Bachelor Auction (29 page)

He held out his hands palm up and shook his

head. “Once she gets started, I can’t stop her.

Nobody can. She doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just

brutally honest and believes everyone else is. Or

should be with those they care about. And I’ve

already told you to tell him the truth. He has a right

to know. Besides, I’m getting tired of being on the

receiving end of his bad side.”

“And why do you think she did this?” she heard

Marcus ask as the two drew near.

She held her breath, waiting for Robyn’s answer,

certain the bubbly woman had run out of

information to ruin her with. What else could she

possibly know?

“Oh, my, I don’t know. Ask her. She’s the one

with the psych degree. Two, or is it three of them?”

“Please, no,” Charlotte whispered, drawing

Grant’s questioning gaze.

“But then you already know that.” Robyn’s

excitement increased, as did her rambling. “I’ll bet

you have big plans to celebrate her turning in her

dissertation. We’ll have to order champagne at

lunch. It’s not every day someone you love becomes a

doctor.”

Charlotte closed her eyes and hung her head,

the fight completely sucked out of her. Except maybe

for the small part of her that wanted to kill Grant’s

fiancée. In one breath she had single-handedly

dispensed with most, if not all, of Marcus’s

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misconceptions. She’d known he would find out

sooner or later, especially after she opened her

practice, but she’d hoped to have miles between

them when he did. As for her pact with Grant...

Geez, how was she going to explain that?

“Dr. Reese, I presume?” Marcus’s deep voice

startled her out of her contemplation of murder. His

dark speculative eyes stared into hers, as if trying to

read her thoughts.

She searched for a lifeline, but Grant had finally

harnessed Robyn and led her across the room. A

little too late as far as Charlotte was concerned. “Not

until May. Contrary to reports, I haven’t finished

writing my thesis.”

“And after that?”

“I’ll be working at the hospital for a while.”

“With kids like Amy.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.

Why deny it? “Yes.”

“What about your agreement with Wylie? Were

you lovers or not?”

So he wasn’t entirely sold on Robyn’s story.

Maybe she could salvage something. She flattened

her palms on his chest and leaned into him. In a

breathy whisper, she asked, “What do you think?”

“Charlotte.” Unlike Grant’s warning, his came

with a blistering gleam of impatience.

Okay, so that didn’t work. She stepped back,

folded her arms across her chest and tilted a

stubborn glare at him. “It’s really none of your

business.”

He mimicked her stance. “So, did Wylie

fabricate the story to keep his fiancée from getting

jealous?”

Charlotte wanted to let him believe that, but

Grant had proven a friend to her and deserved

better than to get caught up in another one of her

illusions. “No, it’s all true. Grant couldn’t get a

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handle on English Lit.”

“And you needed a cover. Why?”

“We’ve gone over this.” She started to turn

away, but he grasped her arm.

“Why?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.” She called to

Robyn. The woman was good for something if only a

diversion. “Come help me decide which swimsuit to

wear for the hot tub shots.”

Marcus released her as the pretty redhead

hurried toward them, but his frown threatened

retribution. “We’ll finish this later.”

“That’s what Grant and I were just discussing,”

Robyn said.

Charlotte lifted a brow. “Swimsuits?”

“No, silly. We were talking about later. This

afternoon.” She turned to Grant who had followed

her. “Tell them.”

“Robyn arranged an outing after the ski lodge

promo.”

Marcus shook his head. “We’re not free.”

The woman’s face crumbled. “Oh.”

Charlotte wanted to object to his assumption

that he could speak on her behalf, but she let it go.

She’d been about to decline herself, having no wish

to spend any more stress-filled time with the Little

Miss Chatterbox. No telling what else Grant had

confessed.

“I’m sorry.” Marcus pinned Charlotte with a

determined gaze. “We have business to attend to.”

On the other hand, when faced with the

alternative

to

spending

an

afternoon

being

interrogated by Marcus, Charlotte decided maybe

Robyn wasn’t so bad after all and did the only thing

she could. She wound her arms around his waist and

gave him her best pout. “I know I promised, but we

can do
that
anytime. Who knows when we’ll ever see

Grant and Robyn again.”

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Robyn seemed to take her cue from Charlotte.

She latched onto Marcus’s arm and tugged. “Please

say yes. Whatever it is you and Charlotte were going

to do can’t be nearly as fun as what I’ve planned.”

A deep scarlet crept up Marcus’s neck and face,

and Grant coughed to cover his laughter. “Well, I

guess—”

Robyn launched herself at Marcus. “Thank you

so much.” Like a whirlwind she released him and

turned to Charlotte. “Chad told us you spend time in

Vail every year so we’ve been dying to show you

what Aspen has to offer.”

“Oh? You have a shopping spree planned?”

The annoying little redhead laughed. “No, silly.

We want to show you the slopes.”

Where Marcus’s face had suffused with color

moments ago, Charlotte was certain hers was now

bleached white. “Skiing? You want to go skiing?”

“Isn’t that what one does at a ski resort?”

Robyn’s voice echoed around Charlotte as if from

the bottom of a well. Her palms grew clammy. Yes,

she’d been to Vail every year since she turned

fifteen. And yes, she’d learned to ski. But she’d never

been higher than the bunny slope because of her

inexplicable fear of heights. The one time she tried,

she’d ended up jumping out of the lift before it got

five feet off the ground. She’d stuck with the towline

after that.

Marcus touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

Staring up at him, Charlotte considered her

options. Risk Marcus’s interrogation or certain death

on a mountain?

She forced a smile and turned to Robyn, “Show

me the mountain.”

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“Ohmigosh, I thought the two of you were going

to spontaneously combust this morning.”

Charlotte gripped the arm of the chairlift, her

teeth clenched, every muscle in her body tight. Not

because of Robyn’s continued personal observations.

She’d gotten used to the woman’s perky chatter. It

kept her mind off more important matters. Like how

the hell she was going to get down this mountain.

She had manipulated the seating arrangement

for the ride up, stressing her desire to get to know

Robyn better. Mostly to avoid Marcus and his

questions, which she’d succeeded in doing regardless

of his attempts to get her alone, but also to prevent

him from discovering her phobia of heights. He had

learned too much about her already.

Purposely dropping her ski pole prior to liftoff

hadn’t gained her the excuse to stay behind either.

But a pair of eager teenagers dressed in neon orange

had cut when Marcus stepped out of line to retrieve

it, which put him and Grant two chairs back instead

of right behind her. At least she would have a

moment to compose herself before he arrived.

Robyn released a dreamy sigh. “It’s so romantic.

The way he looks at you—like he could eat you up.”

Like a certain ice cream sundae
. “Like Grant

doesn’t worship the ground you walk on,” Charlotte

said, bracing herself as they bounced through the

last pulley connection.

“But yours is such a fairy tale romance.

Announcing your feelings for each other in such a

public way, bidding on Marcus to keep him from

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another woman’s clutches. And he’s so clearly in love

with you.”

Her heart skipped several beats then pounded

faster. Her stomach flipped right side up and back

again. For a moment Robyn’s words made Charlotte

forget where she was, that her feet dangled over fifty

feet in the air as they neared the drop-off point at

the top.

Then common sense returned, jerking the reins

on any runaway notion that Marcus could love her.

They’d played their part as lovers well. Apparently,

too well. Even she was getting confused. The sooner

they ended this farce the better.

“End of the line,” Robyn announced, reminding

her that “sooner” meant
after
she dealt with her

current predicament.

Forced to let go of the chair, Charlotte managed

to stay upright as her skis hit the slippery ice-

packed ground. In awkward sideways steps she

maneuvered a safe distance away to the softer,

fresher snow and sucked in a calming breath.

“They’re almost here,” Robyn said, beside her. “I

can’t wait to hit the slope today. All that fresh

powder we got last night. You’re gonna love...”

Robyn’s mouth kept moving, but Charlotte

couldn’t hear anything for the growing roar of an

engine. A snowmobile with a bright red cross on the

side careened to a stop on the other side of the tiny

building that the lift cable wrapped around. The

driver, a broad shouldered, blond, in a red parka

with EMT on the sleeve, killed the motor and lifted

his goggles, revealing white raccoon-eyes on a

sunburned face. His interested gaze swept her from

head to toe before settling on her face. He flashed a

grin and dismounted.

Her spirits lifted as she smiled back, pleased she

still had on the powder blue bib and matching

sweater she’d worn for the ski lodge promo. They

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were skin tight and emphasized her eyes. If she

played her cards right, this Nordic god would be the

answer to her prayers. And her way down this

mountain.

A quick glance at Robyn showed her occupied

with a buckle on her ski boot. Turning back to the

lift, Charlotte saw the brightly dressed teenagers

bobbing in their chair like a caution light on a windy

day as they approached all too quickly. Marcus and

Grant not far behind.

Without hesitation, she used her poles and the

vaguely remembered leg action to slowly glide

toward the rescue vehicle and its rider. She was a bit

rusty, but like riding a bike, she would soon regain

her confidence as well as her balance.

Until she looked over the edge of that first slope.

Then both would desert her.

Just a peek in that direction and thinking about

the sheer drop off she would face on this expert run

made her head spin and her knees weaken, causing

her to wobble when she stopped in front of the

snowmobile. Not the most graceful of maneuvers,

but it lent credence to the excuse she intended to use

to enlist the medic’s aid.

“Whoa there,” he said, reaching for her.

“Sorry,” she said, grasping his arm. He was

probably used to women falling all over him—

physically and metaphorically. But he seemed to

enjoy the contact. Maybe a little too much. She let go

and pushed the hair from her face. “I’m so glad

you’re here.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” She squeezed one eye shut and read the

name embroidered on his coat. “Blake, is it? I lost a

contact on the way up and everything is a blur.” The

only blur she saw was one of orangey-yellow as the

young couple whizzed past, increasing her urgency

for escape. “I’ll never make it down in one piece.”

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He gave her another once over. “We wouldn’t

want such lovely pieces rearranged.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and

instead released a genuine sigh of relief. If they