her breath and then glanced quickly at Eric. She worked alone ninety percent of the time and had picked up the habit of talking to herself—a habit she needed to break before the men in white coats arrived to cart her to an asylum somewhere. But if Eric had heard her, his face didn’t show it.

The audience remained unresponsive despite the MC’s attempt to draw more bids. Resignation settled over Holly like a cold, wet blanket. She was going to be stuck with a male blond bombshell—one she couldn’t afford—all because of a tequila-induced promise and a case of pride that wouldn’t let her admit to her friends that thanks to not her first bit of misplaced faith she needed her trust fund money to live off.

“You don’t want to be here any more than I do,” Eric said without turning his head.

“You got that right. My life is almost perfect. Why would I want a man to screw it up?” More than one already had.

She tightened her grip on the wooden handle, but before she could lift the fan to bid again Eric’s fingers curled around her wrist, trapping her hand by her side with a firm grip. Her knuckles brushed his hard thigh and her stomach did that taboo fizzy thing again. No doubt he’d feel her sprinting pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Buy me, Holly, and we can skip the dates. I’ll reimburse you whatever you pay and you can use the money for veterinary bills or buy yourself a truckload of pet supplies for that menagerie of yours.”

Holly’s dogs always needed something. How wise of him to hit her where it counted. But then she’d never doubted Eric’s intelligence—except for the day she’d heard about his engagement to Prissy, the pretentious witch. Tempted more than a little, she considered his offer while the MC launched into another recitation of Franco’s physical assets.

Holly had promised Juliana and Andrea that she’d bid on a bachelor tonight. Eric was one. What’s more, she didn’t think there was another man on the docket who would exceed her price limit. So she had a choice. Eric and reimbursement, or Franco and financial difficulties in the months ahead. Either way, she’d be stuck with a bachelor she didn’t want. But doing a good deed, getting out of the dates and holding on to her money seemed like a win-win-win proposition.

She lifted her gaze to his. “No dates. You swear it?”

“Yes. Buy me, and if my price exceeds your limit—”

She snorted inelegantly and punched him lightly in the biceps. “Jeez, Eric, you have a big ego if you think you’ll go for more than ten grand.”

“—I’ll cover the cost no matter how high,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.

Juliana and Andrea would be miffed, but surely she could make her friends understand. Guilt rode Holly like a hair shirt for twisting the bet to fit her needs, but buying men hadn’t been her idea. She’d argued against it from the moment of inception and been outvoted. “All right, Eric. I’ll buy you.”

As soon as she said the words, the MC whipped out a copy of the sexy calendar and Franco stripped down to the thong he’d worn in the picture with a bump and grind worthy of a Chippendales dancer. The bidding frenzy Holly had expected erupted.

When the gavel hit, her stomach sank. Her bachelor’s price had exceeded her limit. She could have been scot-free, but instead she’d been burned by the second promise in one night.

“How about a kiss to seal the deal?”

The reporter’s remark drew Eric’s attention to forbidden territory—Holly’s wide mouth. The siren-red shade of her lipstick could give a man all kinds of ideas about what she could do with those lips and where she could use them to optimal advantage—if he was inclined to think that way. Eric wasn’t. Not with Holly.

So why did his brain engage the idea of tasting her like a heat-seeking missile locking on to its target?

Judging by Holly’s open-mouthed stare she wasn’t any more enamored of the request than he was. And then Holly’s eyes narrowed and her lush lips compressed. She shook her finger at the reporter. “Octavia Jenkins, don’t play games with me.”

“I’m just doing my job, girlfriend.” Octavia motioned for them to move closer while her photographer pointed his lens.

“You know her?” Eric asked against Holly’s temple as he wrapped his arm around her waist to pose for the picture they apparently couldn’t leave without. His palm found warm, bare skin at the base of her spine. He quickly shifted his grip to her fabric-covered hip, but her thin dress did nothing to mask her body heat. His hand burned, and that burn spread up his arm and down his torso.

“She’s one of my students,” Holly replied sotto voce.

His sister had mentioned that Holly, a commercial stained glass artist, taught classes in the craft to subsidize the care and feeding her overpopulated pet collection. That’s how he’d come up with the idea to offer her money for her animals. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not if I can help it.” Holly forced the words through the patently false smile she aimed at the photographer.

“C’mon, folks, this isn’t a firing squad. Kiss for the camera,” the reporter cajoled.

Kissing Holly appealed far more than it should. Eric blamed the unwanted attraction on her seductive dress and dangerously high heels. Holly had always been the girl next door who wore jeans or shapeless sweats. She’d never been a girlie girl. But tonight there was no doubt that she was all woman. A generously endowed woman. His gaze lifted from the smooth ivory curve of her breasts to her mouth.

“Don’t even think about it,” Holly all but snarled through her clenched teeth. Pink dotted her cheeks, and her toffee-brown eyes sparked a warning.

Was the possibility of kissing him so repulsive that she couldn’t tolerate even one platonic peck to pacify the pushy reporter? The idea slipped under his skin like a splinter.

She shoved an errant curl behind her ear, and Eric noticed the polish on her short nails for the first time—the same dark red as her lips and toenails. He’d never known Holly to wear nail polish or makeup, and he’d certainly never noticed her doing anything with her shaggy, boyishly-cut copper-colored hair. Tonight it curled in sexy disarray, looking as if she’d just crawled out from under an enthusiastic lover.

In fact, he’d never seen Holly look so desirable and she smelled…He filled his lungs. She smelled like a woman who didn’t wear cologne to mask her subtle, natural scent. He slammed the vault on his unacceptable thoughts.

The reporter motioned them even closer. Holly shook her head, lowered her arched eyebrows and glared at the photographer beside the reporter. “You have three seconds to take your picture and then we’re out of here.”

The shutter clicked.

“Excuse us,” Eric said to the newshounds and then cupped Holly’s elbow and steered her toward the exit.

Octavia kept pace with them. “Covering and reporting on your dates is going to be the highlight of this assignment for me, Holly. Just think of all the additional business the newspaper exposure will bring your way. Consider it free publicity. And of course, because you are my friend, I have a vested interest in the outcome of your dates.”

The last phrase sounded like a warning to Eric, but before he could demand the reporter clarify her meaning Holly muttered a curse. A chorus of screams erupted behind them, drowning out whatever she said next. Holly stopped and pointed to the stage. “Look, Octavia. Another bachelor sacrifice. Go do your job. Good night.”

The newspaper duo turned back. Holly slammed out the front door, veered off the sidewalk and trekked unsteadily across the thick grass toward the golf course. At nearly midnight the area was deserted and lit only by a slice of June moon. Eric followed because he needed to make arrangements to repay Holly.

She stopped and bent so abruptly he almost fell over her. He caught her hips to steady them both. The nudge of her bottom against his groin as she removed her shoes and the suggestive position with her bare back sunny-side up played hell with his hormones. He released her and put a few inches between them.

He hadn’t slept with a woman since Priscilla had dumped him four months ago. Not because he mourned his ex-fiancée or their aborted relationship, but because with the pending merger between Alden’s and Wilson’s, another privately owned bank, he hadn’t had time. The result of his abstinence reared its head.

And then Holly straightened, with sexy heels dangling from her fingertips, and resumed her course. She plunked down on the bleachers at the edge of the eighteenth green and then instantly sprang back up and flattened a hand to her bottom. “I’m wet.”

His heart slammed against his chest. So maybe the idea of kissing him hadn’t turned her off. And why did that excite him? He shifted his stance to hide his body’s reaction.

She lightly punched him in the stomach and glared. “From the dew on the bench, Casanova.”

He wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was embarrassed. At thirty-six he shouldn’t be so transparent or so easily titillated. Besides, this was Holly, a plain spoken tomboy and Sam and Tony’s baby sister. Even if she had been revealing sexual arousal, he’d have done nothing to alleviate it. There was an unspoken rule between friends. He didn’t date their sisters, and they didn’t date his. Anything beyond dating qualified as grounds for an ass-kicking. He might be six-five and a solid two hundred and twenty pounds, but he didn’t want to go two against one with Holly’s brothers for something he could easily avoid.

Besides, the Caliber Club was one of Alden Bank’s largest commercial accounts. Antagonizing the Prescotts could cost Alden’s business.

Holly turned, giving him a clear view of damp fabric clinging to her perfectly shaped butt. There were no panty lines. He bit back a groan, drew off his tux jacket and spread it over the bench. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat on his coat, tipped her head back and met his gaze. “We have a problem.”

“Besides the reporter?” And his unwilling and unwanted surprise attraction to Holly.

“The reporter is the problem. Eric, you and I each work with the public. Our businesses rely heavily on our reputations. If we renege on these dates, Octavia will report it in her Saturday column, and we’re going to come out looking like welshers. Trust me, I know Octavia’s twisted mind. She’ll make each of us a laughingstock. I know that’s something I’d like to avoid. I’m guessing you would, too.”

On the heels of the humiliating end to his engagement. She didn’t say it. Didn’t have to.

His dented pride didn’t relish another lashing in the press, and with the bank merger closing in on the final stages Eric couldn’t afford bad publicity without adversely affecting Alden’s bargaining power. Why hadn’t his mother considered that before involving him in this fiasco?

“Why didn’t you mention your relationship with the reporter before?”

Holly took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. The play of moonlight and shadow over her cleavage drew his gaze. He’d always known Holly had a broad-shouldered, athletic build because he’d spent countless afternoons playing ball in the driveway with her two older brothers a decade and a half ago. Holly had often joined them to even the numbers. She was fast on her feet and had a decent hook shot, if he remembered correctly. But what he hadn’t realized years ago was that her breasts matched her generous height and firm muscle tone. His pulse accelerated. Damn.

“Because I didn’t know Octavia would make this personal. Besides, me buying you was your idea, remember? My plan was to leave the auction alone tonight.”

He lowered himself beside her on his coat. Their shoulders and thighs brushed. Sparks ignited, but he ignored them. Tried to, anyway. He saw where this was headed and couldn’t see any way to avoid it. “Your recommendation?”

“We go through the motions. If Octavia is around then I want you to treat me exactly like any other date. If we’re lucky she’ll soon lose interest in torturing me. If luck’s against us then it’s only eleven dates. We’ll survive. Somehow,” she said with a total lack of enthusiasm.

She’d survive dating him? The comment ripped the scab off his wounded pride, and Priscilla’s comment echoed in his head. The only place you don’t bore me is in bed. If he’d bored his traditional-minded ex-fiancée, then he’d turn a free spirit like Holly comatose, and her friend would report it in the paper. Another public humiliation.

Damned if he dated Holly. Damned if he didn’t. “I can’t treat you like my other dates.”

“Why in the heck not? Am I such a toad?”

She was far from a toad, but commenting on her unique beauty would be unwise. “I sleep with most of the women I date by the third evening, if not sooner.”

Her lips parted and then closed. Her throat worked as she gulped. “Not this time, pal. You got the raw end of the deal. I’m not your type.”

“Nor I yours, I imagine.”

A smile played over her lips. “Not even close. But it’s just dinner and stuff, right? What can go wrong?”

What indeed?

As if in answer to the question, the automatic sprinklers erupted. After a shocked gasp Holly looked skyward. “That was a rhetorical question.”

She snatched up her shoes and then zigzagged through the spurting nozzles like a running back headed for the goal line. Eric grabbed his coat and jogged after her. She stopped on the sidewalk edging the parking lot. Her hair and gown were drenched and plastered to her body. Grass clippings clung to her bare feet and mascara streaked down her cheeks, but instead of complaining Holly laughed and once again looked skyward.

“This is what I get for trying to pull a fast one on my friends? Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”

Eric couldn’t think of a single woman he’d ever known who would have had anything less than a complete meltdown over having her evening and probably her dress ruined. He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Holly.

“Thanks.” She blotted her face. Droplets glistened on her eyelashes as she grinned up at him. “I don’t suppose you have a beach towel tucked in there do you?”

That unabashed grin twisted something in his gut. He caught himself grinning back. “Not tonight.”

Gravity carried a rivulet over her collarbone and between her breasts. His gaze followed and his smile faded. Wet fabric molded Holly’s body, tenting over her beaded nipples and dipping into her navel. He’d found her satiny dress sexy before, but seeing the fabric adhered to her curvaceous damp body like a second skin ratcheted his response up a level—right into the danger zone. He swallowed hard.

And that’s when it hit him. He’d miscalculated.

His safe way out of the auction had become a minefield of trouble.