In Bed with the Bachelor (Bachelor Auction Book 5)(4)

“Why can’t I write a check to whatever charity this is like a normal person?” Jesse had demanded when his Uncle Jason had sprung this on him. Today. After lunch. “Why do I have to channel Channing Tatum to support this thing?”

“One, because I think it’s funny,” Jason had retorted in his usual gruff way, the only hint he’d ever laughed about anything in his entire life in the faint creases around his eyes, but it was only the faintest hint. It could also have been the weather. “And two, because I think you’re too goddamned comfortable writing your freaking checks.” He’d only shrugged when Jesse had glared at him. “Maybe you need to see if your body can cash one of them, for a change.”

Jesse hadn’t known what the hell that meant. But he had known better than to push his uncle on that or any other topic. His own father, Billy Grey, was a punk at best. He owned a regional sporting goods chain based out of Billings, Montana, where he made enemies and cheated on his various wives and never, ever suffered any consequences for his actions. Jason, on the other hand, was Billy’s older brother and he was definitely not a punk. He was the current owner of Grey’s and the custodian of the family’s Marietta legacy. Jason didn’t play games, pull punches, or suffer fools.

In the comfort of his life as one of Seattle’s young millionaires, though his wealth had nothing to do with the tech industry that ruled the city and everything to do with his own sweat and labor and desire not to be his father, Jesse liked to think he was more like his uncle than not. But he doubted Jason would agree with that assessment.

This, of course, was how Jesse had found himself succumbing to the indignity of this evening, an auction to benefit a little kid he’d never met with medical issues he didn’t know anything about. It was that or punk out in front of his uncle, which was what his father would have done and was therefore unacceptable.

So Jesse had stood on that so-called stage. He’d listened to the auctioneer discuss him as if he was little more than a glorified cow. He’d been half-asleep, busy pretending he wasn’t actually there, until the bidding had climbed above a thousand dollars. When it had hit five thousand, he’d been astonished. Who the hell had that kind of money to throw around in a sleepy little place like this?

He’d had an unpleasant sort of jolt when he’d seen the woman who was steered in his direction when he exited the stage. He’d hardly noticed the loudmouthed one acting like her usher. He’d zeroed in on Michaela immediately, as if she was brighter than everyone else in the room, and Jesse didn’t like that at all.

She was delicate and gorgeous in the kind of fresh-faced, approachable way that made every part of his body lock up tight and hard. She looked like the kind of girl who should have freckles, the kind that danced across her cheekbones and made her taste like some kind of sweet summer crumble, though she didn’t. She wore her dark brown hair swept back in an easy, friendly sort of ponytail he doubted she understood made her prettiness that much more pointed and difficult to ignore, and a long-sleeved magenta t-shirt that looked like a micro wool over a pair of casual jeans and winter boots. As if she was wholly unaware of her effect on every man in the room, with that mouth and that sweet ass.

And it took all of three sentences out of her mouth for him to realize that she must have no idea what she looked like, that she definitely had no idea that those lips of hers could start a riot, and that it was very unlikely that she possessed the kind of hardened, licentious casualness that he preferred in his disposable women these days. Not this one.

She was earnest. And possibly nervous, which should not have charmed him. She was intriguing. He didn’t have to ask her if she liked casual sex and anonymous encounters, because he could tell by that particular look in her bright, hazel eyes that she had little to no experience with either one. Just like he could tell from his body’s over-the-top reaction to her that he’d like to introduce her to the joys of each, if she’d let him.

Jesse doubted very much she’d let him.

He hated that he even wanted her to let him.

She was a problem, was what she was, and he’d never been more relieved in his life to hear of an engagement than he had been to hear of hers.

Until she mentioned that egregious loser, Terrence Polk.

Terrence Polk who was, among many other unsavory things—like a self-proclaimed “money and ideas guy” who never had much in the way of either—renowned to be just about the biggest slut in the greater Seattle area. That some woman was dumb enough to marry him was surprising enough. But a woman like this? Who seemed… nice? Actually nice, like a real person instead of the kind of fake, grasping, plastic creature who would make sense with a dirtbag like Polk? That was just wrong.

Jesse opened his mouth to tell her that. But there was something about her posture that got to him. She stood with her spine too straight and her hands folded too tightly in front of her, the way awkward teenagers stood in front of intimidating authority figures. He didn’t know why that snuck under his skin and made him… restless. But Jesse didn’t want to upset her.

And he didn’t have one damned clue why not, when ruining people’s days was a major pastime of his. He did it all the time as the owner of his powerful little construction company and he didn’t care whose feelings he hurt when he did.

But Michaela was different.

Jesse hated “different.” He wanted absolutely no part of “different.” He’d thought Angelique was different, which was why he’d brought her home with him for Christmas that year. And she’d sure proved him right, hadn’t she? He wasn’t doing “different” again. Ever.