The Playboy Bachelor (The Bachelors of Arizona #2)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  She opened her mouth and then closed it.

  “We’re going to be late.” He jerked open the car door and slammed it behind him then kicked the front tire all while Margot had a minor nervous breakdown inside the car.

  He’d wanted to kiss her.

  He’d wanted her.

  It hadn’t been her imagination.

  Tears filled her eyes.

  Well, this was basically the worst timing in the world. Her publisher was going to think she was an emotional wreck.

  When he came around to her side of the car, he opened the door, leaned down, and whispered in her ear, “We can talk later. I’m sorry, that was shitty timing.”

  “Supershitty.”

  “I like it when you curse.”

  And just like that, Margot was smiling again. Damn him!

  “Be brave.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth and looped her hand through his arm. “And kick some ass.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Bentley wrapped his arm protectively around Margot. He hoped that by smiling he’d deflect the attention away from her and her leg and onto him.

  Not because he was ashamed of her.

  No fucking way.

  He knew how to divert attention, how to be the Bachelor Playboy everybody expected, and he was more than happy to step back into that role if it meant protecting Margot.

  “Bentley Wellington.” He ignored the woman who whispered his name under her breath, and then another feminine call rang out. What the hell was wrong with people? Couldn’t they see he was on a date? He was used to the attention; people always said his name, women screamed it, men cursed it. That was his life.

  “Bentley!” Finally, he turned and came face-to-face with the same girl who’d been in his bed nine days ago.

  Sarah. No, Shelly. No,…shit!

  She sighed and crossed her arms. “You still don’t know my name, do you?”

  They were standing in the lobby of the restaurant, near the bar. The woman’s dark hair was curled and pulled into a low ponytail; her lush lips were red and Botoxed.

  Not real, like Margot’s.

  As if reminding him of her presence, Margot clung to him.

  It felt good.

  “Margot, this is…” He arched an eyebrow at the woman in question, who rolled her eyes and held out her hand to Margot.

  “Christine,” she said through clenched teeth. “Nice to meet you, Margot.” And then her venomous gaze turned to Bentley. “It’s so nice to see Bentley supporting a handicap charity.”

  Whispers erupted around them while Margot stiffened at his side.

  “Actually,” he said in a low voice, “I’m picking up stray dogs for the shelter.” He eyed her up and down with a sneer. “Say, you’re a bitch. Want me to give them your number?”

  “You’re a bastard,” she seethed.

  “Thank you.” He grinned and shoved past her with Margot in tow. He made a beeline to the maître d’ and gave Margot’s name.

  “Right away, Mr. Wellington.” Margot wasn’t even acknowledged. Well, except for the pitying glance the man gave Margot when he saw her leg. Was this what it was like for her in public? People didn’t want to look at her because they didn’t want to stare, so she was just ignored?

  Margot’s palm grew more clammy by the second as they passed through the restaurant before finally stopping at a booth near the back. A gorgeous woman who looked to be in her fifties stood as they approached and greeted them with a smile.

  “Margot!” She held out her hands and grabbed Margot before Bentley could utter a word of protest. She air-kissed Margot’s cheeks, one after the other.

  Jealousy sliced through him.

  Great. He was jealous of Margot’s publisher for kissing her cheek? Really? He needed a drink.

  “And this is?” The lady turned her attention to Bentley.

  He held out his hand. “The significant other.”

  Margot’s eyes widened briefly before she pinched him in the side. He winked. Yeah, she looked ready to pass out into the breadbasket.

  Well, that was comforting.

  “You didn’t tell me that your significant other was the notorious Bentley Wellington.” The woman’s eyes sparkled. “My, my, what other secrets are you keeping, Margot?”

  Bentley laughed and answered for her. “I’ve been trying to find that out myself.”

  “Well.” The woman clasped her hands together then reached for him. “I’m Lynn Harrison.” She pumped his hand and then took a seat, directing her attention to Margot again. “I’m so glad we could finally meet in person after all these years. I decided at the last minute to fly into town for RWA, and I wanted to take you out to celebrate the nomination.”

  “RWA?” Bentley repeated, motioning for the waiter.

  Lynn squared her shoulders as a proud smile spread over her face. “Romance Writers of America.”

  He laughed.

  The women just stared at him.

  “So that’s really a thing.” He nodded. “Nice.”

  “It’s more than nice. Margot was nominated for another RITA this year.” Lynn smiled brightly. “She’s very talented.”

  “I know,” Bentley agreed. “I’ve been reading her work.” He slid his hand down Margot’s thigh. “I think my favorite so far was the Regency spy series.”

  “Mine, too.” Lynn reached for the bread. “She truly understands what it’s like to be in the mind of a man.”

  “Must be nice, being able to read men so well.”

  Margot flushed and reached for her water like she wasn’t in the middle of an air-conditioned restaurant.

  “So what’s a RITA?” Bentley asked.

  Lynn waved the waiter over. “It’s one of the most prestigious awards you can get in our industry. Margot’s been nominated several times, but I think this year’s her year.”

  “I think”—Bentley caressed Margot’s thigh—“I’d have to agree with you on that.”

  The waiter approached and took their drink order.

  All in all, Bentley knew his job was to keep Lynn talking, to make sure Margot didn’t fall into her food or pass out from the anxiety of being out in public, and to make certain they got home safely in one piece.

  And he took his job very seriously.

  So he peppered Lynn with questions about Margot’s books while Margot reached for the steak knife at least a dozen times and pointed it in his direction.

  They’d made it through dinner without any disaster striking, and dessert menus were placed on their table. “So.” Lynn reached for a menu. “How did you two meet?”

  “We were best friends in high school,” Bentley answered honestly. “I basically stalked her until she agreed to hang out with me. The rest is history. Lynn, I can’t even tell you how many times I used to walk by this woman and flex just so she’d notice me.”

  Margot gasped. “You never flexed!”

  “Oh, I did.” He nodded seriously. “You just never noticed. Apparently I can’t compare to men in books.” He winked at Lynn. “But she finally opened the door”—he smirked “—and let me in.”

  “Kind of like picking up a stray dog,” Margot added. “Wouldn’t you say, Bentley?”

  He choked on his whiskey. “Great example.”

  “I thought so.”

  Damn it, he felt her teasing smile in all the wrong places. When would it be considered appropriate to leave? Now?

  “You guys are seriously adorable.” Lynn sighed. “Really, I can’t believe this isn’t already all over the tabloids.”

  A smile froze on Bentley’s face. “Excuse me?”

  “America’s richest playboy lands reclusive yet gorgeous romance author?” She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. “It seems like news to me.”

  Bentley swallowed. Shit. Shit. Shit. “We like to keep our private life private.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you,” Lynn said, pointing behind them, “but two camera crews pulled up halfway through our meal.”

&
nbsp; “Shit.”

  Margot pulled her hand away from Bentley. He felt the loss in his chest, like a hollow ache that refused to go away.

  “Do you think there’s a back door or something?” Margot asked in a low voice.

  Lynn shook her head. “Honey, snap out of it. You’ve got a gorgeous man on your arm. Besides, you have a book release in a few weeks. This is good for sales. No offense.” She smiled at Bentley. Somehow that didn’t comfort him.

  He felt used.

  And pissed that the publisher would short-sell Margot’s talent that way.

  “Her book will sell with or without me,” he finally said.

  “Well.” Lynn leaned back in her chair. “Her last book didn’t perform like it should have, so I’m glad you’re here to help boost sales. Because, let’s be honest…” She pulled out her phone and slid it across the table. “You aren’t exactly known for being a one-woman man, ergo, it looks fantastic that you’ve finally settled down!”

  Margot hadn’t spoken a word.

  She was white as a sheet.

  “I think,” Margot finally said in a small voice, “that we should call it a night.”

  Lynn was clearly clueless as to Margot’s sudden change in mood. She started firing off more chatter about catching up later in the week. “I’ll e-mail you more details Monday.”

  They hugged.

  Margot was visibly shaking.

  Bentley wrapped a protective arm around Margot’s waist and led her toward the flashing lights and camera crews.

  “You can do this,” he said.

  “I know,” Margot answered.

  “I was talking to myself.”

  She blinked up at him in shock.

  He was used to being offended by the media. That was what they were paid to do: get under the target’s skin, ask inappropriate questions, capture them at their worst.

  But he still wasn’t prepared for the reaction toward Margot.

  “Is she your auction charity date?” someone asked.

  “No.” Bentley clenched his teeth together. Margot may have started off as his charity date, but charity wasn’t part of it, not anymore. “It’s a real date. With real food. And real conversation…you soul-sucking idiots.”

  Margot held his hand tighter and ducked her head against his chest.

  God, he wanted to be worthy of the trust she was offering.

  They were almost to the car.

  Just a few more steps.

  “Never took you for the kinda guy that was into kinky shit,” a voice said amid laughter. “So, are you into disabled women now?”

  Bentley froze.

  Margot let out a little gasp.

  “Get in the car.” He opened her door and basically pushed her inside.

  When he turned around the cameras were nearly blinding. “Who the fuck said that?”

  Nobody spoke.

  And then a man raised his hand. “Come on, Bentley, play nice. Just answer the damn question.”

  “Answer the question?” He laughed. “You got it, buddy.” With a nod, he stalked toward the reporter and slammed his fist into the asshole’s face. He got two good hits in before he was pulled away from the man.

  “You son of a bitch!” the reporter wailed. “You broke my nose.”

  “You’ll survive.” Bentley lunged for him again but was held back by a few other paparazzi who’d been watching the exchange. “And if I ever hear you say anything about Margot again I’ll fucking kill you. Do you understand?”

  He didn’t realize what he said until it was too late.

  Until people gasped.

  Until a small hand touched his back and the familiar scent of Margot invaded his scenes. She’d gotten out of the car and was trying to calm him down. “Bentley, come on.”

  “Apologize to her,” he spat at the man. “Now.”

  “I’m sorry.” His bloody smirk just made Bentley want to punch him again. “Sorry that a woman as beautiful as you is stuck with a womanizing bastard, a man who’s had so many issues since his overdose that he feels the need to sleep with other men’s wives in order to feel good about himself—”

  “That’s it.” Bentley charged the man and pummeled his face with his fist. He still wasn’t satisfied. He threw the man against the nearest car just as the sound of sirens filled the air.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  This looks familiar,” Brant said from his spot on the other side of the cell. His eyes were clear, not bloodshot, which was really the most shocking part for Bentley about seeing his brother. It was a Friday night. Brant never stayed in on a Friday night.

  “Go to hell.” Bentley crossed his arms.

  “Looks like you’re already there, brother.”

  “I’ve had better nights.”

  “No doubt.” Brant grinned.

  “How much?” Bentley hated to even ask.

  Brant leaned casually against the bars. “Two million.”

  “Dollars?”

  “No, he said to pay him in hugs.”

  “Fuck off.”

  Brant pushed away from the bars. “Lucky for you, the reporter has a gambling problem and an addiction to coke, so we offered him five hundred thousand to walk.”

  Bentley nodded. “He take it?”

  “Probably high right now.”

  “Fuck.” Bentley ran his hands through his hair. “The things he said…I don’t know how the hell he knew any of it.”

  “Public record?” Brant offered. “And since when have you ever cared about your dirty laundry?”

  Bentley frowned. “Right.”

  Since now.

  Since Margot.

  Since arriving at her house.

  Since kissing.

  Hell.

  “You look like shit.”

  “Why are you here, again?”

  “Someone had to post bail.” Brant shrugged. “And Brock’s too busy trying to keep Grandfather from cutting you off.”

  Like he could. But still, the fact that Grandfather was seriously pissed did not bode well.

  “Because I defended a woman?”

  “Because you didn’t kill the man,” Brant said seriously. “And because you went back for more when you should have just let it die.”

  Bentley shot to his feet. “He brought up the hospitalization.” His blood boiled. “In front of Margot, and she doesn’t know—”

  “Fuck.” Brant’s face went white as a sheet. “We need to do damage control. The last thing we want is the media digging up shit from your past that doesn’t even matter anymore. Worse yet, if the board gets wind of it and is reminded about your less than stellar ways, you’re screwed. As of right now, that promotion—”

  “Fuck the promotion!” Bentley yelled. “This is about my reputation. The last thing we need is to focus on my past drama when the board is starting to trust us again.” When Margot was starting to trust him again, when things finally felt right. It pissed him off to admit his grandfather was right, but staying out of the limelight, spending time with her—it wasn’t all bad. And yet the first time he made a public appearance with her, he not only got shoved back into the playboy box but he got arrested.

  Brant’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell’s wrong with you? You’ve never cared about your job. Or the company.”

  “I grew a heart.”

  “Would a certain redhead have anything to do with that?” He smirked.

  “Look, are you going to bail me out or not?”

  “Not.”

  “Brant—”

  “Relax, I just need to finish some paperwork. I came back here to make sure some bastard wasn’t making you his sub.”

  “Thanks for your concern.”

  Brant saluted him with his middle finger. “I’m a good brother.”

  “Yes that’s exactly what I thought when you came in here six hours after my arrest. What the hell took you so long? What did you do, walk?”

  “Never mind what I was doing.” He shifted on his feet, and a haunted loo
k crossed his face before he nodded. “I’m going to finish up that paperwork.”

  “Right.”

  Bentley didn’t taste freedom until another hour later, and by then it was almost three in the morning.

  Margot wasn’t answering her phone, so he still didn’t know if she got home safely or if she was camped out in her car in the parking lot too scared to drive herself home.

  “Stop.” Brant sighed in an annoyed voice when he had picked up Bentley. “You’ve been thumping your phone against your leg for the past ten minutes.”

  “Sorry.” Bentley checked the screen. No missed calls. No messages. “Damn it.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  Brant whistled. “Clearly you’re not suffering out here.” He turned his Bugatti down the dirt road and crawled along at five mph. He had a thing about getting his car dirty, which meant Bentley would be better off walking backward.

  With a blindfold on.

  The light was on by the front door when they finally pulled up in front of Margot’s house.

  Was that a good sign?

  Bad sign?

  Brant turned off the car.

  “Whoa, what are you doing?” Bentley didn’t want Brant hanging around. He needed to apologize to Margot stat, and he preferred to do that without his womanizing twin in tow.

  “What’s it look like I’m doing?” Brant frowned and unbuckled his seat belt. “It’s three a.m., man. I’m not driving back into the city. Your sorry ass is stuck with me. Hell, I’ll sleep on the floor if I need to.”

  “Great,” Bentley mumbled. “Just…don’t stare at her leg, all right?”

  Brant held up his hands.

  “She’s sensitive and—”

  “Have you grown a vagina since I last saw you?”

  “Shut the hell up!”

  Brant let out a dark chuckle and got out of the car. Bentley had no choice but to follow as they made their way toward the front door.

  Toward Margot.

  Just as he shoved the key in the lock, the door flew open nearly taking him with it.