The Bachelor Contract(84)

“Fuck.” He hung his head, touching hers. “Or maybe it’s just your hands.” He lifted her hand, pressed her palm to his mouth, and kissed it. “Or just everything.” He took her other hand. “I spent four years trying to drink you away.”

“How’d that work out?” she breathed against his mouth.

“I tried to forget—and only ended up remembering…I remember it all, the soft cries you make during sex, the way you sing in the shower, how you dance in the kitchen when nobody’s looking—I remember it all and I’m a fucking fool for ever thinking I wanted to forget.”

“I love you so much.” She kissed him.

And kissed him again.





Jane isn’t entirely sure that Cinderella got such a raw deal. Didn’t she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after? But while Brock Wellington isn’t exactly a prince and there’s definitely no fairy-tale ending…no one says they can’t indulge in a little bit of fantasy.


An excerpt from The Bachelor Auction follows.





Chapter One





He’s senile. Last night he asked if I believed in unicorns.”

Brock suppressed a groan at Bentley’s insensitive statement. No doubt about it, or way around it. Their grandfather, the CEO of Wellington, Incorporated, was losing his damn mind.

But still, someone should come to the old man’s defense, and ever since he was twelve years old, that someone had always been Brock. Always.

His younger brothers—twins—were a united front against anything and everything that happened, not only within the family, but especially with Brock. It had always been them against the world, leaving Brock the awkward job of defending them to his grandfather while simultaneously living with the ever increasing aggravation of their sex- and alcohol-filled lifestyles.

“His medication…causes…” Brock clenched and unclenched his fists, mainly so he wouldn’t do something stupid like punch one of them. Sleep. He needed more sleep, and a life outside of running a company he’d never wanted to run in the first place. “Visions,” he finished. Bitterness took hold like it always did when he thought of the company, his grandfather, and the heavy weight of the world on his shoulders.

“You think visions of unicorns is bad?” Brant, the younger of the twins, gave Brock a disgusted look. “Just last week I found him skinny-dipping in the pool.”

Brock frowned as the elevator doors opened to the main offices of Wellington, Inc. “Why is that strange?”

“Alone,” Brant said. “Who skinny-dips alone?”

Bentley smirked, pushing past both of them. “Not you…clearly.”

Brant’s lips pressed into a smug grin. “Jealous?”

“Of the skank from last night?” Bentley snorted and sent off a text, most likely to the very same girl who had left Brant’s bed the night before. Always a competition with them. “Hardly.”

“Hello, boys.” Mrs. Everly, their grandfather’s secretary, was like family. She refused to acknowledge the brothers were well past the “boy” stage and had been for years.

“Hello,” they all said in unison. Bentley reached for her hand and kissed the top of it.

“You get younger every day. Amazing, almost like you’re aging backwards.” He winked.

Brock’s patience was already on edge. Running the company for his grandfather was one thing. Keeping the twins from making asses of themselves was another.

“Bentley.” Brock gripped his brother’s shoulders with a jerk and shoved him toward the door. “Don’t keep Grandfather waiting.”

The twins exchanged an eye roll.

“So responsible,” Brant said under his breath. It wasn’t meant to be a compliment.

“So…old,” Bentley added, because that’s what he did. “Brock, when was the last time you even got laid? If you say anything past seven days I may need to disown you.”

It had been more than seven.

Way more than fourteen.

But with a company to run…

And two brothers to keep under control…

Not to mention the accident that had nearly taken his grandfather’s life this last year. Resentment washed over him.

When would he even have time?

For fun?

Sex?

Women?

Anything?

“You’re not getting any younger,” Bentley interrupted Brock’s depressing thoughts. “Aren’t you turning thirty-eight this year?”

“I saw a gray hair when he turned his head,” Brant added. “Depressing as hell.”

“It’s not gray,” Brock snapped, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth ached. “And if you haven’t noticed I’ve been busy.”