Bachelor Auction (34 page)

she heaved an exaggerated sigh and reached for the

sheet to cover herself. “Too bad. I’d hoped for more.”

As he fastened the button at his waist, he came

to stand over the bed. His dark eyes, filled with such

tender passion moments ago, blazed with barely

controlled anger. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like

this.”

“Really?” She stretched, sore muscles making

themselves known again now that the euphoria of

their lovemaking had faded, and covered her mouth

to yawn; she really was exhausted. “Did you have

another position in mind? You should have said

something.”

“You know what I mean.” His hand slashed

toward the bed. “I didn’t want this.”

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That much was painfully clear. She studied her

fingernails with a raised brow. “I could have sworn

you did. It certainly felt like you participated.”

Looking up, she met his gaze. “Fully.”

“Dammit, Charlotte, you tied me up and

tortured me until I broke. Only a saint could have

resisted, and I’m no saint. There’s only so much a

man can take.”

Before he could see how much the reminder of

what she’d done hurt, she rose from the opposite side

of the bed, taking the sheet with her. “What’s the big

deal, Marcus? It’s
just
sex.”

He flinched, his head jerking back as if she’d

slapped him. The heated anger slowly drained from

his eyes, replaced by a cold fury. “Well, it sure as

hell should be about more than that.”

“What else is there?”

“Love, damn you. There should be love.” He

strode to the chair in the corner to swipe his shirt

from beneath her sweater and jerk it over his head.

“I guess you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

Love? Was that the one thing he wanted?

Surely, he didn’t mean he wanted it from her. Her

heart beat faster at the prospect, though she couldn’t

be certain what caused it, excitement or fear.

Geez, a relationship was one thing, but love?

She couldn’t. She didn’t. Or did she?

She’d tried so hard to ward off that destructive

emotion, built a world for herself, an intricate web of

lies, all for protection against it. Marcus had

breached most of those barriers when he learned her

secrets. Had he also slipped into her heart when she

wasn’t looking?

Charlotte shook her head in denial, then caught

herself, glad he had his back to her so he couldn’t see

the shock and confusion she felt. This was crazy. She

was crazy. She couldn’t allow herself to think about

it. She had come too far to turn back now. She had to

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finish what she started.

“Sex is a game to you.” He raged on, jamming

his feet into the brown cowhide boots he seemed to

favor, oblivious to her dismal thoughts. “With new

players in every round.”

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she relaxed her

tense shoulders and schooled her expression into one

of boredom. “What can I say? I like variety.”

He straightened from lowering his jeans over his

boots and stared at her, his face growing almost

purple at her taunt. “You’ve—hell, I’m wasting my

breath. You’ll never change.”

“I don’t want to. I told you that.”

“Yes, you did. And I’m sorry I didn’t listen.” He

snagged his coat on his way to the door. “I need some

air.”

“Go ahead, leave,” she called after him. “I got

what I came for anyway.”

The door to the suite slammed a second later,

and Charlotte wilted, a sob catching in her throat.

She might have gotten what she came for—more

than she’d bargained for, really—but she’d lost so

much more.

Her self-respect was in tatters after what she’d

done to Marcus, and the wall around her heart had

been nearly decimated. Only the portion that had

kept her from begging his forgiveness remained, and

it was crumbling fast. Even now she wanted him to

come back and take her in his arms, to call her bluff

and demand she admit he was right about her all

along.

She’d lost her secrets, most of them anyway, and

her reason for keeping them. Her decided lifestyle

had always been the burden she’d carried to keep

men at a distance, and for the past five years, her

efforts had all but gone to one man. Now that she’d

driven him out of her life for good, she’d rid herself

of that burden, too.

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After all, why bother keeping up the charade

when, no matter how much or how often she denied

it, she’d lost her heart.

****

Marcus entered the hotel and shook the snow from

his boots. In his haste to get away from Charlotte, he

had forgotten to put on socks and his feet were

freezing. But two hours spent in the cold night air

had done the trick in cooling his temper and clearing

his head. He could deal with her now, say some of

the things he should have said and take back some

of the things he had.

With determined strides he crossed the lobby

and boarded the elevator, ignoring the curious stare

of the night clerk. No doubt the man thought there

was trouble in paradise with the bachelor and his

lady. He punched the correct button for their floor

and leaned against the back wall.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he went over all

the things he’d said to her. Things meant to hurt.

He’d been so damned furious at himself for failing to

prove
he loved her, he’d forgotten to tell her.

He’d been angry at her, too, for forcing him

beyond his control. He hadn’t thought, just lashed

out, throwing her past in her face, when it wasn’t at

all what he’d believed before coming on this trip,

only a fabrication, an enhanced and sometimes

distorted version of the truth.

He should have realized she only reacted the

way she had out of fear. Hell, he’d known he loved

her before they made love—and it damned well was

making love, not just sex. Yet even expecting to feel

something extraordinary, he’d still been scared by

the depth and power of the emotion that consumed

him. And he’d seen the same sentiment reflected in

her tear-filled eyes. It had to have frightened her.

That didn’t mean her words hadn’t cut him to

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the quick. They’d come too close to those she’d

uttered that night in the garden beneath the gently

swaying willow after he’d stroked her, made her

whimper with need and held her as she shuddered

through an orgasm.

That was a real treat, Preston, but next time

you’re coming with me.

He’d told her then that there wouldn’t be a next

time; he wouldn’t join the ranks of those who had

gone before him. Yet he hadn’t been able to stay

away. He had used his need to apologize as an

excuse to be near her at the auction, to hear her soft

voice, touch her satiny skin, breathe in the scent of

her exotic perfume.

He wondered if he would have seen the same

emotion in her eyes had they made love that night in

the garden. Would he have recognized it, known

sooner that she loved him? That she only pushed

him away because she was afraid to love and be

loved? Probably not.

But he understood it now. No one made love like

that if they didn’t care to some significant degree.

Even if she was only at the dawning of love, he could

work with that. First, he had to confront her, confess

his feelings and make her admit what was in her

heart. They weren’t going home until she did.

Stepping off the elevator, Marcus hurried

toward their suite. He let himself in and shrugged

out of his coat. All was quiet. What had he expected?

For her to wait up for him?

He moved quietly toward her closed door, lifted

his fist to knock and hesitated. Now that he was

here, he hated to wake her, especially after the fall

she had taken. She needed her rest. He started to

turn away then stopped. Dammit, he’d waited long

enough. They could catch a later flight and she could

sleep all day if she wanted, preferably in his arms.

But they were going to have this out. Now.

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Darah Lace

He thrust the door open. As light spilled into the

room, slicing over an empty bed, awareness snaked

through him. He didn’t need better lighting to know

the rest of the room was as empty as the bed. His

gut twisted into a hard knot as he stepped further

into the bedroom. Her clothes were gone from the

closet, suitcases too. A glance inside the bathroom

and at the uncluttered counter confirmed his

suspicions. She was gone. Only the lingering scent of

her perfume remained.

I got what I came for
.

He turned away from the room—and the

thought—and headed across the sitting area with

determined strides. Her leaving was just another

one of her evasion tactics. She was running scared

again.

Well, he’d be damned if he let her go without a

fight. She hadn’t even tried. He deserved that much

from her. They both did. He could probably catch up

with her at the airport if he hurried.

But when he entered his room, he stopped short.

His heart twisted in his chest as he took in the

rumpled sheets. In the center of the headboard, a

bright blue scarf hung limp, as if innocent and

denying any part of what had happened. The smell

of sex, along with the underlying scent of her

perfume, reached out, drawing him closer until his

knees hit the bed.

I got what I came for
.

Well, maybe she had. Maybe he’d been fooling

himself and the love he thought he’d seen in her eyes

was only wishful thinking on his part and nothing

else. She’d tried to tell him she wasn’t looking for

more than a good time, but he had wanted her to be

wrong so he hadn’t listened.

Marcus sank to the edge of the mattress, and his

fingers brushed something cool and soft. The scarf

he’d torn loose from the footboard and later removed

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from his ankle before rolling Charlotte beneath him.

He fisted it in his hand and brought it to his face.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled. She was there, vaguely,

but enough to reawaken his need and his heart.

It sickened him to think he’d almost told her he

loved her. That if she’d still been here, he would

have told her and maybe even begged her to give

them a chance. God, she would have laughed him

out of the room. At least he could be thankful for

something.

He clenched his jaw and rose to his feet. She’d

made her decision. And now, as much as it killed

him, as much as he wanted things to be different, he

had to make his. Hell, what difference did it make

what he wanted?

She was already gone.

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Darah Lace

“How do I look?”

Charlotte wiped a tear from her cheek—the last

she’d shed today if it killed her—and turned from

the window and the man outside, who unknowingly

held her heart. She’d cried enough in the two weeks

since returning from Aspen to last her a lifetime.

And Christmas Eve was not a time for tears.

Still wearing the cranberry silk bridesmaid

gown, she glided across the tiny dressing room to

stand behind Melody at the full length mirror. “You

look like a happily married woman.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Melody’s mother

straightened from tugging the hem of her daughter’s

going away suit, a pink wool skirt and jacket with a

winter white blouse and matching three inch heels.

“And she owes it all to you. If you hadn’t told her

about the position available at Preston Enterprises,

she never would have met Spencer.”

“That’s true.” Charlotte lifted the pearls she’d

let Melody borrow and draped them around her neck

to finish off the outfit. “And I’ll cash in on that debt

someday. Just you wait.”

Melody let her chestnut hair fall into place and