Book Tour: The Bachelor Auction by Rachel Van Dyken
Are you ready to Meet Brock Wellington?
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Jane isn't entirely sure that
Cinderella got such a raw deal. Sure, she had a rough start, but
didn't she eventually land a prince and a happily-ever-after?
Meanwhile, Jane is busy waiting on her demanding, entitled sisters,
running her cleaning business, and . . . yep, not a prince in sight.
Until a party and a broken shoe incident leave Jane wondering if
princes---or at least, a certain deliciously hunky
billionaire---maybe do exist.
Except Brock Wellington isn't anyone's
dream guy. Hell, a prince would never agree to be auctioned off in
marriage to the highest bidder. Or act like an arrogant jerk---even
if it was just a façade. Now, as Brock is waiting for the auction
chopping block, he figures it's karmic retribution that he's tempted
by a sexy, sassy woman he can't have. But while they can't have a
fairy-tale ending, maybe they can indulge in a little bit of fantasy
. .
Chapter Four
Jane was pressed so tightly against the
wall she would have sworn her body was starting to blend into the
wallpaper. Most people didn’t give her a second glance. Then again,
she wouldn’t give herself a second glance either.
Women with fake boobs and injected lips
mocked her while rich men in three-piece suits completely ignored
her.
She self-consciously tugged at hem of
the short black dress. In a last ditch effort to modernize the dress,
or at least add a bit of spice, she’d grabbed her mother’s long
pearls, wrapped them around her neck twice and called it good.
But the minute they’d arrived at the
party she’d wanted to disappear. Her sisters were already
semi-drunk, thanks to the vodka they’d had in the car. Against
Jane’s protests they’d taken shots while she drove. And then
she’d paid for parking only to hear them whine that she had parked
too far away.
They’d been here for twenty minutes
and already she wanted to leave, or at least sit down, but most of
the available space was taken by couples talking, eating…kissing.
She was surrounded by the beautiful and
rich.
The only reason her sisters had even
been invited was because they were complete and total social
climbers, and had managed to gain an invitation from a friend who was
an heiress to some french fry company.
A waiter passed by with champagne.
She grabbed a glass and downed the
entire thing. It didn’t help her nerves, but at least the bubbles
semi-calmed her stomach.
Her sweaty feet slid in her too-big red
pumps as she pressed harder against the wall to alleviate the ache in
her toes.
The music shifted to a loud techno song
as the lights went from red to a bright white, and with a gasp she
covered her eyes and then blinked a few times to clear her line of
vision.
The jumbled sweaty bodies moved aside
as the music changed to a slow song. There was just enough of a break
for her to see across the room.
“Oh.” It was all she could utter,
really the only word she was capable of as her breathing picked up.
Without thinking, she grabbed another glass of champagne from a
passing waiter, suddenly awkward. What was she supposed to do with
her hands?
Thick wavy auburn hair fell in disarray
over his forehead. It was lush, shiny, perfect. Were guys born with
hair like that? Or was his somehow chemically engineered? His full
lips pressed together in a secret smile as the equally handsome man
next to him said something, then erupted in laughter.
The first man stiffened, then shook his
head. His broad shoulders seemed to grow tight as a drum. A slight
tic in his jaw was the only clue that he was irritated or maybe
outright angry.
And then his shoulders slumped as he
was handed another drink and then another.
Nervous. He must be nervous. But what
could a man like that possibly have to be nervous about?
He easily towered over most of the men
in attendance. Suddenly his posture changed, then he smiled.
Jane felt her mouth drop open in shock.
Dazzling.
He was…like a duke or a lord or a
prince from a storybook. Clearly, she read too many romance novels,
but his entire presence demanded attention; screamed authority,
importance, and sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Yes, his virility was a tangible thing,
as if she could reach out and grasp it with her fingertips.
“What are you doing?” Esmeralda
yelled in her right ear, interrupting her blatant sexual fantasy
about a complete stranger. Great. That’s what her life had come to.
And sadly? It was the most fun she’d had all night.
Jane turned to Esmeralda, prayed for
patience, and answered. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“You’re so boring.” Esmeralda
rolled her eyes. “No wonder you got dumped.”
Another fun fact? Esmeralda was mean
when she was drunk.
The reminder of the breakup burned like
acid.
It had been a year ago, not that it
mattered. It still hurt that the last guy she’d dated had told her
that although she was cute, she wasn’t really doing it for him
anymore.
Right. Doing it.
Maybe that was because she hadn’t
done anything for him or with him, and he found that lacking. But
they’d only dated for a few weeks. Did normal girls do that? Put
out after a few weeks? Apparently.
She wasn’t normal.
But if that was normal, maybe she was
better off being strange.
“Jane, are you even listening to me?”
Esmeralda whined. “Essence needs you to dance next to her for a
bit. I’m tired and tipsy. I want to sit. Plus your dress blends in
enough that it won’t take attention away from her.”
No way. What? What had she just said?
Jane wrapped her arms around her
middle. “I’m sorry, what?”
Without warning, Esmeralda grabbed
Jane’s hand and jerked her toward the dance floor, causing Jane to
lose her footing and crash directly into Esmeralda’s back. Then,
like a domino, she slammed back into Essence.
Jane opened her mouth to shout out an
apology, but Esmeralda was already too drunk to listen to reason.
With determination in her eyes, she reached for the pearls at Jane’s
neck but grabbed the fabric of the dress instead.
Her poorly sewn dress ripped instantly,
causing the fabric to slink past her strapless bra. A diagonal slit
split up her thigh almost all the way to her hip. In an effort
to cover herself, she took a step and tripped, thanks to her clunky
shoes.
And then she fell to the floor.
Hard.
Her sisters watched in horror—but
neither of them offered a hand. They were probably kicking themselves
for forcing her to come. Esmeralda leaned over but missed Jane’s
shoulder by a mile, grabbing her hair and giving it a tug, which only
made Jane wince harder.
Both sisters were completely tanked.
And she was less than two minutes away
from being trampled by the other sweaty bodies around her.
She glanced up.
And into the eyes of the man she’d
just been lusting after.
Oh God, the humiliation was complete.
That one glance told her he’d seen it
all. She swallowed back the thickness building in her throat. Of
course the only time he’d notice her would be when she’d ripped
her dress and nearly took out a few guests on her way down to the
dance floor.
The crowd gathered around her.
And the sexy man disappeared—probably
off in search of a girl with perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect
clothes.
She really should have stayed home.
Tears filled her eyes as a heel pressed
into her right hand. With a jerk she tugged her hand free, struggling
to get up to stand on her wobbly feet, when suddenly she was pulled
to a standing position and then swept up in strong arms.
Jane’s eyes were still so blurry from
unshed tears she couldn’t make out the man’s face as he carried
her out of the crowd.
He smelled like heaven.
She fought the insane urge to press her
face against his chest and just…close her eyes.
Because he felt safe.
Pathetic, when a stranger’s arms
provided more safety than her own family. And yet he felt…right.
In a world where things for the past
ten years had felt so wrong.
He felt right.
Maybe she’d had too much champagne.
“Are you all right?” he whispered
in a deep voice with a hint of a southern drawl. He’d brought her
into a private room where the music wasn’t quite so deafening.
He set her on one of the black leather
couches and shut the door, muffling the music on the other side.
Blinking, Jane glanced up and gawked,
like a starry-eyed teenager. He was the same man she’d seen
earlier, the one she’d been captivated by. “Yes.”
“Yes?” He looked confused. His
amazing eyebrows drew together, and a small line creased the center
of his forehead. Even the line was gorgeous, just as gorgeous as the
rest of him.
His thickly muscled body screamed
power. Her hands slid down the front of his chest. Even his shirt was
smooth. She didn’t realize she’d been basically petting him until
his muscles tensed beneath her palm. Oh crap.
“I mean, yes, I’m fine.” She
tried to stand then fell back down; her stupid heel was broken. “Or
I was fine, until I got trampled.”
The line in his forehead deepened.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
Jane shook her head then pressed her
hand to her chest and gasped out, “My pearls!”
“Wait here.” He held out his hands.
“I’ll get the necklace, I’m sure it’s where you fell and—”
“No.” Jane slumped, defeated. “They
broke off when my sis—” She corrected herself, not wanting to
claim the crazies in the other room. “They broke apart when I
fell.”
The man sighed loudly and ran his
fingers through his perfect hair. “I’ll talk to the club manager
and see if anyone turns them in.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to give
him all the many reasons why they were irreplaceable, but instead she
settled with, “That’s really not necessary. It’s not your fault
I was a victim of the techno craze.”
His upper lip curled. “I hate
techno.”
“Me too.”
“Is there something I can do?
Anything? You promise you aren’t hurt?”
“Careful or you’re going to have me
believe you got me trampled on purpose in order to trap me in a
private room,” she joked as a smile tugged at her lips.
“Had I known you were willing, I
wouldn’t have had to go to such extremes to orchestrate it.”
He appeared stunned by his own answer.
Her breath hitched. Was he flirting
with her?
His crystal blue eyes twinkled with
amusement.
“So…” Her voice was hoarse, like
an old woman’s. Great. “I should probably get back to the party.”
Why did she need to go back again? All the reasons seemed to
disappear as he maneuvered around the couch and popped a bottle of
champagne that had been chilling in a nearby crystal bucket.
“Why don’t you and I have a drink
first?” He peered around the table. “I’ll need to send for some
shoes. It’s the least I can do.” His gaze heated. “Shoes are
appropriate to purchase for a stranger. A dress, I’m afraid…”
The corners of his mouth tilted into a sultry smile as his eyes
slowly raked over the scraps of fabric barely covering her breasts.
“Not so much.”
Did people do that these days? Just
send for shoes? Who was this guy? “Really, it’s not necessary.
I’ll just stick to the shadows so I don’t scare anyone with my
limp and I’ll be okay.” She sounded more confident than she felt,
and her lower lip trembled a bit. Next time she was going to hold her
ground, stay home, read a book, and be plain boring Jane. This wasn’t
her scene. Not by a long shot.
He leaned in close, so close she could
smell his aftershave again. “A woman like you doesn’t belong in
the shadows.”
Uncomfortable, she tried to make light
of the situation again. “Wow, a hero and good with words. I bet
you’re just a regular handful, aren’t you?”
“Me?” He laughed as if the thought
was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “No, that would be my
twin brothers. They’re the handfuls. I’m…” He seemed to think
about it. “Just Brock.”
“Well, Just Brock…” Jane held out
her hand. “I’m Just Jane.”
His hand completely engulfed hers as
their palms pressed against one another. He was so warm. And big.
Huge.
Huge hands. That meant something,
right?
Crap, she was still shaking his hand,
and he was grinning at her as if it was the funniest thing that had
ever happened to him. And he was looking at her. At her eyes, not at
the fact that she was half-naked on a couch, with a broken shoe.
With a jerk, she pulled her hand back
and nervously reached to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
“So, Brock.” Jane looked down at
his shoes. That was safe. Shoes. Nothing sexy about a man’s feet,
right? Except his were inside shoes that she ventured probably cost
more than she’d ever see in a lifetime. “About those shoes.”
“Shoes.” He repeated the word and
then quickly stood. “Right, just wait here.”
He disappeared, giving her the
breathing room she absolutely positively needed, only to re-appear a
few seconds later.
Without shoes.
She frowned; then again, what had she
expected? That he’d bang some plastic Barbie over the head with his
cell phone, steal her shoes, and then toss them to Jane?
Brock studied her. “Your shoes should
be here within the next fifteen minutes. I just sent my degenerate
brother across the street. Saks is still open. The night is young.”
Saks?
Shoes from Saks?
She’d never owned anything from Saks.
Ever. But she knew the store; didn’t every woman? Still, the most
expensive thing she’d ever owned had been the pearls.
“That’s really…” She waved her
hand in the air and stood. “Not necessary…you can tell him that—”
Brock reached for her hand and lightly
tugged her back. “Sit. It is necessary. And although I typically
wait until the third date to buy a woman gifts, I think your nearly
getting trampled allows me to break that rule.”
Still tense, Jane nodded and took a
shaky look around the small, private room.
“To new shoes?” Brock grabbed his
drink and lifted it in the air toward her.
She lifted her glass and clinked it
against his then took a small sip. The champagne was pink and sweet,
with a tart aftertaste. “It’s good.”
“You sound surprised.” Brock’s
lips lifted in a smile.
She scrunched up her nose. “I’m not
much of a drinker, and I typically don’t like drinks that are the
same color as my underwear.”
The minute the words were out of her
mouth, she froze, barely managing to suppress the urge to clap a hand
over her mouth. She wanted someone to run her over with a car.
With a choke, Brock nearly spit out the
sip he’d just taken. Face flushed, he stared her down and then
whispered, “You’re making me regret my decision to send out for
boring black shoes.”
“I didn’t…I mean, pink is fine.”
Stop talking, stop talking. “Not all of my underwear is pink. I
have black, too.”
Brock’s lips parted with a greedy
exhale, and he downed the rest of his drink. “Oh?”
Hell in a handbasket.
Why was she giving him a rundown of her
lingerie drawer? As if he were a naughty Santa with a checklist in
front of him, putting down little marks on the little boxes that read
“red lacy thong”? Check. “Black boyshorts”? Double check.
“I’m more of a boxer brief sort of
guy,” he said smoothly, bringing her back to the present.
“Huh?”
“Too far?” He chuckled. “I
figured if I knew the color of yours…I should at least show you
mine.” He leaned forward.
Had he said show?
Just how drunk was he? Maybe that was
the reason his eyes were zeroing in on her mouth. He blinked, and
then seemed to sway a bit.
Was he okay? And why was he still
staring at her mouth? Did she have something on her face?
Self-consciously, she pressed her
fingertips to her lips only to have him suck in a breath and lift his
right hand from his thigh as if wanting to touch the place where her
fingers had just been.
“Got the shoes!” a male voice
yelled as Jane jerked away from Brock.
What had just happened?
“Holy shit, you’re hot.”
She recognized the man from before. He
was about an inch shorter than Brock, but had the same perfect auburn
hair. “I’m Bentley, and since this one’s about to get married,
I feel like it’s only fair to let you know that out of the two of
us, I’m the single, available one, who’s also—lucky for
you—been given a higher rating in the sack.”
Married?
He was getting married?
And hitting on her?
Or was she hitting on him? After all,
she was the one who’d mentioned underwear. Ugh, she wanted to crawl
under the table and die.
Rachel Van Dyken is the New York Times,
Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling author of regency and
contemporary romances. When she's not writing you can find her
drinking coffee at Starbucks and plotting her next book while
watching The Bachelor.
She keeps her home in Idaho with her
Husband, adorable son, and two snoring boxers! She loves to hear from
readers!
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