Bachelor Auction (25 page)

several possibilities, making certain Marcus got an

eyeful in the process. A cluster of balls, mostly

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solids, sat semi-close to the left corner. Surely one

would go in if she hit them hard enough. But the

angle of the shot looked tricky with the white ball

surrounded by others. How was she supposed to get

her fingers in between them?

“Orange ball in the left corner,” she said,

twisting to get the best position.

“Solid or stripe?”

Damn. She had hoped he wouldn’t ask that.

Either was possible. “Solid. I’ve never looked good in

stripes.”

She heard him chuckle as she made her shot.

The white ball hopped over the blue one in front of it

and landed smack in the middle of the cluster. A red

solid raced to the left corner and fell in followed by

the orange one.

Charlotte let out a whoop and spun to find

Marcus, arms folded over his chest, frowning at her.

“What?”

“Are you sure you’ve never played.”

Laughing, she held up her right hand. “I swear.”

His expression remained skeptical as he

unfolded his arms and motioned for her to continue.

Anticipation bubbling inside her, she scanned

the table again. The closest solid was on the other

end with a host of stripes between. But hey, hadn’t

she just worked a miracle?

Her excitement dissolved into disappointment

when the end of her stick grazed the side of the

white ball and sent it spinning in place. “Does that

count?”

“Fortunately for me, it does.” Grinning, he

chalked the end of his stick and moved into position

across from her before she could think to distract

him. “Nine—left side pocket.”

Two balls crashed into the hole in front of her.

Damn. She would have to get busy if she wanted

another turn.

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“Excuse me,” he said beside her. “Twelve—right

corner.”

She stepped back, waited until he was ready to

shoot, then moved in and blew in his ear. He

shivered and shook his head, reminding her of a dog

out of the tub with his hair still damp. He turned a

scolding look on her.

She propped a hip against the table inches from

his. “Hey, a girl has to take every advantage.”

“I’d say you’ve got more than your share.” His

gaze drifted to the open bodice of her gown before

returning to the game.

She smiled to herself and meandered to his

other side, trailing a fingernail down the taut

muscles of his back, causing him to shudder. “You’ve

got a few of your own.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look up. She

pressed further, palming his butt through his jeans.

He jolted upright and pointed to the opposite side of

the table. “You—over there.”

Laughing, Charlotte wandered slowly, weaving

her fingernail over the green felt between balls to

stall his play. On the opposite side she leaned her

stick against the table then braced both hands, the

inside of her wrists forward, on the edge and

balanced her weight on them, thrusting her breasts

forward. He liked them so much, let him have a good

look.

But he wasn’t looking at her breasts. Bent over,

his gaze was level with her hips. She wondered if he

could tell she didn’t have on panties. The way his

green eyes darkened before he looked away, she

thought he might. Oh, this was fun.

He made the shot, sinking the purple-striped

ball, and straightened. “Speaking of advantages, I’ve

often wondered how you fill your days.”

Well, that came out of nowhere. Was he trying

to turn the table on her, distracting her to keep her

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from distracting him? Then it hit her. He’d often

wondered? How often was often? And did he wonder

anything about her other than how she spent her

days? She shook herself mentally. Now was not the

time to get lost in wayward thinking.

She lowered her voice to a purr. “As opposed to

how I spend my nights?”

A telling flush stained his face beneath the tan,

making her smile. “I meant, since you have so many

advantages, what do you do besides Friday morning

story time at the hospital?”

Other than fantasize about you
? “Oh, this and

that.”

“Fourteen—same pocket.” He aimed and tapped

the white ball, which sent the green ball rolling

toward its destination with success. “You obviously

don’t have to, but have you thought about finishing

college?”

“Who says I didn’t?” The question sounded

defensive even to her ears. It was a topic dear to her,

but not one she wanted to share. At least not with

him.

“Did you?”

“Not with Chad if that’s what you mean.”

He pointed to the head of the table. She grabbed

her stick and together they rotated, she to the head,

he to the foot. Shadow and light faded in and out of

the valleys and plains of his upper body as he

moved. She envied them, couldn’t wait for her three

minutes.

“Why not?”

“Huh? Oh, I flunked a few classes.” Most of them

her freshman year when she’d wanted to piss off her

dad for forcing her to major in business.

“Too much partying?”

It didn’t surprise Charlotte that Marcus had

jumped to the same conclusion as everyone else. But

tonight his assumption disappointed her, and she

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felt an overwhelming need to explain. She fought it.

It wouldn’t change anything.

“There was that.” She lifted a shoulder and let it

drop.

His gaze darted to the strap of her gown that

hung low on her arm then shifted back to the table.

“Eleven.” He indicated the pocket to her right with

his stick. “What else was there?”

“I changed my major three times.”

The white ball crashed into the red one, which

banked off the left side, sped for the corner pocket

beside her right hand, and clattered on its way

down. Marcus picked up the chalk and sauntered

toward her. Without instruction, she moved in the

opposite direction around the table.

“Ten.” He nodded toward the corner pocket on

her left.

“This one?” She planted one butt cheek above

the designated pocket and swung a leg up to rest a

foot on the edge of the table. With her knee bent, her

gown barely covered the essentials. In case it wasn’t

enough, she smoothed a hand up her calf and down

her thigh then fingered the ruffled hem.

The heat of his gaze as it journeyed from one

end of her to the other, stopping briefly in strategic

areas, was unmistakable and sent her pulse racing.

She wished he would just forget the damn game and

accept the attraction between them as inevitable. All

this foreplay was great, but she was ready to move

on.

“What did you end up with?”

“Huh?”

“What did you finally major in?”

Damn his stubborn hide. Here she was working

herself up into a fine state of need and he wanted to

talk about education. If he didn’t cave soon, she

would be hard-pressed to get any sleep tonight. “I

thought it was obvious. Sexual Behavior Science.”

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He blinked and shook his head. “Why do you do

that?”

“Do what?”

“Hide behind innuendo.”

She arched her back and angled her shoulders

toward him. “Does it look like I’m hiding anything?”

When he didn’t answer but once more raked her

body with hungry eyes, she added, ”Want to play

hide and seek?”

****

green felt plain, Marcus leaned against the table and

waited for her to return with his prize.

Having stood just about all he could, he had

quickly pocketed the thirteen ball and then the eight

to end the game. He’d wanted to get the

consequences of this foolish wager over so he could

take another cold shower. Hell, he doubted anything

short of throwing himself headfirst in a damned

snow bank would relieve the aching erection behind

his increasingly tight jeans.

He struggled not to cover himself, letting his

arms hang at his sides. He’d given up trying to hide

his condition after the third time he’d caught her

blatant stare. To try now would only call attention to

it.

Bare feet crowded his view of the carpet in front

of him, startling him out of his erotic thoughts. He

tried to ignore the length of her slender legs and the

desire that swamped him to have them wrapped

around his waist as he dragged his tortured gaze

upward. It stalled again at the golden flesh peeking

over the top of her gown.

She stepped between his spread feet, and he

jerked his head back. He’d half expected to see a

satisfied smirk at his obvious condition. Instead, her

top teeth chewed the lush fullness of her bottom lip

and her soft blue eyes held uncertainty. It quickly

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vanished, replaced by the same sensual aggression

he’d seen her use a number of times to put him off.

Marcus took the bowl and set it on the corner of

the table. “You have three minutes.”

She leaned closer, placing both hands on the

table behind him. The beaded tips of her breasts

grazed his chest. Her scent swirled around him.

“You want me to go first? Aren’t you afraid your ice

cream will melt?”

Managing to draw a breath, uneven though it

was, he nodded. “You lost the game, so technically

you would get to break first if we played again.” He

wasn’t about to tell her he might need the ice cream

to cool down after she was through with him.

When she straightened, Marcus braced himself

for her touch. Her soft hands flattened on his chest,

and he nearly jumped out of his skin as they

smoothed a path up and along his shoulders. Her

sweet lips followed, pressing hot kisses in their

wake.

“Complete control,” she murmured and looked

up at him. “We shook on it.”

Control
. The key to proving it was keeping it,

and yet he’d promised to give it. He ground his teeth

and nodded. “You have my word.”

She slid her hands down his chest over his ribs

to splay across his stomach. “There’s a clock over the

bar. Let me know when my time is up.” She tilted

him a sultry smile. “If you can.”

He glanced at the black square on the wall with

big red digital numbers. Eleven seventeen. All he

had to do was focus on the time and he could endure

his debt. Especially when she seemed content to

explore his chest. She hadn’t even tried—

The buttons of his jeans gave way, the loosened

denim dragged open. Cool air hit his straining

erection just before her warm fingers wrapped

around it.

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“Ah, shit.” His gaze swung forward. She was on

her knees. “No, don’—”

Her mouth closed over him.

“Oh, God.”

Hot,

wet,

slow

insertion.

Even

slower

withdrawal. Marcus couldn’t imagine any sweeter

torture. Her tongue circled his head, once, twice, and

he discovered otherwise. He closed his eyes against

the pleasure, but that only intensified it.

Opening them, he focused on the clock rather

than Charlotte and what she was doing to him.

Eleven eighteen. He’d never survive another two

minutes. He had to stop her. Now.

He reached blindly for her as she tugged his

jeans lower. His fingers fanned the sides of her head,

felt the cool strands of her silky hair at their tips

and, of their own accord, thrust deep into the tightly

bound thickness. She gave a soft whimper and

something popped. He looked down to see the gadget

holding her hair back flutter to the floor and her

silvery blonde mane spill around his hands to cover

her face and brush his thighs. A fantasy fulfilled, but

one he couldn’t allow to continue.

Then she cupped his balls, her middle finger

applying gentle pressure behind them. His knees

buckled, and he had to let go of her to grab the edge

of the table. His head fell back as shards of heat