The Bachelor Auction(80)

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.

I meant to give these to you at the ranch but I forgot.

I couldn’t sleep one night and decided to make them into memory pillows. That way you always have your father with you. I thought it may help fight the ghosts but just in case that doesn’t work, I stuffed the dog in the bottom of the box. Rumor has it he’s a guard dog.

Love,

Plain Jane



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.





Chapter Forty-Two



Jane 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.