Bachelor Auction (17 page)

horses, but she’s starting to get used to them.”

He wanted to ask questions, to know more about

her relationship with the children at the hospital.

But she’d never offered this much information about

herself, and he was afraid to break the spell. Then

he remembered something Amy had asked him to

do.

Leather creaked as he shifted to rest a forearm

on the saddle horn. He held the reins loosely in his

fingers. “What the hell is a snow angel?”

She gave him a look of disbelief. “You don’t

know what a snow angel is?”

“Am I supposed to?”

“I guess not. After all we don’t get enough snow

in Houston to fill a bucket. Why do you ask?”

“Amy asked me where we were going. When I

described Aspen, she asked if I’d make her a snow

angel.”

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Darah Lace

“In that case, I’ll have to show you.” She threw a

leg over the saddle and slid to the ground. A few

paces away, she lay on the ground and began to flap

her arms and legs. After a few swipes the pattern of

an angel evolved.

He smiled at the spectacle she made. Never in a

million years had he pictured Charlotte, in all her

wild ways, doing what amounted to horizontal

jumping jacks in the snow. Jumping Jack or John or

Bob, horizontally, yes, but not this.

“Come on, try it.”

“That’s all right. You’re doing fine.”

She moved to another spot to make a second

angel. “Don’t be such a fuddy-duddy.”

Was he? He had never thought of himself that

way. He and Chad always cut up.
Good time
was

their motto. But let Charlotte walk in the room and

his mind went rigid.

He snorted. His mind wasn’t the only thing that

stiffened.

“You promised Amy.”

She had him there. And he suspected she knew

it by the grin on her face. He
had
promised Amy he’d

make a snow angel for her.

Resigned, he dismounted, and wrapped the reins

around the saddle horn then settled his Stetson over

it. He did the same to the straps of leather she’d left

dangling in the snow. His boots and the hem of his

jeans grew wet as he trudged to a spot of untouched

powder. Lying down, he felt the cold seep through

the denim covering his legs and was glad he at least

had the protection of the thick coat against his back.

His awkward movements made him feel

uncoordinated and stupid, but her laughter was

infectious and he found himself smiling despite the

chill working its way to his bones.

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She stood

over him, hands behind her back, rocking on her

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heels.

He grunted.

“Of course, it’s not as easy as this.” Grinning,

she bent low and, before he could react, shoved a

handful of snow in his face, half of it in his mouth.

“Why you little—” He jerked upright, slapping

ice from his neck, trying unsuccessfully to keep it

from going down his shirt. Her laughter carried

across the meadow, bouncing off the nearby trees to

echo around him. He grabbed for her leg, intent on

retaliation.

Squealing, she dodged him and ducked behind

the horses. She scooped up another handful of snow.

“What’s the matter, Marcus? Can’t take the heat?”

She let it fly, hitting him in the chest. “Oops, should

I say cold?”

“Get out from behind there.”

“And give up my cover? Not on your life.”

“You’ll spook the horses. They’ll run off and

leave us here.”

“You afraid to be alone with me?”

Hell, yes
. Not that the four-legged creatures

were any kind of chaperone, but he’d just as soon not

lose his means of escape. “My jeans are wet, and I

don’t want to freeze my ass off if we get stuck out

here.”

“I’d warm you up.”

“I’ll bet,” he muttered beneath his breath and

dragged himself to his feet. He wasn’t sure if she

was trying to truly seduce him this time or push him

away, but he was determined to keep her playful

mood alive and headed in the right direction. He

started toward her. “Let’s see how you like the taste

of snow.”

She darted toward the trees, calling over her

shoulder. “Stuffed shirt.”

He chased after her, giving her just enough

room to think she was safe. Gathering snow in his

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palm as he went, he packed it tight and aimed. It hit

her smack in the middle of her back just as she

started around the wide base of a tree. He heard her

shocked cry, followed by a giggle.

He stopped in his tracks. Had she just giggled?

Surely not.

A hard ball of snow landed high on his upper

thigh, much too close for comfort. He glanced up to

find her peeking from behind the tree in wide-eyed

innocence.

“I’m sorry,” she said then giggled again. “Really,

I was aiming much higher.”

“Oh, you were, were you?” He took off after her,

sliding around the tree.

She screamed and ran, laughing, into the open,

and the chase was on again. Snowballs whizzed

through the air, her aim hitting its target more often

than his, though he did land a few strategically

placed shots, making her squeal with cold and

delight. After a particularly successful assault on

her part, she darted past him. He dove, catching her

foot, and she went down in the thick snow.

“I’ve got you now.”

“Marcus—I—wait—no,

don’t—”

Shrieks

of

laughter and gulps for air fractured her words. She

tried to break free, but he held tight and crawled his

way up her wriggling body. He wedged his legs

between her thighs before her knee found its mark—

intended or otherwise—and settled his weight on her

upper body. Her arms flailed as she pushed at his

shoulders, his neck, anywhere she could reach. More

snow found its way down his shirt.

Marcus captured and pinned her hands above

her head in his left, then shifted his weight to that

side so he could use his right hand to scoop a hand

full of snow. “All right, hellion,” he said between

heavy breaths. “Your turn to eat snow.”

His hand was inches from shoving ice in her

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mouth when she dug in her heels and bucked

beneath him. Thrown off balance, he missed and his

hand landed elsewhere. Her sharp gasp and abrupt

stillness made him pause.

He stared at his hand palming her breast, rising

and falling with her ragged breath. Her goose down

vest lay open, and the flannel shirt had come

unbuttoned during their play. Only a thin layer of

thermal underwear and her bra separated him from

her silky skin.

She shivered. Her nipple puckered.

The snow began to melt beneath his palm.

Moisture soaked through the thin material and

trickled from his fingers over the soft swell of her

breast. It puddled in the hollow of her collarbone,

and he wanted to drink from it, to taste her.

Her breath shuddered against his cheek and

drew his gaze to her mouth, its full pink lips slightly

open and a little dry from the thin mountain air. Her

tongue darted out to wet them, and his body jerked

to attention. He looked away, only to drown in the

steamy depths of her tempting blue eyes.

God, she was beautiful.

And he was in trouble.

Big trouble.

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Darah Lace

Charlotte watched as Marcus warred with

indecision, his dark green eyes focused on her

mouth. He wanted to kiss her, wanted to do more

than kiss her if the bulge pressed against her thigh

was any indication. But he wouldn’t. He hated his

attraction to her and fought it to the death, his

distaste for her winning out over desire every time.

But she was here this weekend to change that.

Now was as good a time as any. Especially when it

felt so good to have the weight and warmth of his

hard body bearing down on hers and his hand on her

breast.

He lowered his head to lightly touch his lips to

hers. He drew back and looked at her as if trying to

figure out why he’d done it. She held her breath,

afraid to blink, to do anything to remind him whose

lips he kissed.

With a low groan, he slanted his mouth over

hers, his kiss hot and urgent as he pressed her

deeper into the snow. She registered the cold, but it

paled in comparison to the fire his tongue built with

each stroke against hers.

His fingers flexed, squeezed her breast, then

abandoned their claim to yank both shirts from the

waistband of her jeans. He spread the flannel wide

and shoved the thermal underwear up and over her

bra. That obstacle went the way of her long johns.

Finally, flesh met flesh.

Charlotte sucked in a sharp breath at his icy

touch yet arched into his palm, needing what he

offered. He obliged, rubbing the pad of his thumb

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across her nipple. Like a fuse to dynamite, tiny

sparks of fire sizzled their way from her breast to

her core. She hooked one leg around his and strained

to fit herself against the hard ridge beneath his

jeans.

He adjusted his weight, his hips surging forward

to grind against her. Heat speared down her thighs.

A small whimper escaped her. His tongue plunged

deeper as he repeated the action until the need

inside her built to a fevered pitch.

His breath grew faster, heavier with each

thrust. He was close. And so was she. But she

wanted him inside her. Now.

As if reading her mind, he released her hands to

grip her shoulder and keep her from sliding when he

rocked against her. She reached for his belt buckle.

He shifted to allow her access. Loosening the notch,

she popped the top button of his jeans and started on

the next. He groaned and pressed himself against

her hand. She went for the last button then paused

when he...vibrated?

He tore his lips from hers and looked at her. The

vibration came once more. He muttered a curse and

shoved to his knees. She stared up at him, not quite

certain what happened as he dug in his front pocket

and pulled out his cell phone.

She pushed up on one elbow, still yearning,

unfulfilled, goose bumps prickling her skin. “Don’t

answer it.”

He punched a button and raised the phone to his

ear. “Yeah?” He hugged the phone between his ear

and shoulder to fasten his jeans. “No, you didn’t

interrupt anything. In fact, your timing is perfect.”

His gaze swept over her once more before he stood

and turned away, dismissing her. “What’s up?”

Tears threatened as Charlotte pulled her bra

and thermal shirt into place and sat up. Despite her

plan to keep an emotional distance during physical

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Darah Lace

contact with Marcus, his rejection hit her like a

bucket of ice water. The heat they’d generated

moments ago vanished.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way again. He

wasn’t supposed to walk away; she was. Yet while

she couldn’t have stopped had the mountains

announced an avalanche, the mere ringing of the

phone had cooled his ardor.

She’d been so certain of his response, that

victory was within her grasp, so close she could

almost taste it. Hadn’t he been as lost to passion as

she, as eager to finish what they’d started? Geez,

what
he
had started.
He
had kissed her, after all.

Come to think of it, he had kissed her first all those

months ago and in the closet last week.

Anger and determination, fueled by feelings she

didn’t care to examine, flamed to life inside her as

she stood and brushed the snow from her clothes. He

might have won this round, if only by default, but

she’d never given up easily. He wouldn’t break her.

And she absolutely refused to let him win.

She glared at his back before turning to trudge

through the snow toward her horse. For one brief

second she thought of taking his mount with her.