The Bachelor's Baby (Bachelor Auction Book 3)(6)

He narrowed his eyes.

Seriously? He didn’t see the humor in this?

“Look, I just…” She couldn’t explain it. Not without getting into how she’d let go of something today. Found herself again. She felt cheerful and sassy. She wanted to flirt. He drew her.

But she’d made him mad.

“Come on,” she cajoled. “It’s not my fault you didn’t say no. It’s a good cause,” she tried.

“You don’t even know me.” His tone said, It was a dick move.

She had to look away. Her cheeks began to sting. She suddenly felt very gauche and juvenile. Rejection was always a tough one for her and all she’d wanted was to keep playing with him. Now he hated her.

“I’m out of practice,” she allowed quietly, genuinely sorry. “Honestly, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Practice?” he repeated. “Doing what?”

Seriously? She lifted a gaze that let him see how uncomfortable she was, while scolding him for being obtuse.

He let out a choke of disbelieving laughter. “This is you trying to get a man’s attention? Are you twelve?”

She looked away, frowning, trying to hide that her eyes began to burn along with the back of her throat. Pointing Lily at him had been meant in fun, but it was becoming personal and hurtful. She felt twelve. Hell, she felt seven, realizing for the first time what it really meant to be adopted: that your ‘real’ mom and dad hadn’t wanted you.

“Look—” she started to say, ready to apologize, but only saw his back. He was walking away.

She might as well have slept with him. This was going to be awful, running into him in future, making her feel this same callow misery. Good thing she was going back to Chicago.

Which was no consolation at all.

Gritting her teeth, she tried to put the whole thing out of her mind, checking with a boy stocking shelves to make sure she had the right screws Blake needed before she took them up to the cashier.

A lot of people were taking advantage of a clear day to run errands. She was standing in line, chatting with the father of a friend from high school, when she felt something nudge her arm.

Glancing, she saw Linc standing beside her, offering the small carrier basket he held. “I think you were looking for these?” He gave her no choice but to accept it.

“What—?” Oh. Nice. A brass nipple. High friction lube. Something called a hickey, a stud finder—predictable—and, very pointedly, a butt marker.

Quite the basket full of hell.

“Are we even now?” she asked as she left her place in line and passed him on the way to hiding the basket on an empty shelf under a yellow clearance tag.

“I could have waited ‘til you were at the counter.” He didn’t turn around when she stepped into line behind him, but two people ahead of them did. One waved at her.

She smiled as she waved back, then drilled holes with her eyes into the chamois back of Linc Brady’s sheepskin coat.

“Are we even now?” she repeated.

He shuffled forward, only half-turning his head to say over his shoulder, “Doubt it. I’m up a few double-entendres. You strike me as the kind of person who wouldn’t let that go.”

She bit back saying, You don’t know what kind of person I am, and moved ahead into the space he’d vacated.

“I’m sorry,” she insisted, completely sincere until he handed over his slip of paper to the cashier and glanced dismissively toward her.

“You will be,” he said.

No, she wouldn’t. Not if he was going to be like that. She radiated her ire up at him with enough power to glaze the side of his face.

He didn’t seem to notice, only touched his hat in a thank-you to the cashier as he finished his transaction, then glanced once more at Meg, letting his green eyes hold hers for a pulse-pounding second.

“See you at the auction.” It sounded like an order.





Chapter Three




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He was right. She was sorry. The minute she saw him, regret soaked into her like a hard rain.

“Oh my Gawd,” she drawled, setting down her gin and tonic with a thunk. It spilled across her fingers and she licked her knuckles dry, gaze fixed on the man who’d just walked into Grey’s Saloon and now owned the place.

“Oh my Gawd,” Liz repeated beside her as she followed Meg’s gaze. Liz had ordered soda water with lime, claiming that her role as designated driver was the reason. “Who is that? He looks like a movie producer.” She snatched up the brochure that gave all the details on the bachelors being auctioned tonight.

“He looks like James freaking Bond,” Meg corrected, taking in the charcoal suit that was definitely tailored to thrill. No tie. He’d left his white shirt open at his throat, but he’d shaved his beard so his cheeks were smooth and a small indent in his chin was visible. The heavy sheepskin coat he’d been wearing the other day had disguised a seriously lean, mean body. Linc might have ended up in boardrooms, but his years as a roughneck had shaped him well.

He went straight over to the bottom of the stairs, where Lily was coming down. Lily smiled as she spoke to him, used the cap of her pen to touch the face of her watch on her wrist, then pointed up the stairs. She turned to let her gaze linger on him as he climbed to the upper level. Who wouldn’t?