The Bachelor Auction(58)

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.