The Bachelor Auction

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Son of a bitch!” Brock grabbed Jane’s hand and tried to run, but the floor was too wet. He went down, and took Jane with him.

  The cock flew at them both.

  A loud whistle stopped the rooster from killing them, and then another whistle had the cock turning around and flapping toward the stairway.

  “Saved your life,” Bentley said in a bored tone. “But what can I say, I’m good with my cock.” He winked at Jane.

  Brock offered Jane his hand but she was wincing as if she was in pain.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  She nodded, but then pointed to her foot. “I think I may have twisted my ankle sometime between the cock rising into the air for the final kill and running to escape whatever swift death he had planned.”

  “If I had a dollar…” Bentley joked, moving toward them over the slippery floor. He touched Jane’s ankle, giving Brock the sudden urge to growl and punch his brother in the face. “It’s starting to swell.”

  “No!” Jane shoved him away. “I swear it’s fine. I can still work.” She tried to stand. “See? No problem!” Tears welled in her eyes.

  Despite her claim, Brock lifted her into his arms and carried her into the master bedroom. “Bentley, get me some Advil and ice.”

  “On it.” Bentley was immediately gone.

  “Please.” Jane’s lower lip trembled. “I really want to stay and work, Please?”

  Brock sighed. “Jane, you can’t work with a sprained ankle.”

  “I can!” Her nostrils flared. “It’s just a stupid ankle. I’ll be fine.”

  Brock pulled off her socks and made a face when he saw the purple and blue bruising that had already moved past her swollen ankle up to her calf. “Yeah, I’m going to have to say no.”

  “But—”

  “You need to stay off your feet.”

  She sighed. “Fine. If you just help me pack my things, I can be gone this afternoon.”

  He blinked in confusion. “To the hospital? I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “No.” She groaned, lying back against the pillows. “Home! I can’t do my job, therefore I can’t stay.”

  “The hell you can’t,” Brock fired back. “I’m sure it will only take a few days to heal, which leaves you plenty of time to clean later, right?”

  She worried her lower lip. “I guess. It’s just, it’s a really big house.”

  “I think we can figure something out. After all, the twins are bored; why not let them help me clean while you heal up?”

  Jane froze then licked her lips. “You? Clean?”

  Brock tried not to be offended. “Of course I can clean! What do you think, I have a maid or something?”

  She arched her eyebrows.

  “Okay fine, I have maids, but how hard can it be?”

  She glared.

  “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant, I can figure it out, it’s not rocket science.” He swore. “I’m not helping my case at all, am I?”

  Jane shook her head and smiled.

  “I respect what you do and I will try my hardest to be just as good when I rub out the wood.”

  Jane giggled. “Rub out the wood?”

  “Oh hell.” Brock groaned. “I meant scrub, clean.” His throat tightened as he swallowed and tried to get the vision of her on her hands and knees out of his mind.

  “Sure you did.”

  “Bentley!” Brock yelled. “Where are we with that ice?”

  “Need to cool off?” Jane teased in a breathless voice. Her eyes were on his mouth. Maybe she was re-living the kiss just like he was—or anticipating more.

  Brock eyed her up and down then swore. “You have no idea.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jane smiled when Brock fussed over her ankle, making sure to put a towel between her skin and the ice pack. Truthfully, it hurt bad. Enough that every time she tried to stand to prove to them she was fine, a shot of pain would run up her leg, stealing her breath away.

  All because of an out-of-control cock.

  “I think he’s jealous of me,” Brock announced when he walked back into the room with a tray of food. “The cock, I mean.”

  Jane grinned. “How do you figure?”

  “Every time he gets really aggressive, it’s when I’m with you.”

  “Has the cock always lived here?”

  “Older than dirt, that cock.” Brock smirked. “My grandfather bought it to protect the hens, but it refused to stay in the henhouse. The damn thing used to strut around the ranch like he owned it. I honestly thought it would be dead by now, but apparently he’s as stubborn as Grandfather. You know how they say dogs resemble their owners? Clearly they’ve never met Diablo.”

  “Diablo?” Jane asked. “You named the cock Diablo?”

  “Satan sounded too tame and Beelzebub wasn’t quite strong enough, so Diablo it is. I figured if he had a name we could stop using the word ‘cock.’”

  “You should make him a collar.”

  “He’d be impossible to live with.” Brock’s smile was wide, and his dimples were wreaking havoc on her already weakened body. “Now, do you want cream and sugar in your coffee? Or black?”

  “Black,” she rasped, reaching for the cup at the same time as Brock. Their fingers brushed, and she jerked back. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not going to toss it in your face if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She went with it; better she let him assume she was still afraid he hated her than admit that she was so attracted to him she wasn’t sure how to breathe sometimes when he looked at her the way he was now. Like she existed, like she was important. “Sorry; old habits.”

  He made a face and sipped some of his own coffee. “Do you want to…” He licked his full lips and ran his fingers through his long hair. “Shit.”

  “Do I want to shit?” She giggled.

  His face actually reddened a bit. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know.”

  “Someone’s feeling better.”

  “Advil,” she lied. It was the company. Again, he didn’t need to know that.

  “Yeah well, don’t put it past Bentley to try to sneak muscle relaxers into your food, or Molly.”

  “Molly? You’re kidding.”

  “Grandfather still claims the reason he went to the hospital was dehydration, not the drug; never mind that the drug causes dehydration.”

  “Wait, wait, wait.” Jane held up her hand. “Your grandfather? The one pushing eighty-two? Was taking Molly?”

  Brock shrugged. “He was at a rave. I’ve learned not to ask questions.”

  “But he’s old.”

  “Doesn’t stop him from doing whatever the hell he wants, believe me.” Brock stared down into his coffee as if lost in his thoughts.

  Jane wasn’t sure what to say. Bringing up the auction seemed like a bad idea. She didn’t want a reminder that he was going to be with someone else, and that someone else wasn’t her. The last thing she wanted was for Brock to be thinking about it, too.

  Because for a few brief moments today, she’d imagined what it would be like to share more kisses in the kitchen. She’d even get chased by Diablo every day if it meant she could be with someone like him.

  She pushed the thought away, because that was all it was—a fleeting thought that could so easily turn into a dream, which meant that when it didn’t come true, it would hurt.

  She shivered.

  “Are you cold?” Brock quickly stood and walked over to the chair, grabbing a large blanket and tucking it around her body.

  “You don’t have to stay, you know.” She kept her voice even. “I know you probably want to relax and…” She lifted a shoulder into the air, not finishing her thought.

  “Diablo’s blocking the door,” Brock said. “And the twins are making dinner. Actually, Bentley’s eating the dinner Brant’s trying to make. The point is, I have all the time in the world.”

  And he was spending it with her.
>
  She chewed her bottom lip as his gaze lowered.

  “Checkers?” she blurted.

  Brock’s expression relaxed. “Sure. Just don’t get mad when I kick your ass.”

  “Hmm. What do I get if I win?”

  “Oh, she likes to gamble.” He flashed her a tempting smile that she felt all the way down to her toes. “If you win I’ll give you one favor. You can ask for anything but money.”

  “I would never ask for money.” She said in a horrified voice.

  Brock studied her with an intensity that had her nearly squirming in her own skin. “I know.”

  She broke eye contact. “And if you win, I’ll give you a favor. Clearly you can’t ask for money because I don’t have any.”

  “I would never take money from a woman anyway.”

  “You’re making me want to bet money now.” She snorted.

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.” He winked. “All right, let’s play.”

  She nodded and rubbed her hands together. “Prepare to have your world rocked.”

  Jane could have sworn she heard him whisper under his breath. “Too late.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He’s going to lose,” Bentley announced, tossing more money into the pot. He and Brant had started betting once they heard that Brock and Jane were playing checkers, and now they were sitting on Jane’s bedroom floor being annoying as usual.

  They had gone from making a simple five-dollar bet to five hundred dollars.

  Which, all things considering, was pretty tame for his brothers, given the last thing that Bentley had won was an ass.

  “Shh, you just take your time,” Brant coached Jane. “In and out, there you go, deep breaths, make your decision then stick with it, stick it to him hard.” He gave Brock a wicked smirk and mouthed fuck you.

  “Don’t listen to Brant, Brock. Just focus.”

  Jane moved her black checker forward. It was a bad move; he could easily jump it, so clearly he was missing something. He glanced around the board. Impossible. She’d just given him the game!

  And this was their tie-breaking game.

  The first she’d won.

  The second he’d won.

  “You’ve just lost.” Brock smiled arrogantly.

  Her poker face stayed completely unreadable as she gave him a noncommittal shrug and glanced down at the board. “Then move.”

  He moved his red checker, hopping over the black and stealing it. “The way I see it, you have two left. I have three.”

  “Mmm-hmmm.” She smiled sweetly and then, very quickly, jumped one of her other black checkers, one he hadn’t noticed because he’d been so focused on that damned stupid move she’d just made. All in all he lost two checkers. Leaving him with a lingering thought that he’d completely underestimated her ability at board games. “What was that? About losing?”

  “Son of a bitch!” Bentley yelled. “The hell, man! I told you to focus!”

  “You mean you saw that?” Brock roared.

  Bentley held up his hands. “Rules are rules, no audience participation.”

  “Thank you.” Brant grabbed the pot of money on the floor and threw it in the air. “Hey, if we have dollar bills I bet the cock will dance for us.”

  Brock rolled his eyes. “And Grandfather wonders how you guys end up in every newspaper in the country.”

  Bentley shrugged. “We’re hot and rich. Two plus two, man; two plus two.”

  “It’s good that humility runs in the family.” Jane nodded while Brant gave her a kiss on the head and a pat on the back, like she’d just won him a freaking car or something.

  “How’s the ankle?” Bentley moved to her side. There were entirely too many people in this room. Brock wanted to shove everyone out but that would look bad. Him forcing his brothers to leave so he could do what? Kiss her again? Stare at her? Watch her kissable lips pout?

  “It’s good.” Jane yawned behind her hand. “Sorry, all the excitement must have worn me out.”

  “Checkers. Almost like running a marathon with your hands.” Bentley winked. “Lay down; it’s dudes’ night to clean up.”

  Brock had no choice but to stand.

  And follow his brothers out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

  But the minute he turned from the door, both Brant and Bentley gave him dumbfounded looks.

  “What?” He crossed his arms. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”

  “You’re an idiot.” Brant shook his head slowly. “Did you really just…leave?”

  Brock glanced back at the door then back at them. “She said she was tired! She yawned!”

  “That doesn’t mean you leave!” Bentley slapped a hand to his forehead. “You’re such an idiot.”

  Brant just continued shaking his head in disappointment.

  Brock lifted his hands into the air. “What the hell was I supposed to do? Fluff her damn pillow?”

  “Yes!” They both yelled in unison.

  “Offer a massage,” said Bentley.

  “‘Do you need a glass of water?’” offered Brant.

  “‘More blankets?’” added Bentley.

  “How about a fucking bedtime story?”

  “What’s that? You want me to stay with you until you fall asleep, get naked under the covers? What? You want me to touch your sweaty naked body and—” Bentley had always been the storyteller in the family.

  Brant coughed.

  “Sorry.” Bentley exhaled. “I got carried away.” He pointed in Brock’s direction. “Stupidity does that to me.”

  Brock ran his hands through his hair and turned to re-open the door.

  “No!” Brant shoved him back. “It’s too late. Now you seem creepy and unsure.”

  Bentley nodded his head in agreement. “Completely wasted opportunity. I’ve never been so disappointed in a brother, and I live next door to this asshat.”

  “Thanks, man.” Brant nodded.

  “Anytime.” Bentley flashed a smile. “Brock, go to bed. Think about all the bad choices made in just the past ten minutes and for fuck’s sake fix them. Do you really want to spend the next seventeen days without seeing her naked?”

  “It’s not about that,” Brock said defensively.

  “Even better.” Brant suddenly grew serious. “Even better.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Brock clenched his fists.

  “It means”—Bentley stood between them, pressing a hand against Brock’s chest—“that it’s about damn time you do something for you. Not for us. Not for our dead parents and sure as hell not for Grandfather, but for you. And that girl in that room? She’s for you.”

  Stunned, Brock could only gape at Bentley as if his brother had grown two heads.

  “There’s always tomorrow,” Brant encouraged. “’Night, guys.”

  “There isn’t,” Brock whispered under his breath. “We aren’t promised tomorrow.”

  Bentley paused in the hall, his expression pained. “Then why the hell are you allowing someone else to control your life? If you died tomorrow, what would people remember about you? How easygoing you were? How controlled? How rich? Is that what you want, boring Brock?”

  The old nickname was a solid hit to his chest. His brothers hadn’t called him that since college.

  “Well?” Bentley’s eyebrows shot up. “Boring Brock would walk away, but I don’t think that’s what you want anymore.”

  “It’s all I know. It’s for him. For them.”

  “Never for you.” Bentley sighed. “Look, man, I get it, believe me. I get the pressure, but do you ever wonder who put it there in the first place? Because the way I see it, it sure wasn’t Grandfather. It was a scared twelve-year-old boy who took the baggage and cheerfully carried it out the door, refusing to let anyone help him along the way. And for what? Did anyone throw you a parade? Did anyone notice how hard it was? No, just you.”

  “When the fuck did you get so wise?”

  Bentley laughed
. “Let’s not let that get around. If Grandfather ever found out he’d auction me off next. God help the poor woman saddled with me for the rest of her life.”

  “Nothing wrong with commitment.”

  Bentley paled. “We all have our demons.”

  “Goodnight, Bentley.”

  “Night…Boring Brock.”

  Brock smiled the entire way back to his room.

  Tomorrow, after all, was a new day.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Lying awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing she’d packed some sort of sleep aid—not that it would work, because for the most part she knew the reason behind the no sleep—was becoming a new habit for Jane.

  Brock.

  If only she could walk. Maybe sleeping on the couch would help, or maybe she’d just raid Brock’s whiskey closet.

  After another hour of tossing and turning, she finally made the decision to hobble downstairs. So what if it took an hour? At least the slow journey would exhaust her.

  Once she sat up in bed she was careful not to put any weight on her foot. Rather, she hobbled, loudly, toward the door. Her tank top and shorts didn’t really hide anything but it was dark and everyone else would be sleeping.

  She hoped.

  Or did she?

  Rejecting the thought of Brock sitting in the living room, waiting for her, she opened the door and glanced down the hall to the right and to the left.

  All clear.

  With a wince, she hobbled a few feet then lost her balance, nearly face planting against the wall and knocking out a tooth.

  “Need help?” asked an amused voice to her left.

  Slowly she turned. Brock’s smile was easy, wide.

  “I’m fine. I was just…” She searched for a better excuse than I couldn’t sleep but she had nothing. “I’m having trouble sleeping.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Me too.”

  She was quiet. What was she supposed to say?

  “Whiskey?” He offered his arm.

  She stared down at it then back up at him. Decision made, she slid her hand through. He started walking them down the rest of the hallway, then with a heave she was in his arms as he carried her down the stairs.