The Bachelor's Baby (Bachelor Auction Book 3)(9)
Meg blushed hard. “You’re just—” she started to blurt at Linc.
He lifted his brows in a prompt for her to finish her statement. Getting back at me, is what she wanted to accuse. The corners of his mouth were digging in, smugly enjoying her discomfiture.
“Twenty-five hundred dollars,” she said. It was as high as she would go and screw his helicopter tour. That was her signing bonus that she had set aside for an all-inclusive when she got tired of winter. He was going to provide a lot more than lunch if she was giving it away.
“Two thousand, five hundred…and one,” he declared precisely.
Jerk. The entire room was laughing at her.
“You know what?” she said as the noise died down. “You write your check and I’ll write mine. We’ll call this date done because you obviously don’t want to go through with it.” Not with her, at any rate. She was burning with humiliation and just wanted this hideous scene over.
He lost some of his self-assured demeanor. His expression blanked with surprise, but he recovered quickly. His eyelids came down in a shuttered blink and he nodded. “Deal.”
*
Linc had forgotten for a minute that he wasn’t dealing with a bunch of CEOs where one-upmanship was not just a game, but a professional survival tactic. His testosterone had got the better of him and now he felt like he’d walked through a door ahead of a woman and let it slam in her face.
He got his ass off the stage, grateful for that much.
After dropping off his check and picking up the beer he was nursing, he went to the bar and arranged to cover whatever was on Meg’s tab. Then he turned around in time to see her confusion as she tried to write her own donation check.
A second later, she approached him with a disgruntled frown wrinkling her strawberry blond brows. “They said you wrote a check for five thousand dollars.”
“Five thousand and one,” he corrected. “What are you drinking?” He was disturbed to realize how important it was that she accept his olive branch, even though he thoroughly deserved her to tell him to drop dead.
“You don’t have to buy me a drink.” She glanced back at her table where her drink sat half-full. “I should get back to Liz.” Her friend was deep in conversation with the woman at the next table.
Meg’s cornflower blue gaze flicked back to his, hesitant and bruised, as though hoping he hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t missed. She didn’t let any of her hard feelings show on her face, though. She was tough. Or at least determined to appear that way. She was a very pretty woman, wearing minimal make-up, hair in loose waves around her face. She’d dressed casually in skinny jeans and a snug plum-colored sweater that might have been cashmere.
He’d love the right to pet and find out. Get to know her curves. Unwind that flimsy silk scarf from her slender neck and—yeah, he could think of some very interesting things to do with that scarf.
Damn, but she got to him. It wasn’t just the polish, either. There was a fascinating liveliness to her. He’d been watching her all night, had watched her in the hardware store that day even. She smiled quickly and warmly at people, no matter who they were, laughter in her eyes even when she was listening attentively. He didn’t think it was a put-on from her work in front of a camera, either. The way people reacted to her wasn’t star-struck. They were genuinely pleased to see her, like she was a long lost friend.
As someone who’d spent a lot of his life moving around, taking control of chaos with a firm hand, winding up in charge and therefore never ‘one of the guys,’ he envied her place in this community. Not that he was yearning to fit in. He wasn’t moping or anything, just suddenly made aware that if Marietta was his home now, maybe he ought to quit acting like Salinger, reclusively hiding in his dilapidated house outside of town.
“You and I have obviously got off on the wrong foot,” he said. “Let me buy you a drink.” His lustful thoughts were creeping into his voice. He gave his libido a yank and signaled to the barman.
“Gin and tonic, please, Dillon,” she said to the bartender, flashing him her smile before she turned back to Linc. “I really am sorry I got you into this. Please tell me we’re even now.”
He carried their drinks to a corner where the noise of the next round of auction bidding wasn’t so loud.
“Even Steven,” he assured her, touching the neck of his bottle to the rim of her glass.
“Thank you. This town’s too small for grudges, even if I’m just visiting.”
They both sipped, gazes intersecting before he skimmed an admiring glance over the smoothness of her skin, the flawless manicure of her nails, the inviting waviness of her hair.
Her eyes went soft and a light flush of color rose under her cheekbones.
His blood heated as he absorbed that she was responding to his interest, seeming as attracted as he was. Why the hell hadn’t she just come home with him the other day? A burn of anticipation glowed like a branding iron behind his fly. He lowered his bottle.
“We could still do that date, you know,” he murmured, and rather liked the way she swept her lashes down, like her own thoughts had gone where his had, but she was too shy to reveal it.
“Even though I didn’t pay for it?” she scoffed lightly. “I’ll have to take a rain check. I’m leaving for Chicago tomorrow.”