The Playboy Bachelor

by Rachel Van Dyken

  And for some reason, she was disappointed he hadn’t pushed her to let him help her. Which was crazy, right?

  She got to her feet and made her way over to Bentley. He was already unscrewing the wine they’d packed and popping cheese in his mouth while a duck and her little ducklings made their way over. He completely ignored Margot and started feeding the duck breadcrumbs.

  She’d either pissed him off or hurt him.

  “Am I boring you?” she asked, and tried to keep the hitch out of her voice as she continued. “Wasn’t my Olympic tumble amusing enough? Or do you expect more from your charity dates?” Great. Now she was being a bitch.

  “You’re more than that.” His eyes locked on her. “You’re someone I can’t keep out of my mind.” A sad and lonely expression crossed his face. “You’re someone I want to spend time with, not because of the auction, but because you make me want to try to be better than the person I really am.” He scowled down at the blanket. “And I know I left you. I know that. I know I’m an asshole, but having you back, even for just a few weeks, has been—everything. I have my friend back, at least part of her—and no, I don’t mean your missing leg.”

  She scowled, and he tentatively reached out and placed his hand on her arm. “Please, let me finish. This is hard for me, too.” She nodded and he continued. “I just meant I have part of you, the part that slips through when you forget to stay pissed at me, and I miss it. I miss us. I miss my best friend. My only friend. A friend I want to kiss. A friend I’ve always wanted to kiss. A friend I want to share things with, even though most of the time she yells at me and slams doors—which probably says something about my masochistic personality, since I keep coming back for more.” He stood. “Friends share things…” He dropped to his knees in front of her, moving both hands up her legs until he stopped where her prosthetic met her leg. “You show true friends the ugly—and trust them enough to turn it into something beautiful.”

  Margot didn’t know what to say.

  “I-I don’t have any friends, either,” she finally stuttered.

  “So you aren’t counting me?”

  She grinned. “Okay, fine. I have one.”

  “Oh, tell me about this friend,” he whispered, sliding his hands up her legs and then slowly pushing her back against the cool grass.

  “He’s kind of a prick,” she teased.

  “Sounds like he needs a strong woman to keep him in line. May I recommend spanking as a punishment?”

  “You may…” she breathed, as he kissed one cheek and then the other.

  “What else?”

  “He’s too good-looking. I think he needs to get roughed up.”

  “Is that an offer?”

  “Do you want it to be?”

  “Margot, I’d let you rough me up any day…” His lips met hers briefly before he pulled back. “I think I’m kind of jealous of this guy.”

  “Oh, you should be.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “I mean, he is your brother, so…” She lifted one shoulder and smiled.

  “That’s it,” he hissed, and started tickling her until she was crying tears of laughter. “Thank God.”

  “Wh-what?” She caught her breath.

  “I needed that today.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your laughter.” He sat up and faced her; his expression darkened. “Being reminded of our past… it’s not my most favorite topic. Your laughter makes it better. Funny, I’m so used to being the guy that makes everything better, it’s kind of nice to be on the other end of it.”

  “Yeah.” She ducked her head, but he tilted her chin back up and brushed a kiss across her bottom lip before pulling back and holding the wine bottle between them.

  “Wine.” He nodded. “You drink the wine—and I’ll just drink you.”

  “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

  “This?” He pointed between them. “Oh, I read this really great romance author, maybe you’ve heard of her? Writes these crazy sex scenes, though they may be too explicit for your eyes. But they may help you with your new friend; I’ve heard he’s amazing in bed.”

  “Yeah? Lots of screaming?”

  “So much screaming,” he replied playfully, tilting his head back. “But I think my screaming days are over.”

  “Huh?”

  “I think I’d much rather settle for a really, really, really loud sigh.” He trailed a finger down the front of her T-shirt. “Followed by a few breathless moans.” His finger dipped into the V-shaped neckline as his hand spread across her right breast. “Maybe even a few Don’t stop, Bentley, you’re a sex god, Bentley, yes, Bentleys.”

  She could hear her own heartbeat in her ear. “I think I can manage that.”

  Wait?

  Was this happening?

  Did she just agree to have sex with him?

  Did he just ask?

  “Oh, you’ll manage,” he growled, capturing her mouth with his just as a loud voice rang through the air.

  “Stupid Thunder lost! I bet ten grand on that game.”

  Margot’s body jolted at the sound of Brant’s voice. What was he doing down there? And how much had he seen?

  “Oh good, there’s still cheese left.” He plopped down next to them and started eating, as if he hadn’t just interrupted what Margot had been convinced was about to be the most mind-blowing sex, ever.

  “I heard there’s a storm coming in. Looks like I’ll have to stay an extra day,” Brant said, pouring himself a glass of wine. His eyes were glassy, and she wondered how much he’d already had to drink.

  “The hell.” Bentley pulled away from Margot and blinked at Brant. “Absolutely not.”

  “Afraid so.” Brant tugged on his sunglasses and sat right next to Margot then lazily put his arm around her shoulders. “Once you go twin you never go back—”

  Bentley punched him in the face.

  Margot gasped.

  “Fuck!” Blood drenched Brant’s hands as he held them up against his nose. “What the hell, man? I was joking!”

  “And it was funny, too,” Bentley said drily.

  “You’re so easy…” Brant slurred his words a bit as blood ran down his chin. “Grandfather sends you here for a weekend, dangles that VP of marketing job in front of you if stay a whole month.” He looked genuinely disgusted. “And then what? You’re just going to leave her again.”

  Margot froze.

  Bentley lunged for his brother again.

  Brant tilted his chin toward him. “Do it, I dare you.”

  “You’re drunk.” Bentley clenched his hands into fists. “And you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about, and from the crestfallen look on Margot’s face—you still haven’t even told her why you stayed longer than the weekend!”

  “P-promotion?” Margot repeated in an angry voice.

  “No.” Bentley pointed at her. “It’s not like that. He’s wasted. And angry. This is more about him then it is about us.”

  “It’s exactly like that.” Brant rolled his eyes. “What? He didn’t tell you about the promotion?”

  “One that I don’t even know if I want!” Bentley yelled, jumping to his feet. “Margot, we talked about this. I don’t even know if that’s what I want anymore!”

  “Then why did you come down here?” Brant crossed his arms. “Oh…” He looked down at the ground and laughed. “Right, because Grandfather offered you a job and because you’ve been dying for a way to impress him.” Brant jerked to his feet. “But sure, have a great fake picnic, because we all know how this story’s going to end. Bentley’s going to walk away—like he always does. And break your heart—”

  “What the hell is wrong with you, man?” Bentley was genuinely confused while Margot looked ready to burst into tears.

  Margot stood on wobbly legs and marched over to Bentley then slapped him in the face. “So what? All the kissing? The compliments? Was that part of it? Do you get a
bonus if you fuck me?”

  Brant whistled.

  “You stay out of this!” She jabbed her finger in his chest. “I don’t know what’s happened to you but you’re…you’re a complete jackass. You need to go back to the house and sober up. This, this is not the Brant I remember.”

  Brant’s expression fell as guilt washed over his face.

  “That’s right,” Bentley agreed.

  “And you!” She returned to Bentley. “I trusted you, you said we were friends—”

  “We are friends!” He threw his hands in the air.

  “I kiss all my friends like that. Like every day. Oh hi, Bill, how’s it going?” Brant added. “Your tongue feels different, did you get work done?”

  “Brant!” they yelled in unison, and he held his hands up.

  “I can’t even look at you.” Margot pushed past him. “I did it again! I ignored my gut, I ignored the little voice in my head that told me you were using me, and you were! All that talk about being friends again, about wanting to see the ugly, well, here it is. I hate you.” Her voice wobbled at the end, like her mouth had trouble forming the sentence. Because even though she wanted to still hate him, even though she was so angry she couldn’t even see through her tears…

  …a part of her still wanted him to deny it all.

  To say he loved her.

  To say Brant was so drunk that he was making up stories.

  But he said nothing.

  He might be a runner.

  But she was a hider.

  So she did what she did best.

  She walked back to the house, head held high, took the stairs one at a time, hid in the darkness of her room, and tried to put all those walls back up around her heart, only to find out they were in pieces just like the rest of her.

  He’d wrecked her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Thanks, man.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. It was hard not to punch his brother in the face again. “Next time you get drunk can you maybe focus on ruining your own life rather than mine?”

  Brant chugged another bottle of water and popped two aspirin. “I had too much to drink, looked out the window, saw you doing exactly what you always do…kiss the right side, kiss the left.” Brant smirked at his bottled water like he was lost in his own thoughts. “Treating her like every other girl I’d ever seen you screw. And I just…I’m sorry. I lost it. I like her.”

  “No shit.”

  “No, I really, really like her.”

  “Try liking her a little less.”

  Brant scowled. “She deserves better than you. Better than me.”

  Bentley groaned into his hands. “Trust me, I know that.”

  “And I know you’re still hiding shit from her. You’re not being fair to her, Bent. You’re either all in, or you’re nothing.”

  “Seriously? Is this your pep talk right now? From the man who literally can’t even date a woman who wears red lipstick.”

  Brant froze, his swallow visible as he took a deep breath and then licked his lips. “That’s different.”

  “Good one.”

  “Thanks,” Brant said drily. “Look at it from my side. For all I know you’re just going to freak out again and run away and then what? Margot’s already lost a leg, and you. Don’t do it twice, man.”

  “Is that your apology?” Bentley asked.

  “Yup.” Brant finally took his shot. “Look, whenever a girl clings to you for too long, I’m always the one who steps in, pisses her off, gives you that clean break, hurting her on your behalf so you can fill your bed with someone new. What I just did with Margot was no different, except since you punched me in the face, I’m gathering it’s a hell of a lot different.”

  Bentley glanced around the room, mindlessly looking at the gourmet stainless-steel appliances and the way the light cast a glow across the mahogany dining room set. Had he really been that guy? The one that had his twin take care of his dirty work? He rubbed his hands over his face and let out a sigh. “Things with her are delicate…her accident, my past.” He shook his head. “She’s not trusting, and I’m not helping matters.”

  “Well.” Brant leaned back against the countertop. “Your reputation does precede you.”

  “So?” Bentley shrugged. “I can’t change?”

  “In a little under two weeks? You’re going to change your playboy ways and play nice with your ex–best friend? The amputee? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Don’t fucking call her that.” Bentley’s jaw ticked.

  Brant just grinned. “What are you going to do? Punch me again?”

  Bentley lunged, gripping Brant by the shirt and shoving him away from the counter and against the wall. “Maybe.”

  Brant’s eyes widened. “So what is it? Are you that desperate for a taste of her, or is it the real thing?”

  “It’s not about sex.” Bentley’s teeth snapped together.

  Brant’s gaze zeroed in on Bentley. “You fuck.” His voice was so cold. “It’s what you do. It’s what I do. It’s what we’ve always done.”

  “Funny, because I remember a time where you used to go to bed at nine every night and make love to your wife—before you walked.”

  Brant let out a hoarse gasp and then charged Bentley, shoving him back against the granite counter. His fists pounded into Bentley’s kidneys as though he’d been practicing in the boxing ring for the past few months.

  “Son of a bitch!” Bentley roared, shoving his twin away and getting a good punch in before Brant pulled him into a headlock.

  “Don’t ever mention her again.” Brant tightened his hold. “Ever.”

  Bentley slammed his elbow into his brother’s side and gasped for air as he punched him in the stomach. “The hell I won’t. Nobody ever talks about it. Just like nobody ever talks about Brock carrying the fucking world on his shoulders when Mom and Dad died, just like nobody ever talks about my overdose, just like nobody talks about her!”

  Brant froze, his eyes locked on Bentley. “Don’t.”

  “Why?” Bentley rubbed his sore jaw. “It doesn’t help, you know, keeping secrets, pretending that everything’s fine…and we both know it sure as hell doesn’t go away no matter how many thighs you fall between. How much you drink—”

  “You go away for two weeks and now you’re giving me the same lecture Brock did before I left.” Brant grabbed a towel and held it to his face. “What’s happening to you?”

  Bentley shrugged, even though he knew exactly what was happening to him. He was falling for someone, someone who deserved everything good in life, and he wasn’t sure he could give Margot those things.

  “She’s different,” he finally said. “She doesn’t want my money, she looks ready to slap me every time I try to kiss her, and she’s…she has no idea how beautiful she is, how talented.” Bentley sighed. “She makes me laugh.”

  “Well then, clearly you should marry her,” Brant said in a deadpan voice. “Let me know how that goes when she ends up hating your guts for not being strong enough to withstand the hells of being in a relationship—for failing.”

  “Is that what happened? You weren’t strong enough? You failed?”

  Brant’s eyes took on a haunted appearance. “Sometimes love…just isn’t. It morphs into something you don’t recognize, just like your own damn reflection.” He stared off into the distance and then drummed his fingertips against the table. “You know, you could always seduce the hell out of her and then apologize for all the shit you’ve been keeping from her once you think you’re on more even ground. It’s always easier asking for forgiveness than permission, you know?”

  Bentley blinked at his brother; the man was actually serious. “How the hell do you get so much ass?”

  “Eh, it’s a gift.” Brant grinned, breaking the tension.

  God, he was surrounded with ghosts and elephants everywhere he looked. Brant’s anger, Brock’s indifference, his grandfather’s controlling ways.

  Everywhere Bentley looked he saw path
s that were drawn out for him, lines that he wasn’t allowed to step outside, at least not if he wanted to be a good grandson.

  What if he didn’t take the job?

  What would his grandfather think of him then?

  “I think Grandfather’s really trying. In his own warped way, he’s trying to make up for being so distant from us during our childhood…I think.” Brant sighed. “That’s probably why he’s taken on the role of matchmaker. With the help of Nadine Titus, God help us.”

  “Scariest sentence I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.” Bentley leaned across the granite countertop and placed his head on his arms, stretching out his back while he tried to think of what to do next.

  They fell into silence.

  Still no sound from upstairs, which meant she was beyond angry. If she was mildly irritated, she’d have been slamming doors or she’d have come downstairs and faced him.

  Which meant she was probably hurt.

  Which pissed him off more.

  Things were going great until Brant had opened his giant mouth.

  “I should go talk to her,” Bentley finally said, but didn’t move.

  Brant’s eyebrows rose. “Cool. You guys have telepathy nailed down or what?”

  “Shut up.”

  “You still haven’t moved.”

  “My hand twitched.”

  “Oh, sorry. I didn’t see the hand twitch, because obviously that means you’re about to sprint up the stairs and bang down a door.” He grabbed a bottle and poured himself a generous shot of whiskey, then offered more to Bentley.

  Bentley shook his head, hating that he wasn’t just worried about Margot but Brant’s drinking habits and the dark circles under his eyes. “I’m just…prepping my speech.”

  Brant burst out in a mocking laugh. “Yeah, I call bullshit. You just don’t want her to yell at you.”

  “She always yells. Hell, I’ll take yelling over tears.”

  Brant nodded in understanding. “You know, I’m tired. I think I’m going to go to bed. I’ll leave first thing in the morning.” He peered down into his glass. “I’ll, uh, be sure not to start off the day with mimosas so I can drive.”

  His tone was light.

  But Bentley knew his brother. He was allowing his past to eat him alive, and it had only gotten progressively worse since the auction.