Bending to the Bachelor’s Will
Emilie Rose

MILLS & BOON

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Juliet Burns, you have a heart as big as Texas.

I’m truly blessed to count you as a friend.

Thanks for your help.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Coming Next Month

One

“Another one bites the dust,” Holly Prescott grumbled as she watched the second of her two best friends sashay out of the Caliber Club with a newly purchased bachelor by her side.

If you had any sense at all you’d sneak out right behind them. Instead she was stuck here in hooker-high heels and a dress that ought to be illegal—on her, anyway—fulfilling her part of the ridiculous pact she, Andrea and Juliana had made.

How had she let herself be bamboozled into this disastrous plan? Buying men, for crying out loud! She could think of at least a dozen more useful things she’d rather have for her upcoming thirtieth birthday.

So what if she hadn’t had sex in so long she’d forgotten how it went exactly? She’d hold on to her born-again virgin status until she’d nixed her tendency to choose men who needed fixing because she couldn’t afford any more strays of the two-legged variety. The last one had cost her a bundle and put her hard-won independence in jeopardy. Not that she intended admitting her gullibility to anyone. Too humiliating.

A blast of chilly air from the overhead vent made her curse her clothing for the umpteenth time this evening. Where had her brain been vacationing when she’d allowed her friends to pour her into a dress that looked more like underwear than outerwear? If she had so much as a mosquito bite—or panties—beneath the form-fitting bronze silk, every one would know it.

Crossing her arms over her breasts, Holly scanned the ballroom filled with well-heeled guests. She didn’t belong here. Never mind that her father owned the place. She didn’t fit in. Story of her life.

“See if I ever trust Andrea or Juliana again,” she groused without worrying about being overheard by the women swarming the marble floor. The auction attendees had two hours’ worth of free champagne in them, and the normally dignified ladies were too busy screaming their lungs out like rock band groupies to pay any attention to a misfit like her.

On a positive note, their lack of inhibitions could work to her advantage once the bidding on her bachelor began. “Twenty more minutes and I can go home.”

“Talking to yourself?” The rich baritone behind her made her cringe. Eric Alden, her best friend’s brother, had already read them the riot act once tonight about this foolhardy plan. As far as Holly was concerned, he was preaching to the choir. She didn’t need to hear another sermon. But she’d promised to give bachelor bidding the old college try.

Now that her friends had abandoned her, Eric would focus all his cutting wit on her. Might as well cork him before he got started. She turned, but her retort stuck in her throat. Wow. How could she have forgotten how good he looked in a tux? His banker-short dark hair looked freshly trimmed and his strong jaw gleamed from a recent shave.

Holly scrambled to rally her brain cells. “I’m cursing your sister. The dress she and my other so-called friend chose for me is indecent.”

Eric’s navy blue gaze raked over her, and Holly mentally kicked herself for drawing his attention to her attire—or lack thereof. Before tonight, she didn’t think Eric had ever seen her in a dress—certainly not one like this. The nostrils of his straight nose flared, and then he slowly, deliberately circled her, appraising her as if she were the one going on the auction block instead of him.

Holly straightened, tucked her tush, sucked in her stomach and prayed he wouldn’t guess she was completely naked beneath the dress except for the blush coating her skin.

He halted in front of her with only inches separating them, crowding into her personal space. “Definitely indecent. Indecently beautiful.”

The husky timbre of his voice combined with his proximity made her heart beat a quick rat-a-tat-tat and sent a weird frisson down her spine. Hold it. This is Juliana’s brother. Juliana’s rule-following, workaholic, socially prominent brother. That triple no-no-absolutely-no whammy made tingles of any kind taboo. Holly tried to back up, but the tipsy socialites behind her blocked her path.

“You look lovely, Holly. I almost didn’t recognize you without your baseball cap and work boots.”

So much for his ego-boosting flattery. Could she help it if her job required protective clothing? “You don’t look too skanky yourself, Alden, but then Armani probably helped design your birthday suit, so it’s no surprise you look decent in a tux.”

Eric’s smile seemed a little forced. “If that was a compliment, thank you. May I speak with you a moment?”

She glanced left and then right and found women ogling him on either side. They might ignore her, but they didn’t ignore the heir to a banking empire. In fact, they looked as though they’d enjoy nibbling hors d’oeuvres off Eric’s naked body. “Me? Sure.”

His long fingers curled around her elbow, each one soldering a tendril of heat on her skin. He guided her to the far corner of the ballroom where the noise level registered a few decibels lower and released her. His broad-shouldered frame fenced her against the walls.

“Why are you buttering me up with compliments?” she asked before he said whatever it was he’d dragged her over here to say. At five-ten and wearing four-inch heels, Holly only had to lift her gaze a little to meet him eye to eye—one of the many reasons she never wore heels.

Chagrin briefly flickered across Eric’s handsome face. He shoved his hands in pants pockets and leaned closer—close enough that she could taste the mint on his breath—to be heard above the crowd winding up as another bachelor took the stage.

Her mouth dried. Uh-uh. Cut it out.

“I need a favor.”

Of course he did. Why couldn’t a guy say something nice to her just once without having an ulterior motive? She wrestled her wacko hormones into submission and tried to clear her head.

“What kind of favor?” She glanced past him toward the stage. Her bachelor would be up next, and if all went well he’d soon be someone else’s bachelor and she could go home. Alone.

“Buy me.”

Her gaze snapped back to Eric’s. Surely she’d misheard him in the din of screeching women? “Excuse me?”

His body radiated heat, which, perversely, made her shiver. She stepped back—right into the wall. The thump of the cool wainscoting against her spine reminded her that her dress bared her to the waist in back except for the pair of crisscrossed strings that held up the two inadequate triangles of her top.

“Save me from this.” He indicated the proceedings behind him with a jerk of his square chin.

Why in the world would he need saving? She didn’t know what his date package included, but his company alone would bring a high bid. Eric was a handsome, rich hunk, if you didn’t mind buttoned-down, uptight types whom she avoided like she would a communicable disease.

“Why me?”

“Because you’re not looking for a wealthy husband.”

“Amen.” Being his date wouldn’t be a hardship, but Holly didn’t want a date. Even if she could afford to buy a bachelor she could not go out with her best friend’s brother without risking one of the most important friendships of her life.

“No can do, Eric. I’ve chosen my guy. So suck it up and hit the stage. I’m sure you’ll make some lucky lady very happy.”

His palm curved over her shoulder—her bare save-for-that-string-strap shoulder. Her nipples, damn them, tightened—a fact thin silk couldn’t disguise. Embarrassed, she crossed her arms. It definitely had been too long since she’d made love if a simple asexual touch could turn her on.

“Holly, please. I’ll give you anything you ask. Just save me from this ridiculous spectacle my mother is forcing upon me.”

Ah. Spectacle. Now that she understood. Eric had been dumped by his socialite fiancée a few months back. The highly publicized society event of the year had turned into the disaster of the year when the bubbleheaded bride-to-be had literally left him at the altar after screeching a few crushing insults in front of their wedding guests. Eric’s pride had to have taken a staggering blow—even if he’d never shown it.

“What would your mother say if you ended up with me, the only girl to ever be kicked out of cotillion?”

His rigid shoulders stiffened even more. “My mother volunteered me without my consent. Her opinion is irrelevant.”

Sympathy for him battled with Holly’s need to escape. Wasn’t she always a sucker for a guy in dire straits? And hadn’t she sworn off saving men in need?

She liked Eric, but the VP of Alden Bank and Trust, the largest privately owned bank in the region, represented every-thing she’d escaped. Pretentiousness. Snobbery. Expectations she couldn’t meet.

C’mon, Holly, how can you leave him to the mercy—or lack thereof—of the bidding piranhas? “Your sister would never speak to me again. I promised her I’d bid on ‘Light Up The Nights With Franco The Firefighter.’”

Eric’s lips flattened. “I met Franco backstage. He’s shorter than you and he has the IQ of a rock. He’ll bore you senseless.”

Why had she never noticed the sensual fullness of Eric’s bottom lip? Or that he had lush lashes that looked frivolous on such a no-nonsense male? And why was she noticing now? She cast off the unwanted discoveries. “I don’t intend to date Franco.”

Eric’s eyebrows shot up, and he reassessed her outfit with one l-o-n-g perusal from those intensely blue eyes. Surprise, speculation and then something she didn’t recognize invaded his expression. “Then you’re buying him for what? Stud service?”

Holly’s mouth fell open and her cheeks caught fire—the curse of a redhead’s complexion. Her pride stabbed her with the mother of all stings.

“Do you think I have to buy a man to get laid? I might not be the elegant model-slim sort you usually date, but I do okay in the dating department.” If you overlooked her tendency to choose losers. And she’d had her share of sex—none of which rated inclusion in the Memoirs of a Debutante Dropout she intended writing one of these days.

He drew back and compressed his lips. “I didn’t say that.”

Holly gathered what was left of her dignity. “For your information Juliana, Andrea and I wanted to support the charity. No, that’s not exactly true. Your mother—” she poked his chest “—the event organizer, ordered us to support the charity. So the three of us agreed to bid the trust fund money we’ll receive on our thirtieth birthdays on bachelors tonight.”

She held up a hand when he would have interrupted and wished she hadn’t touched him when her finger wouldn’t quit tingling. “But here’s the good part. We set a price limit. The firefighter will go for more money than we agreed upon. When that happens I’m home free. No bachelor. No broken promises. No unwanted dates.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Then she’d be stuck with a guy with more brawn than brains.

Worse, she’d be in a financially sticky situation. “He will. He posed for a firefighters’ calendar last year. I’ll bet most of these women have a copy and want to see if the real Franco lives up to the promise in that G-string.”

The crowd roared as the firefighter took the stage. “See. They love him. And they can have him.”

Frustration rolled off Eric in waves. He faced the stage and folded his arms across his chest, looking as stoic as a captain going down with his ship. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

Holly waved her numbered fan high over her head, launching what she hoped would be a bidding frenzy. Time inched past as if in slow motion and then the bidding stalled thousands below her maximum allowance.

“Just my luck,” she muttered under her breath and then glanced quickly at Eric. She worked alone ninety percent of the time and had picked up the habit of talking to herself—a habit she needed to break before the men in white coats arrived to cart her to an asylum somewhere. But if Eric had heard her, his face didn’t show it.

The audience remained unresponsive despite the MC’s attempt to draw more bids. Resignation settled over Holly like a cold, wet blanket. She was going to be stuck with a male blond bombshell—one she couldn’t afford—all because of a tequila-induced promise and a case of pride that wouldn’t let her admit to her friends that thanks to not her first bit of misplaced faith she needed her trust fund money to live off.

“You don’t want to be here any more than I do,” Eric said without turning his head.

“You got that right. My life is almost perfect. Why would I want a man to screw it up?” More than one already had.

She tightened her grip on the wooden handle, but before she could lift the fan to bid again Eric’s fingers curled around her wrist, trapping her hand by her side with a firm grip. Her knuckles brushed his hard thigh and her stomach did that taboo fizzy thing again. No doubt he’d feel her sprinting pulse beneath his fingertips.

“Buy me, Holly, and we can skip the dates. I’ll reimburse you whatever you pay and you can use the money for veterinary bills or buy yourself a truckload of pet supplies for that menagerie of yours.”

Holly’s dogs always needed something. How wise of him to hit her where it counted. But then she’d never doubted Eric’s intelligence—except for the day she’d heard about his engagement to Prissy, the pretentious witch. Tempted more than a little, she considered his offer while the MC launched into another recitation of Franco’s physical assets.

Holly had promised Juliana and Andrea that she’d bid on a bachelor tonight. Eric was one. What’s more, she didn’t think there was another man on the docket who would exceed her price limit. So she had a choice. Eric and reimbursement, or Franco and financial difficulties in the months ahead. Either way, she’d be stuck with a bachelor she didn’t want. But doing a good deed, getting out of the dates and holding on to her money seemed like a win-win-win proposition.

She lifted her gaze to his. “No dates. You swear it?”

“Yes. Buy me, and if my price exceeds your limit—”

She snorted inelegantly and punched him lightly in the biceps. “Jeez, Eric, you have a big ego if you think you’ll go for more than ten grand.”

“—I’ll cover the cost no matter how high,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted.

Juliana and Andrea would be miffed, but surely she could make her friends understand. Guilt rode Holly like a hair shirt for twisting the bet to fit her needs, but buying men hadn’t been her idea. She’d argued against it from the moment of inception and been outvoted. “All right, Eric. I’ll buy you.”

As soon as she said the words, the MC whipped out a copy of the sexy calendar and Franco stripped down to the thong he’d worn in the picture with a bump and grind worthy of a Chippendales dancer. The bidding frenzy Holly had expected erupted.

When the gavel hit, her stomach sank. Her bachelor’s price had exceeded her limit. She could have been scot-free, but instead she’d been burned by the second promise in one night.

“How about a kiss to seal the deal?”

The reporter’s remark drew Eric’s attention to forbidden territory—Holly’s wide mouth. The siren-red shade of her lipstick could give a man all kinds of ideas about what she could do with those lips and where she could use them to optimal advantage—if he was inclined to think that way. Eric wasn’t. Not with Holly.

So why did his brain engage the idea of tasting her like a heat-seeking missile locking on to its target?

Judging by Holly’s open-mouthed stare she wasn’t any more enamored of the request than he was. And then Holly’s eyes narrowed and her lush lips compressed. She shook her finger at the reporter. “Octavia Jenkins, don’t play games with me.”

“I’m just doing my job, girlfriend.” Octavia motioned for them to move closer while her photographer pointed his lens.

“You know her?” Eric asked against Holly’s temple as he wrapped his arm around her waist to pose for the picture they apparently couldn’t leave without. His palm found warm, bare skin at the base of her spine. He quickly shifted his grip to her fabric-covered hip, but her thin dress did nothing to mask her body heat. His hand burned, and that burn spread up his arm and down his torso.

“She’s one of my students,” Holly replied sotto voce.

His sister had mentioned that Holly, a commercial stained glass artist, taught classes in the craft to subsidize the care and feeding her overpopulated pet collection. That’s how he’d come up with the idea to offer her money for her animals. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not if I can help it.” Holly forced the words through the patently false smile she aimed at the photographer.

“C’mon, folks, this isn’t a firing squad. Kiss for the camera,” the reporter cajoled.

Kissing Holly appealed far more than it should. Eric blamed the unwanted attraction on her seductive dress and dangerously high heels. Holly had always been the girl next door who wore jeans or shapeless sweats. She’d never been a girlie girl. But tonight there was no doubt that she was all woman. A generously endowed woman. His gaze lifted from the smooth ivory curve of her breasts to her mouth.

“Don’t even think about it,” Holly all but snarled through her clenched teeth. Pink dotted her cheeks, and her toffee-brown eyes sparked a warning.

Was the possibility of kissing him so repulsive that she couldn’t tolerate even one platonic peck to pacify the pushy reporter? The idea slipped under his skin like a splinter.

She shoved an errant curl behind her ear, and Eric noticed the polish on her short nails for the first time—the same dark red as her lips and toenails. He’d never known Holly to wear nail polish or makeup, and he’d certainly never noticed her doing anything with her shaggy, boyishly-cut copper-colored hair. Tonight it curled in sexy disarray, looking as if she’d just crawled out from under an enthusiastic lover.

In fact, he’d never seen Holly look so desirable and she smelled…He filled his lungs. She smelled like a woman who didn’t wear cologne to mask her subtle, natural scent. He slammed the vault on his unacceptable thoughts.

The reporter motioned them even closer. Holly shook her head, lowered her arched eyebrows and glared at the photographer beside the reporter. “You have three seconds to take your picture and then we’re out of here.”

The shutter clicked.

“Excuse us,” Eric said to the newshounds and then cupped Holly’s elbow and steered her toward the exit.

Octavia kept pace with them. “Covering and reporting on your dates is going to be the highlight of this assignment for me, Holly. Just think of all the additional business the newspaper exposure will bring your way. Consider it free publicity. And of course, because you are my friend, I have a vested interest in the outcome of your dates.”

The last phrase sounded like a warning to Eric, but before he could demand the reporter clarify her meaning Holly muttered a curse. A chorus of screams erupted behind them, drowning out whatever she said next. Holly stopped and pointed to the stage. “Look, Octavia. Another bachelor sacrifice. Go do your job. Good night.”

The newspaper duo turned back. Holly slammed out the front door, veered off the sidewalk and trekked unsteadily across the thick grass toward the golf course. At nearly midnight the area was deserted and lit only by a slice of June moon. Eric followed because he needed to make arrangements to repay Holly.

She stopped and bent so abruptly he almost fell over her. He caught her hips to steady them both. The nudge of her bottom against his groin as she removed her shoes and the suggestive position with her bare back sunny-side up played hell with his hormones. He released her and put a few inches between them.

He hadn’t slept with a woman since Priscilla had dumped him four months ago. Not because he mourned his ex-fiancée or their aborted relationship, but because with the pending merger between Alden’s and Wilson’s, another privately owned bank, he hadn’t had time. The result of his abstinence reared its head.

And then Holly straightened, with sexy heels dangling from her fingertips, and resumed her course. She plunked down on the bleachers at the edge of the eighteenth green and then instantly sprang back up and flattened a hand to her bottom. “I’m wet.”

His heart slammed against his chest. So maybe the idea of kissing him hadn’t turned her off. And why did that excite him? He shifted his stance to hide his body’s reaction.

She lightly punched him in the stomach and glared. “From the dew on the bench, Casanova.”

He wasn’t disappointed. If anything, he was embarrassed. At thirty-six he shouldn’t be so transparent or so easily titillated. Besides, this was Holly, a plain spoken tomboy and Sam and Tony’s baby sister. Even if she had been revealing sexual arousal, he’d have done nothing to alleviate it. There was an unspoken rule between friends. He didn’t date their sisters, and they didn’t date his. Anything beyond dating qualified as grounds for an ass-kicking. He might be six-five and a solid two hundred and twenty pounds, but he didn’t want to go two against one with Holly’s brothers for something he could easily avoid.

Besides, the Caliber Club was one of Alden Bank’s largest commercial accounts. Antagonizing the Prescotts could cost Alden’s business.

Holly turned, giving him a clear view of damp fabric clinging to her perfectly shaped butt. There were no panty lines. He bit back a groan, drew off his tux jacket and spread it over the bench. After a moment’s hesitation, she sat on his coat, tipped her head back and met his gaze. “We have a problem.”

“Besides the reporter?” And his unwilling and unwanted surprise attraction to Holly.

“The reporter is the problem. Eric, you and I each work with the public. Our businesses rely heavily on our reputations. If we renege on these dates, Octavia will report it in her Saturday column, and we’re going to come out looking like welshers. Trust me, I know Octavia’s twisted mind. She’ll make each of us a laughingstock. I know that’s something I’d like to avoid. I’m guessing you would, too.”

On the heels of the humiliating end to his engagement. She didn’t say it. Didn’t have to.

His dented pride didn’t relish another lashing in the press, and with the bank merger closing in on the final stages Eric couldn’t afford bad publicity without adversely affecting Alden’s bargaining power. Why hadn’t his mother considered that before involving him in this fiasco?

“Why didn’t you mention your relationship with the reporter before?”

Holly took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. The play of moonlight and shadow over her cleavage drew his gaze. He’d always known Holly had a broad-shouldered, athletic build because he’d spent countless afternoons playing ball in the driveway with her two older brothers a decade and a half ago. Holly had often joined them to even the numbers. She was fast on her feet and had a decent hook shot, if he remembered correctly. But what he hadn’t realized years ago was that her breasts matched her generous height and firm muscle tone. His pulse accelerated. Damn.

“Because I didn’t know Octavia would make this personal. Besides, me buying you was your idea, remember? My plan was to leave the auction alone tonight.”

He lowered himself beside her on his coat. Their shoulders and thighs brushed. Sparks ignited, but he ignored them. Tried to, anyway. He saw where this was headed and couldn’t see any way to avoid it. “Your recommendation?”

“We go through the motions. If Octavia is around then I want you to treat me exactly like any other date. If we’re lucky she’ll soon lose interest in torturing me. If luck’s against us then it’s only eleven dates. We’ll survive. Somehow,” she said with a total lack of enthusiasm.

She’d survive dating him? The comment ripped the scab off his wounded pride, and Priscilla’s comment echoed in his head. The only place you don’t bore me is in bed. If he’d bored his traditional-minded ex-fiancée, then he’d turn a free spirit like Holly comatose, and her friend would report it in the paper. Another public humiliation.

Damned if he dated Holly. Damned if he didn’t. “I can’t treat you like my other dates.”

“Why in the heck not? Am I such a toad?”

She was far from a toad, but commenting on her unique beauty would be unwise. “I sleep with most of the women I date by the third evening, if not sooner.”

Her lips parted and then closed. Her throat worked as she gulped. “Not this time, pal. You got the raw end of the deal. I’m not your type.”

“Nor I yours, I imagine.”

A smile played over her lips. “Not even close. But it’s just dinner and stuff, right? What can go wrong?”

What indeed?

As if in answer to the question, the automatic sprinklers erupted. After a shocked gasp Holly looked skyward. “That was a rhetorical question.”

She snatched up her shoes and then zigzagged through the spurting nozzles like a running back headed for the goal line. Eric grabbed his coat and jogged after her. She stopped on the sidewalk edging the parking lot. Her hair and gown were drenched and plastered to her body. Grass clippings clung to her bare feet and mascara streaked down her cheeks, but instead of complaining Holly laughed and once again looked skyward.

“This is what I get for trying to pull a fast one on my friends? Okay, okay, I get it. I’m sorry.”

Eric couldn’t think of a single woman he’d ever known who would have had anything less than a complete meltdown over having her evening and probably her dress ruined. He extracted a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to Holly.

“Thanks.” She blotted her face. Droplets glistened on her eyelashes as she grinned up at him. “I don’t suppose you have a beach towel tucked in there do you?”

That unabashed grin twisted something in his gut. He caught himself grinning back. “Not tonight.”

Gravity carried a rivulet over her collarbone and between her breasts. His gaze followed and his smile faded. Wet fabric molded Holly’s body, tenting over her beaded nipples and dipping into her navel. He’d found her satiny dress sexy before, but seeing the fabric adhered to her curvaceous damp body like a second skin ratcheted his response up a level—right into the danger zone. He swallowed hard.

And that’s when it hit him. He’d miscalculated.

His safe way out of the auction had become a minefield of trouble.

Two

Dumped and deserted. A situation with which Holly was becoming all too familiar for her liking.

She shoved her wet hair off her face, plucked at her stuck-on dress and faced Eric. Water had turned his white silk shirt almost transparent. She could see the dark whorls of his chest hair and even the small brown circles of his nipples. Warmth she couldn’t blame on the humid June evening settled low in her belly.

Good grief. You’ve seen him without a shirt before. That might have been years ago, but still, what’s the big deal? Shaking off the unwanted fascination, she met his gaze. “Could you give me a ride home? It appears my cohorts have abandoned me.”

Looking tall, dark and better than any male model she’d sketched in her university Live Art class, Eric motioned toward a black Corvette. “Certainly. We still haven’t finalized the repayment of your substantial bid.”

A smug smile twitched the corners of his mouth. Holly rolled her eyes. “Go ahead and gloat. I know you’re dying to.”

He smiled and looked so much like the guy she’d had a crush on in her teens that it sucked the breath from her lungs. “I’ve never been happier to waste fifteen thousand dollars.”

She snorted. “You guys and your egos. I should have let Prissy have you.”

His smile vanished, and she wondered if having his ex-fiancée join in the bidding had surprised him as much as it had her. Or maybe he’d wanted her to let Prissy win him?

“Thank you for outbidding her.”

Holly tried to gauge his sincerity, but couldn’t. Had he loved Priscilla Wilson? Had his heart been broken when she’d dumped him so cruelly? Or was his sister right? Juliana swore her brother couldn’t squeeze a drop of emotion out of his calculator heart with a juicer. “I promised and, good or bad, I always keep my promises.”

He opened the passenger door and cupped Holly’s elbow as she lowered herself into the leather seat. She wished he’d quit touching her. Each time he did, something tightened and twisted inside her.

She directed him toward her house and twenty minutes later he parked beside the white picket fence surrounding her home. She climbed from the car before Eric could open her door, and a chorus of barks reached them.

“It’s okay guys. It’s just me,” she yelled through cupped hands, and the barks turned from warning to welcoming.

Eric stood with his hands on his hips, appraising the farmhouse. Because she lived alone, Holly had installed several area lights to keep the yard well-lit. The scent of gardenias, honeysuckle and moon flowers saturated the humid night air.

“Not the ramshackle hovel you expected?”

His gaze landed on hers. “It’s nice.”

Pride filled her chest. Her maternal grandfather had built the house for his bride back in the 1930s. Since moving to the farm seven years ago, Holly had steadily made upgrades both inside and out as money permitted. She’d turned the barn where cows and horses used to take shelter into kennels with dog runs and converted the carport behind the house into her work studio. A local farmer leased all but ten of the five hundred acres and kept her supplied with all the corn, cucumbers and tomatoes she could eat.

She paused beside Eric at the base of the stairs leading to the wraparound porch. “I know what they say behind my back, you know. That I live out here in disgrace, exiled to my grandparents’ farm because I don’t know how to behave in polite society.”

Moonlight played off the sharp planes of Eric’s face, casting shadows beneath his cheekbones. “This doesn’t look like exile.”

“It isn’t. It’s home. C’mon in.” She climbed the steps and unlocked the front door.

She’d had men in her house before, but usually they were misfits like her. Eric, according to his sister, lived in a professionally decorated place in an upscale Wilmington waterfront community. Holly had learned from the wealthy housewives who’d taken her stained glass classes that even her extensive renovations couldn’t bring this old house up to yacht club neighborhood standards. But she loved her home, her refuge.

The front door opened into a miniscule foyer with stairs leading to the unfinished attic space directly ahead. When her grandparents had built the house, they’d intended to finish off the upstairs as the children and the need for additional bedrooms arrived, but they’d only had one child, Holly’s mother, so the expansion had never happened. Holly’s living room lay to the left and her bedroom immediately to the right. “Would you like coffee or something while I change?”

“No thanks.”

The sound of canine nails clicking on hardwood floors approached from the kitchen and then the mutts surrounded them. “Down, Seurat and Monet.”

“You named your dogs after painters?” Eric bent to scratch each dog’s scruff.

“Yes. Seurat is dotted and Monet’s colors blend with no defined lines. They’re staying inside while recovering from surgery. They need homes if you know anyone who’d love a mutt.” Fat chance of that. Eric’s contemporaries preferred purebreds.

“And you have them because…?”

“I live in the country. People dump their unwanted pets out here all the time, and then, of course, others have heard that I’ll foster unwanted animals, so…” She shrugged. “I have the vet check them over and neuter them and then I try to find someone to adopt them.” She gestured to the sofa and chairs. “Have a seat in the den. Give me a minute to get into some dry clothes and then we can work out the date details.”

Holly stepped into her bedroom, leaving Eric to find the den on his own, and pushed the door almost closed. She peeled off her damp, clingy dress and then draped it over the corner of her grandmother’s cheval mirror. The ceiling fan overhead stirred the air, causing chill bumps to rise on every inch of her body. She scrubbed her upper arms while she debated whether or not she had anything clean to wear. When had she done laundry last?

“I have to confess, Eric, that until the MC described your auction package I didn’t even know what your dates would be.” She raised her voice to be heard through the quarter-inch door gap as she bent over her T-shirt drawer. With her booming, un-ladylike voice—a curse, according to her parents—Eric would be able to hear her from the den.

And then she heard a familiar creaking hinge and straightened abruptly. Her gaze darted to the mirror. Seurat had pushed open her bedroom door, and Eric was not in her living room. Instead, he stood exactly where she’d left him, and right now he was getting an eyeful of her naked backside and a clear view of her front side reflected in the mirror.

Holly snatched the wet dress from the mirror, clutched it to her chest and spun around. But the wet fabric bunched and stuck and refused to cover what needed covering. Eric, damn him, didn’t look away. In fact, his dark gaze raked over every exposed inch of her skin.

Her heart stuttered like a jackhammer. “Excuse me.”

Holly lunged forward, shut the door, forcing it past the sticking upper corner and leaned against it. That hadn’t been revulsion in Eric’s eyes. Worse, the heat swirling in her stomach like a water spout didn’t remotely resemble shame or disgust.

The only thing worse than getting involved with another needy man would be getting involved with a man who came from a world where she’d been a complete failure, a world to which she’d have to crawl back amidst a chorus of “I told you so’s” if she couldn’t locate the ex-lover who’d suckered her into borrowing against her trust fund and loaning him money.

Oh, man, why hadn’t she broken her promise to buy Eric and bolted when she’d had the chance?

Promises were the pits.

Eric’s sister stormed through the office door early Monday morning without bothering to knock. “What are you doing?”

“Good morning, Juliana. I’m working on an account analysis to determine which of the branches we’ll have to consolidate when the merger goes through.” His sister had a vested interest in the Alden Bank and Trust-Wilson Savings and Loan merger—an interest she’d jeopardized Saturday night by buying the wrong bachelor. “One of us needs to think about the merger.”

Anger darkened Juliana’s complexion and glinted in her eyes. “I meant with Holly. Besides the fact that she’s my friend and therefore off-limits to you, how dare you take advantage of her generous nature by conning her into buying you? She deserves a man who’ll sweep her off her feet and treat her like the special person she is. You don’t know anything about romance.”

Her verbal stiletto nicked his ego. His ex-fiancée had shouted similar words and a few other choice phrases at him instead of the traditional “I dos” in front of their wedding guests right before she’d stormed back down the aisle. Alone and unwed.

“And what about you? You should have bought Wallace Wilson, your fiancé, instead of that bartending biker. You know what a tight-ass Baxter Wilson is and how concerned with appearances he can be. He’ll be offended that you didn’t buy his son. Did you even consider the ramifications of your actions before you chose unwisely, Juliana?”

“Wally isn’t my fiancé yet, and this is not about me. This is about you. You go through women faster than you go through neckties. I do not want Holly to be one of your discards.”

“I have no intention of becoming involved with Holly more than superficially. Neither of us wants to go on the dates, but her reporter friend is pressing the issue. We’ll go through the motions until Octavia Jenkins loses interest. My goal was to avoid vicious gossip which could be detrimental to the merger, and I thought Holly would be a safe alternative to a marriage-minded female.”

And he’d never been more wrong in his life. Even though Holly had pulled on jeans and a baggy T-shirt Saturday night, once more camouflaging her generous curves, he’d kept seeing her naked and his usual razor-sharp concentration had taken a hiatus. As much as he disliked loose ends, he’d been relieved when the phone rang and Holly had had to rush out to pick up his sister before they finalized the date details.

He’d called Holly this morning and scheduled a date for tomorrow night. It had taken him promising to bring her a reimbursement check for the auction cost to get her to agree.

“Holly? Safe?” His sister had the nerve to laugh. “You don’t know what you’re in for.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means, big brother, that Holly isn’t one of your usual dimwitted debutantes. She’s not going to be impressed with your stock portfolio or the fact that you play tennis with the mayor and golf with a judge. She’s more interested in what’s on the inside than net worth or connections, Eric, and you, like our mother, have a calculator for a heart.”

Surprised by his sister’s unusual vehemence, he rocked back in his executive chair. “You don’t think I’m capable of showing Holly a good time.”

“Frankly?” She folded her arms and cocked her head. “No.”

His competitive instincts, never far from the surface, reared. “Then prepare to eat your words, little sister.”

Eric had enjoyed his dinner at one of Wilmington’s finest restaurants as much as he always did, and yet the only enthusiasm he’d seen from Holly had been for her crème brûlée. Throughout the rest of the meal, she’d appeared tense and uncomfortable.

He signed the credit card slip and rose. Apparently eager to leave, Holly sprang to her feet without waiting for him to pull back her chair, thereby proving his sister’s prediction true. Holly wasn’t enjoying the evening. Eric was determined to change that.

Keep the client happy. He’d decided the safest approach to this series of dates would be to consider Holly a client. They had a verbal contract, and she’d paid for his services even if he had a check for a one-hundred-percent refund in his pocket. He didn’t mix business with pleasure. The one time he had—his engagement to Priscilla—he’d been burned.

You’ve never seen any of your clients naked.

He locked the safe on that thought. Outside the building, he cupped her elbow. She stiffened. “Would you care to walk along the waterfront?”

Her hesitation shoved another splinter into his ego. “Sure. Why not?”

The moon ducked behind a cloud, but the streetlights illuminated the area well enough for a stroll. Holly wore flat shoes tonight, along with a simple black dress that in no way resembled Saturday night’s seductive number but that did nothing to erode the memory of how she’d looked wearing sinfully high heels and nothing else. Holly had an amazing figure. Not Rubenesque by any means, but not fashionably slim, either. She had curves, womanly, generous curves that begged a man to map her topography with his hands. With his mouth.

He ran a finger beneath his suddenly restricting collar and loosened his tie a fraction of an inch.

Holly’s long stride down the cobblestoned sidewalk would leave a shorter man in the dust. Eric kept pace beside her until she halted abruptly in front of a gift shop window. A Haunted Historic Wilmington Tours poster held her attention. He shoved his hands into his pockets and waited for her to move on, but then she looked over her shoulder at him. The excited sparkle in her eyes knocked the wind out of him.

“Want to? It starts in ten minutes.”

He’d rather shred money. But his pride demanded he show Holly a good time and thus far he’d failed to deliver anything more than a fine meal and stilted dinner conversation. If this tourist fodder entertained her, then he would—what had she said Saturday night?—survive it. “I’ll buy the tickets.”

Thirty minutes later, Holly inched closer to him in the shadowy interior of the theater allegedly haunted since the 1800s. Since the tour began, she’d startled at every squeak and gasped along with the other gullible fools on the tour as they followed their guide through the drafty and dimly lit area beneath the stage. Goose bumps covered her skin. She shivered and rubbed her upper arms.

Who’d have expected practical Holly to believe in ghosts? Eric took pity on her and put his arm around her shoulders. A mistake, he realized an instant later.

Holly burrowed against him, her breast pressing against his ribs, and she stayed as close as she could and still walk the creaking floor boards. Her scent filled his lungs and her hair tickled his jaw. The warmth of her in his arms roused the specter of his libido and sent it drifting through his blood like a hot phantom breath. It took every ounce of concentration to focus on the guide’s macabre spiel instead of the woman plastered against him.

At the conclusion of the tour, he had to admit that if he’d been a more susceptible sort he’d have enjoyed their talented host’s shtick, but Eric was a cynic. Smoke and mirrors didn’t interest him. He preferred cold, hard, provable facts. But the excited flush on Holly’s cheeks and the twinkle in her eyes made the price of admission worth every penny.

On the sidewalk in front of the building, she took one last look over her shoulder as if she expected an evil spirit to chase after them from the theater, and then she grinned at him. “Thanks. That was awesome.”

Her wide, unrestrained smile reminded him of the girl she’d been back when they’d shot hoops in her driveway and of the idealistic fresh-out-of-university fool he’d been at the time. Was it only fourteen years ago that he’d first joined Alden’s? It seemed like a lifetime since he’d realized his father was a source of amusement to many of the bank employees—a figurehead who did whatever Eric’s mother told him to do like a well-trained dog. A man more excited by a good cigar or a round of golf than a P&L statement.

The day he’d heard the laughter in the break room, Eric had decided that he would never be the butt of jokes. He’d be man enough for both his father and himself, and he’d succeeded until Priscilla made a fool out of him. Now the reporter’s coverage of this damned auction package could sink him faster than rising interest rates could the stock market and with equally devastating results. What in the hell had his mother been thinking when she’d inflicted this on him?

“I’m glad you enjoyed the tour.”

Holly’s eyes widened at the unintended sharpness of his voice and then she averted her gaze. “I guess we should head back. I have an early start tomorrow.”

He led her back to his ’Vette and then pointed the car in the direction of her farm. Damn. Any points he’d gained with the ghost tour had been lost with one bitter comment. “Tell me about your business.”

Holly flashed him an I-know-what-you’re-up-to glance. “You mean you haven’t read my file?”

“You have accounts with Alden’s?”

Another hesitation. “Several. I work primarily with commercial concerns, but I also do windows for private homes. I teach stained glass classes once a week, not just because I enjoy sharing my craft but because those same women who take my classes often commission me to do windows for their homes, tell their friends about me or recommend me to the boards of the organizations to which they belong, which in turn leads to more commercial accounts.” Her entire body became animated as she discussed her work.

“Smart advertising,” he acknowledged.

“I think so.”

“You like making windows better than working at the Caliber Club?”

“Oh, yeah. No comparison.”

The nuances in her voice raised questions such as why would she leave a secure, well-paying job, one with limitless advantageous connections, for the financially risky venture of crafting stained glass windows? He turned into Holly’s driveway and spotted a dark sedan parked in the shadows beneath a large tree. His curiosity would have to wait. “You have company.”

“Great.” Her sarcastic tone implied otherwise. “It’s Octavia.”

The reporter and the photographer beside her in the front seat waved as they drove past, but made no move to get out of the car.

“What do they want?”

Holly stared at her knotted fingers in the dimly lit car. “To see the end of our date.”

Eric’s spine prickled a warning. “Pardon?”

Holly took a deep breath and then lifted her wary, toffee-brown gaze to his. “Women talk when they’re working on their projects in my class. Octavia believes the first kiss foretells the future of any relationship.”

He’d have to kiss Holly good-night. The news sent a rush of adrenaline through him.

Holly bit her lip and lifted her chin. “Eric, I realize you probably had no intention of kissing me good-night, and as much as I hate the idea of a mercy kiss, could you kiss me and make it look good? It’ll keep her off our backs. This week, anyway.”

Moisture flooded his mouth and his pulse pounded like a marching band headed toward the end zone located below his belt. He jerked a nod because the words on the tip of his tongue, my pleasure, were forbidden and just plain wrong. He exited the car, and for once Holly waited for him to open her door and assist her out.

With a hand at the small of her back, he guided her up the walk, the stairs and then stopped on her doormat. She turned toward him, and in the soft glow of her porch light she took a deep breath, clearly bracing herself to endure his kiss.

Bracing herself. As if she expected kissing him to be an ordeal. Eric’s pride roared in protest. He inhaled once, twice, willing his irritation away and his knotted muscles to relax. What he needed was technique. Smooth, controlled, seductive technique. He’d be damned if any woman would endure his kiss. He’d settle for nothing less than total capitulation.

He lowered his head until only a fraction of an inch separated their mouths and waited. Waited for Holly’s breath to sweep over his chin when she exhaled. Waited for his pulse to steady. And when his heart accelerated instead of slowing, he relented and brushed his lips over hers with a featherlight touch. The spark of electricity jolted him. Curious, he took another cautious sip, and current shot down to his toes. Judging by Holly’s gasp, the feeling wasn’t one-sided. He settled his mouth over hers, sinking into the lush softness of her lips. Her fingers clutched his waist and her tongue flicked against his and then quickly withdrew.

Any thoughts of controlled technique vanished. Eric banded his arms around her, molding the long length of her body against his as he delved deeper, stroking the satiny warmth of her mouth, tasting rich crème brûlée and even richer Holly. His fingers tightened on the curve of her waist, and his palms prickled.

Holly felt good—too good—in his arms. Her pelvis nudged his as she shuffled closer. His response was instantaneous and enthusiastic.

Unacceptable.

Unforgivable.

Embarrassing.

He was too damned old to get aroused from a dead-end kiss. His only hope was that Holly hadn’t noticed. He gripped her upper arms, lifted his head and put a few inches between them.

“Good night.” His voice sounded strained and no wonder. His lungs weren’t working.

“’Night.” She licked her lips and raised her lids to reveal slightly dazed eyes.

Instead of releasing Holly and stepping away the way his brain ordered him to do, Eric found his arms encircling her, pulling her closer. He kissed her again and again. He couldn’t help himself. Even as he consumed her mouth, his conscience shouted, “What are you doing?”

Her arms twined around his neck, pressing her soft breasts against his chest. His fingers glided upward from her waist. He had to feel her weight in his hand, to cup her fullness. Had to.

The sound of a car starting and crunching down the gravel driveway barely registered, but the barking dogs hurling themselves at the other side of the front door managed to infiltrate the haze clouding his mind. His hand stopped inches short of its target. He lifted his head and swore.

Holly stiffened, jerked her hands from around his neck and pushed against his chest. She looked past his shoulder. “Octavia’s gone. I, um, think that probably convinced her.”

She licked her lips again and need clawed at him, but Eric released her and stepped away.

What in the hell had just happened?

Whatever it was couldn’t happen again.

He, more than anyone, knew that strong emotional attachments made a man weak. If he ever needed a reminder, all he had to do was look at his henpecked father.

He backed away from temptation and left as quickly as he could and still maintain his dignity. Two miles down the road, he realized he still had Holly’s check in his pocket, but he couldn’t risk turning the ’Vette around. Until tonight, no woman had ever rattled him enough to make him forget that money and the power attached to it made the world go round.

Who’d have thunk it?

Holly leaned against the inside of the door and sank to the floor. Monet and Seurat crawled all over her, jostling for attention. She absently scratched them while willing her pulse to slow.

If anybody had told her uptight Eric Alden’s kisses held more sexual promise than the pages of the Kama Sutra, she’d have laughed. And darn it, she could not turn the page to see what the next chapter revealed.

How unfair that when she finally met a guy who could singe the toes out of her panty hose, he was the one man she couldn’t have. Not only had she tried and failed to fit into Eric’s world, she’d promised Juliana after the auction that there was nothing sexual about buying her brother’s date package.

Those melt-her-mascara kisses had made a liar out of her. Her body still hummed and her lips wouldn’t stop tingling, no matter how hard she bit them. If he’d been anybody but Eric, she would have invited him in for more than a nightcap, thereby breaking her born-again virgin vow. But she’d promised herself she wouldn’t settle for anything less than happily ever after next time. If such a thing existed. And she had her doubts. Waiting for a prince—a prince who didn’t need fixing or financial assistance—to love her and all her foibles hadn’t worked thus far. Better to do without a man altogether than be disappointed yet again.

Holly shoved to her feet and dodged the dogs all the way to her kitchen. She’d have to do a better job of keeping her distance from Eric Alden. She sifted through the pile of magazines and junk mail that had piled up on the counter while she was finishing her current project until she found the bachelor auction brochure. She read over the eleven enchanted evenings promised in Eric’s date package to refresh her memory and groaned. “Talk about monotonousness. Jeez.”

As long as he didn’t kiss her again, then his offering of meals at stuffy see-and-be-seen restaurants where even the wait staff had condescending attitudes would make ignoring the chemistry between them easy. Each date would be a reminder of the world she’d left behind—the world that had turned on her when she’d dared to sully her hands at manual labor.

Juliana and Andrea were the only friends who’d stuck by Holly when she’d said to hell with being miserable doing what was expected of her, quit her job at the Caliber Club and moved to her grandparents’ farm. Being happy was more important than being accepted.

Eric thrived in society with all its restrictions, expectations and conventions, but Holly was a debutante dropout who’d suffocated until she’d escaped. He was a banker who lived by the bottom line, and she was a bleeding heart who’d given away more than she could afford, a situation illustrated by her current predicament. One she needed to address ASAP.

Despite the smoldering kisses, she and Eric couldn’t be a more mismatched pair—a fact she’d better not forget if he ever hit her with another one of those break-her-celibacy-vow kisses.

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