The Bachelor Contract

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Bentley spoke first. “I don’t suppose this is a good time to fill us in on why the staff’s trying to kill you?”

  “I slept with her.” Brant shoved past them to the sink. “Abandoned her.” His hands shook as he splashed his face with water. “Killed our child.” Oh, God, he was going to be sick again. “And I’m the reason she’s blind.” He glanced up at his brothers’ horrified expressions. “Take your freaking pick.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Hey, you got a minute?” Cole’s voice interrupted Nikki’s trip down memory lane as she sat in the dark.

  Remembering Brant’s hands. His words. His lips as they trailed across her skin.

  Clearing her throat, she forced out a cheerful and hoarse-sounding. “What’s up?”

  “Any reason you’re sitting in the staff room?” His voice dipped. “In the dark?”

  “The colors give me a headache,” she admitted. “And I’m miserable enough without having to deal with a jackhammer inside my head.”

  “Nik, you really need to see a doctor if you’re getting headaches.”

  “Everyone gets headaches.” She shrugged. “So, what’s going on?”

  “I think I broke Brant.”

  “Are you going to break out in song and dance? Because you sound downright thrilled.”

  “I enrolled him in the Zen program.”

  Nikki gasped. “Cole!”

  “What?”

  She covered her face with her hands and groaned. “You know that program is only exclusively for people going into meditation training, yoga—hell we had two monks cry last week in the hot yoga tent!”

  “Jackasses always survive things like that. He’ll be fine, plus it will teach him a lesson.”

  She groaned. “That’s not your job.”

  “The hell it isn’t!”

  “Cole!”

  “What?”

  She sunk back in her chair. “I don’t want to fight.”

  “I thought you’d be happy?”

  “I should be,” she admitted. Happy that Brant was going to spend the next three days getting tortured, but instead the whole revenge plot Cole was spinning left her empty.

  She just wanted Brant.

  To talk to him.

  Punch him in the face.

  Touch him.

  Then punch him again.

  Her feelings weren’t any clearer now than they were earlier. How could he touch her the way he did last night? And then act the way he did this morning? And why was it bothering her so much?

  He’d used her!

  And she’d let him. Then used him right back.

  She let out a sigh as the realization sunk in that maybe she had something to say to him too, something like Sorry, even if she didn’t fully mean it.

  Sorry meant she’d made a mistake.

  And as much as she wanted to prove that it was, the memory of his touch reminded her that it wasn’t.

  “There you are!” Annie’s voice sounded perkier than usual. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Brant needs to see you.”

  She could feel Cole tense next to her.

  “He’s in the lobby restaurant having lunch with two of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen—no offense, Cole—and by the looks of it Nadine Titus has discovered the fountain of youth. I’m totally going to ask her about it once she’s done groping the old man.”

  “Annie?” Cole interrupted.

  “Yeah?”

  “Less detail next time.”

  “Sorry.” She laughed “So, you want me to take you over there?”

  No. In fact she wanted to run in the opposite direction.

  “Oh, and Cole, Brant said something about needing to interview staff members to see if they’re best at home within the company.”

  That was it, she thought. Either get fired or meet with Brant. At least that was what it felt like.

  Better get it over with now. Even though facing his family sounded about as fun as swimming with sharks. His grandfather hadn’t approved of their relationship, their early marriage. That was why they had initially kept the pregnancy a secret.

  Everyone said they would fail. And it killed her that they had turned out to be right.

  Maybe they’d been too young, but they were madly in love—and after all, didn’t love conquer everything?

  It was a lie. A fantasy.

  With a groan she stood. “Sure, take me over.”

  “Wait.” Cole grabbed her hand.

  “Cole, not now—”

  “Shh.” He ran his fingers through her hair and then pulled a rubber band away from her wrist. He collected her hair in a low ponytail and then very slowly ran his hands down her shoulders. “Make him painfully aware of what he lost the minute he sent you into that elevator alone, then you give him hell.”

  Tears filled her eyes. She gave a jerky nod and was met with a soft hand. Annie’s perfume was always spicy with a hint of lemon; it reminded her of fresh starts.

  And how she wished it wasn’t just a fantasy. But reality. Fresh starts, just like love, didn’t really exist anymore, at least not in her world.

  They walked down the long corridor, only to come to a sudden stop.

  “Where’s your lipstick?” Annie whispered.

  “In my purse, but it’s back in the staff lockers.”

  “Hold still.”

  A berry-tasting gloss was spread across Nikki’s mouth before she could protest.

  “Now blot.”

  She rolled her eyes and followed Annie’s instructions.

  “You look pale.” Annie pinched her cheeks—hard.

  “Ouch!”

  “Better.” She exhaled. “All right, let’s do this. I so deserve a promotion.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking when you just twisted my cheeks and bruised my face. ‘Gee, give that girl a raise!’”

  Annie slapped her on the butt and laughed. “Tell your boyfriend all about it.”

  “Cole’s not my boyfriend.”

  They turned a corner. Annie stopped walking and let out a little sigh before pointing Nikki in the right direction.

  “Yeah, I wasn’t talking about him—I was talking about the sexy-as-sin guy who’s staring you down like you’re the last woman on earth—like you’re his sunshine after years of living in a thundercloud. Cole does not look at you the way Brant Wellington does, and I’m not sure anyone ever will.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say and really didn’t trust her voice not to crack with emotion. Well, that was depressing.

  “Well, my work here is done.” Annie dropped her hand. “Nice to see you, Brant. How’s that fast coming along?”

  “Probably about as good as that novel you’re writing during work hours. Tell me, does the prick ever redeem himself?”

  “I never spoil an ending.” She laughed and walked off.

  “So it’s true. All employees hate you, even the female ones,” said a man’s voice from somewhere to Nikki’s left. It was close in tone to Brant’s but without the trademark huskiness Brant’s voice had developed over the last four years. “And what about you, Nik? How do you feel about my evil twin?”

  Bentley.

  Nice setup.

  Palpable tension swirled around the room as someone sucked in a sharp breath.

  “Nikki!” Nadine yelled, saving the day. Within minutes, Nikki was surrounded by a stifling amount of Ralph Lauren perfume and getting hugged within an inch of her life. “Brave,” Nadine whispered in her ear. “Shoulders back. Told you things would work out for the best.”

  The best? All they’d done was have sex and fight!

  “Shhh,” Nadine whispered. “He’s headed over here, and by the looks of him he hasn’t given up the fight. Why else would I force you to go to that damn auction?”

  Nikki shrugged. “So he’d see what he’s missing and come crawling back?”

  “No,” Nadine whispered. “So you’d realize that with or without him, you’re strong enough on y
our own. You’re fine alone but better together—and both of you needed that push in order to see it.”

  Nikki flashed her a watery smile. “We fight more than anything.”

  Nadine patted her back. “Good.”

  A masculine hand grabbed hers, their fingers sliding past each other, sending a shiver of desire racing through her body. “Are you hungry?”

  She wanted to pull away from the man who was putting on a show for his family, the one who hid his anger and asked if she was hungry, offering to feed her before yelling at her or firing her.

  “No.” She forced a smile. “But I bet you’re starving. How’s day one going?”

  “After lunch, or the lack of it, I’m killing Cole, just thought you should know.”

  “He has good intentions.”

  “Bullshit,” Brant snapped. Apparently angry Brant wasn’t just simmering below the surface anymore. “He wants me to suffer, and he’s probably right. I deserve all of it—but he’s trying to kill me so he can have you all to himself.”

  “He’s had me all to himself for four years,” she said honestly, irritated that she couldn’t see Brant’s expression, but if the complete silence that suddenly fell was any indicator, she’d just said the wrong thing. Again.

  She was lashing out. Just like he’d lashed out earlier.

  Ugh, she wasn’t that person. She didn’t want to be that person, miserable like Brant because she was still living in the past, unable to move beyond the bitterness, the pain.

  “So…” Bentley cleared his throat. How had she not originally recognized his voice? After all, it was the voice of the man who’d hit on her relentlessly, always trying to convince her that she’d chosen the wrong twin—at least before she lost contact with the family.

  But from the moment she’d met Brant, seen his perfectly sculpted lips, the strong lines of his jaw, the twinkling green bedroom eyes that always seemed to be at half mast, as if he was thinking of her naked, she’d been his. All his.

  She shivered.

  “Are you cold?” Amusement danced through Bentley’s silky tones.

  “No. Sorry. Brant.” She turned toward him, and slipped her hand away. “You needed me?”

  “Well.” That gravelly voice interrupting them could only be Charles Wellington. And then the smell of cigars floated in the air, cementing her suspicion. “It’s been a while, Nikki. I wasn’t aware you worked here.”

  “Ever since the accident,” Nadine broke in. “Isn’t that right, Nikki?”

  What did the woman do? Look through her employee files?

  “Right.” Could it get any more awkward? She half-expected Brant to throw a chair or just start yelling again. The last thing they needed between them was yet another reason to feed the anger, and the accident had been his tipping point more than hers. In fact, it was almost more terrifying that he wasn’t reacting.

  “Accident.” Charles’s voice developed a rough edge. “You mean the fire?”

  Nikki stiffened.

  “Grandfather.” Brant’s voice was tight. “Don’t.”

  “What?” Charles let out a sigh. “From what I’ve heard, Nikki is lucky to be alive. That must have been terrifying, being caught beneath the supporting beams.”

  Memories flashed through her mind, a blur of color and pain. “Yes, it was horrible.” She didn’t want this. The trip down memory lane in front of Brant and his entire family. Not being able to see his face, to know what he was thinking.

  For the first time in her life, she truly felt blind. Unable to read the emotional temperature of the room.

  “I, um…” She didn’t have her walking stick; she had nothing but hope that she’d somehow be able to make a run for it and not ram headfirst into a table. “I need to go.”

  As fast as she could, she turned on her heel and put her hands out in front of her to keep from stumbling. A chair came out of nowhere—or so it felt—and hit her in the shin. She stumbled to the right and slammed against a table, only to bounce back and run right into a passing waiter.

  The sound of glass hitting glass was almost as bad as the searing pain she felt when hot coffee came into contact with her arm, followed by something sharp. She fell to the floor with a thud, her hair covered in whatever other liquid had been on the tray.

  Maybe if she just closed her eyes?

  And hid under the table?

  Tears threatened.

  Helpless.

  She was helpless in front of the only man she’d ever loved—and the family who’d never truly wanted her.

  Swallowing past the giant lump in her throat, she tried to stand, teeth chattering from the shock of the burn and what was starting to feel like a really nasty cut on her arm.

  “Nik!” Brant’s scent was everywhere. “You’re hurt.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not fine.”

  “Brant!” She didn’t mean to yell his name. “Just…leave me alone. Please. I can’t do this right now. I can’t do this…”

  He ignored her pleas as he scooped her up in his arms and started walking. She tucked her head in his neck, wanting to scream at the unfairness of the situation. He wasn’t supposed to be a hero. It was hard to hate a hero. It was hard to forget one, too.

  And it suddenly occurred to her like a light going on in her head.

  He’d always been her hero. Always.

  So much so, that even when he had failed her, she’d still imagined he’d come back, he’d save the day. And when he hadn’t…

  It was like she lost a part of her innocence, her faith in humanity, and her love for the man who had promised he would never leave her. And when he did, when he finally did do exactly what she asked, he didn’t turn back.

  She choked down a sob as Brant kept walking.

  Elevator doors closed. A ding sounded.

  She hated that elevator and the ding that went with it—because it made her remember this morning, after they’d used each other. The morning after she’d felt his body beneath her. The morning after she was reminded why his leaving nearly destroyed her.

  Doors opened, warm air kissed her skin, and then a lock sounded, the door closed.

  His masculine scent was everywhere.

  She was back in his room.

  Shivering, she clenched her teeth to keep from saying something she’d regret, like, It feels like home in your arms. In your bed.

  Because the last thing she needed was to be in his arms or his bed and start an all-out war again.

  If she thought about it hard enough she was going to cry all over again.

  He gently set her down on the couch and left.

  Where had he gone?

  The spray of water hitting porcelain reached her ears, and then she was scooped up again—and stripped.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Brant’s blood was boiling, his rage barely in check. His grandfather had no fucking right to bring up the past in front of the entire family—in front of the hotel staff. What the hell had he been thinking?

  The pain in Nik’s eyes was like a punch to the gut. And then she ran.

  He knew how desperate she had to be to run when she couldn’t really see. The doctors had always said it was possible she’d get her vision back, but the chance of it ever happening was grim at best. Obviously that ship had sailed. Guilt attacked full force, ugly and painful.

  His stomach dropped as his shaking hands lifted her shirt over her head; his fingers unhooked her bra then skimmed down her hips, tugging her black pants down to the white tiled floor.

  Teeth chattering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stared blankly ahead, her face pale. Beautiful. So striking. Her full lips parted as her body shook, her olive skin just begged to be touched.

  But the look on her face sobered his thoughts. She looked afraid.

  Your fault.

  The skin on her right forearm was turning a bright pink.

  “Keep your right arm away from the water,” he said gruffly.

  “’Ka
y.” She breathed out a sigh and then held out her hands to reach for him.

  He pulled her into his arms, and she let out a little gasp.

  “What?”

  “You’re naked.”

  “Not all the way.” He smiled down at her even though she couldn’t see him. “I figured the best way for you to clean up was with a shower partner.”

  “And let me guess—you’re volunteering?”

  “Yeah, well, it’s my hotel room, my rules. Besides, I don’t see anyone else jumping at the chance.”

  “Probably because nobody else is here.”

  “Lucky you,” he whispered.

  She sucked in a breath and jerked her head away. He’d almost kissed her. He’d wanted to touch those lips, to kiss them into submission, to press her against the shower wall and worship her body.

  And then what?

  Leave them both more fucked than they already were?

  No, the last thing he needed was to kiss her; hell, even touching her was doing a number on his self-control. Because he wanted to run, just like she’d just done. He wanted to run until his legs burned, until his chest ached, until his bloody feet brought him to the end of the world, where memories of what they shared and the reminder that it was that good would be gone.

  An apology hung between them.

  He knew he should go first. But how do you apologize for something you’re still not sure you’re sorry for?

  And if he did actually apologize, that meant he’d been wrong, and being wrong meant acknowledging how much he’d fucked up.

  It would force them to deal with the present. And the past. And grieve.

  He shuddered beneath the hot spray as it massaged his back. After a few minutes, she relaxed against his chest, the tips of her breasts sliding against his skin, making it impossible not to react.

  Brant clenched his teeth. “How’s the arm?”

  “Hurts.”

  “I’m sorry.” His eyes burned; he squeezed them shut and kept talking. “I’m so damn sorry he brought that up, he had no right.”

  She sighed. “Normally I’m okay with answering questions about…about the fire.” Her voice weakened. “But in front of you, your family…and your grandfather sounded concerned and then everyone else was quiet, like they had no idea how serious it really was.”