The Playboy Bachelor (The Bachelors of Arizona #2)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “You’re okay!” Margot launched herself into his arms.

  Warm lips pressed against his and then pulled away too soon.

  “That’s quite a welcome,” Brant whispered under his breath. “For a friend.”

  Margot jerked away, nearly stumbling backward against one of the entryway tables. “Brant?”

  “Red.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why does everyone remember that nickname?”

  Brant reached for her hair and picked it up. “Gee, I’m not sure.”

  Bentley had never been so tempted to punch his brother in the face—just because he was touching her hair. Great. Another fight, just what he needed.

  Margot smiled politely and stepped closer to Bentley. “I was worried.”

  Brant snickered. “It’s not like he went off to war and barely made it out alive. He sucker punched a dude in the face. It won’t be the last time that happens, either.”

  “Brant,” Bentley said in a warning voice. “Could you just…go be anywhere but here? Right now?”

  Brant rolled his eyes and sent a knowing look to Margot. “Are you going to nurse his wounds tonight or mine?”

  A month ago Bentley would have laughed.

  And might have been game.

  They’d shared women before.

  Now? He wanted to end his brother’s life for even thinking about Margot that way.

  “Okay, you’re done here.” Bentley grabbed his brother roughly by the shoulders and shoved him toward the hallway. “My room’s the first on the left. You can take the one right across from it.”

  “Last chance.” Brant completely ignored Bentley and eyed Margot up and down. He didn’t even flinch when he saw her leg. For that matter, when Bentley had mentioned it, Brant hadn’t even asked questions.

  A prickling awareness trickled down Bentley’s spine.

  “Pass,” she said in a bored tone that had Bentley doing mental backflips while his dick took a bow.

  “You always did prefer him to me back in high school.” He locked eyes with Bentley while still addressing Margot. “My warning still stands. Be careful, Red.”

  The hell?

  Margot flushed and then jerkily folded and unfolded her arms.

  What just happened?

  Suddenly Brant’s smile was back and he was making his way toward the bedroom only to stop and turn around. “Will I need earplugs?”

  “Brant.” Bentley’s tone had a warning edge.

  His brother smirked, then sauntered off.

  “Always fun hanging out with sober Brant,” Bentley said under his breath.

  “You mean he’s normally…not sober?”

  Bentley exhaled. This really wasn’t the time to get into his family drama or Brant’s particular demons. “Sorry, he’s…honestly, I don’t know what the hell his problem is. Ever since the auction he’s been like a different person.”

  “Trauma does that to people.” She smiled.

  “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Depends.” She scrunched up her nose. “Was it funny?”

  “I laughed on the inside really hard. Promise.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m just a bit distracted by…you.” Bentley reached for her hands. “How are you?”

  “I’m not the one who spent half the night in jail.”

  “Eh, jail’s not so bad. At least this time I didn’t get felt up.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “I’m kidding.”

  “Oh.” Her smile was back. “The elephants are back, aren’t they?”

  “Stampeding through the damn house,” Bentley said in a hoarse voice. “And in my head.”

  She broke eye contact and looked down. “How are you…really?”

  “I’m fine.” I need to tell you things I don’t want to tell you.

  “Okay,” she whispered. Then she got up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Tonight…you were my hero.”

  She might as well have knighted him.

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever been anyone’s hero, except for Jennifer in eighth grade, but I think she was using me for my math skills.”

  “You were my hero in high school…the only boy other than Brant who even looked in my direction more than once.”

  “Seven hundred and eighty nine,” Bentley whispered. “Give or take a few hundred.”

  Margot’s eyes filled with tears. “What?”

  “The number of times I caught myself staring at you. And those are just the times I counted.”

  “Oh.”

  Bentley nodded, not really sure what else to say. There was too much to choose from. And most of his options were harsh reminders of all the baggage he carried and how it was all directly related to her, without her even realizing it.

  “So really.” She took a deep breath and wiped at a few fallen tears. “You were more stalker than hero, is that what you’re saying?”

  Bentley choked out a laugh. “Yes, Margot, yes, all right?”

  “Yes to stalking?”

  “Yes to being obsessed.”

  Her eyes lit up before she again looked away and tucked some fallen hair behind her ears. “It’s, um, it’s late, I should…” She pointed toward the stairs.

  She backed away. “Well, good night.”

  Shit, it was now or never. “About being hospitalized,” he called after her. Like an idiot.

  She tilted her head. “I didn’t ask.”

  “I know, but—”

  “You don’t have to tell me—at least not after being in jail all night. There’s always tomorrow,” she finished. “Thanks again…now, go put your sword away and get some sleep.”

  She grimaced.

  While he burst out laughing. “What’s this about my sword?”

  “Its three a.m. Don’t.” Margot held up a hand. “Just. Don’t.” A smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

  “Aw, one laugh, Margot. I’ve had a rough night. Just one.”

  “No.” She straightened her back.

  “I’ll pull out my sword and let you play with it.”

  “I’m never living that one down,” she whispered, more to herself, and then nearly knocked the wind out of him by smiling so brightly he couldn’t tear his eyes away. “Bentley?”

  “Yes?”

  “Tomorrow…we should do that picnic.”

  “It’s a date.”

  She grinned harder.

  “And if you’re having trouble deciding what to wear, just go naked…that’s the new rule. I don’t want to stress you out with hard decisions.” He made sure to draw out the word hard.

  “Yeah, I’ll totally keep that in mind.” She rolled her eyes and made her way up the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The last time Margot had been that terrified was when she woke up in the hospital with her leg in a cast and a tell-all expression on the doctor’s face that instantly worried her.

  And now, she was worried for Bentley. Worried about the aftermath and what was said.

  And she was selfishly worried about herself.

  Her eyes were heavy with exhaustion as she lay in bed and replayed the night’s events. Her mind was going at a million miles a minute, and her heart was still thumping against her chest like it was going to seize.

  She should have admitted to Bentley that she already knew that he’d been hospitalized.

  But it seemed like the wrong timing: Oh, thanks for standing up for me and going to jail for the night over something that I already knew. By the way, did you know that there are over fifty websites dedicated to your hair and smile alone?

  Margot groaned and covered her face with a pillow¸ letting out a little scream as she tried to force her racing mind to slow the hell down.

  He was a complete enigma.

  What did she even know about this man staying with her? This man who had walked away from her when she’d needed him most?

  Fact: Bentley always deflected with humor.

  Fact: He was angry with his grandfather.
<
br />   Fact: Clearly he was trying to prove himself, but to whom?

  Fact: The auction was the only reason he was at her house.

  Fact: Had he not been in the auction, would he have ever confessed all of those things to her? Would he have ever sought her out and apologized for abandoning her all those years go?

  Fact: He didn’t know that Brant knew about her leg.

  And that, that was going to be a problem, because while Bentley hadn’t made sure Margot was okay after the accident, Brant had.

  She still remembered his dark, worried expression. She’d thought he was Bentley at first and reached for him, only to jerk back with surprise when she realized it was Brant.

  Margot swallowed the ever-present lump in her throat and tried once again to focus her thoughts on the positive.

  Like kissing.

  Kissing Bentley.

  Kissing Bentley and forgetting about everything auction related and focusing on…

  …a picnic.

  She could do a picnic.

  Picnics were harmless, right? Children went on picnics, not sexy ex–best friends who tasted like sin and reeked of poor life choices.

  Okay, that’s unfair.

  He smelled amazing, too.

  What type of unjust God allowed men like Bentley to exist? He needed a flaw other than his abandonment, because no matter how hard she tried, it was getting more and more difficult to hold on to the anger.

  And without the anger, she was in dangerous territory, wanting more than friendship and actually believing that he might want more, too.

  Ugh. Kisses probably weren’t included in the auction package.

  Great. Now she was thinking about packages.

  His package to be exact.

  NyQuil. Sedation. Sheep.

  “Damn it!” She thumped the pillow against the headboard around eight times and crossed her arms.

  A soft knock sounded at her door. Jolting upright, she fixed her hair, tucking it behind her ears, before clearing her throat and offering a polite and oh-so-very-high-pitched “Yes?”

  This was it.

  The doorknob slowly twisted as light flickered in from the hall.

  Bentley.

  Kissing.

  Bedroom.

  “Brant?” She didn’t mean to sound disappointed.

  “Curb your enthusiasm,” Brant said in a low voice as he let himself into her room, shut the door behind him, and approached her bed.

  “Um…what are you doing?” She pulled the sheets tighter against her body and waited.

  Brant’s clear blue eyes flickered from the bed to her face before he let out a sigh and sat near her feet. “He doesn’t know.”

  “Doesn’t know?” she repeated.

  “He doesn’t know that I visited you in the hospital…he, uh…” Brant swore. “Look, here’s the thing. I was going to pretend to be him, that’s all you need to know. If he could have physically been there, he would have, and then it was just…” He fell back against the mattress. “You have a frighteningly low ceiling.”

  “Brant?”

  “Seriously, it’s like an attic ceiling.”

  “Brant.” She said it a little more urgently. “Why are you really in here?”

  “Why indeed,” he repeated. His gaze didn’t waver from the ceiling as he put his hands behind his head and yawned. Where Bentley was charismatic, Brant was a bit predatory, and a whole lot of intense. “You know, Red, I just didn’t want it to blindside you. Bentley and I don’t talk about the accident. Ever.”

  “Because he feels guilty that he didn’t come to see me in the hospital?”

  “I wasn’t talking about your accident,” he whispered and then slowly rose to his feet. “Try to get some sleep. If you have any hope of surviving a picnic with Bentley tomorrow, you’ll need it.”

  “Eavesdropper.”

  His smile was almost sad as he bent over and kissed her on the forehead. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You, too.”

  “Brant?” she called out once he reached the door. “His accident…” She hated asking this. Hated it. “Was it—”

  “I’ve said enough. Go to sleep.” The door clicked shut.

  Great, now her mind was reeling.

  She was never going to get any sleep tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  He’s not coming with us?” Margot secretly hoped that Brant wasn’t joining their picnic, but she didn’t want to be rude by suggesting he not come along. But something about Brant was different. Startlingly different from when she’d seen him last. Yes, he was an adult now, they all were, but he seemed…heavy. Was that the right word?

  And it wasn’t like she was in any position to be psychoanalyzing anyone.

  Brant laid his lean body across the couch, stretched his arms over his head, and then sent her a lazy smile. The TV was on ESPN, and two empty beer bottles littered the coffee table.

  “Nope.” Bentley turned her toward the door. “He’s basically in a catatonic state at this point. Basketball’s on. You could probably do a striptease in front of him and he’d still ask you to move.”

  “That only happened once!” Brant called out. “And it was the championship game!”

  Bentley smirked. “She broke his TV.”

  Brant turned around from his spot on the couch. “You kids have fun. Wear a condom—I’m not ready to be an uncle yet.”

  Margot’s cheeks heated. Brant winked, probably knowing he was making her uncomfortable. He’d always been that way, though, very unapologetic about how he acted. She quickly grabbed the picnic basket to distract herself and waited for Bentley to open the door. She’d slathered on sunscreen, and at the last minute she’d tossed on a hat to cover her face. She tanned pretty well for a redhead, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

  The minute she stepped out of the house, she froze. The warm wind tickled her bare arms and legs.

  Maybe she shouldn’t have worn denim cutoffs and a tank top?

  “You ready for this?” Bentley tossed on his sunglasses, took the picnic basket from her, and then took her hand.

  She squeezed. “Totally.”

  How many times had she taken this exact trail with her parents? And how many times had she begged them to let her go by herself so she could read by the stream?

  “I…” She choked back the memories and gave herself a few seconds of silence to gather her thoughts. How much to share? How much to say? “I used to go on picnics with my parents all the time.”

  “I didn’t know that.” They started down a trail that led by the pool and farther down across the field that connected the horse stables to the tennis courts.

  “Well, I’m not exactly an open book.”

  “No,” Bentley teased. “You don’t say?”

  They walked in silence for a while, accompanied by the rustle of the breeze through the leaves overhead and the crunch of gravel under their feet. When they topped a small hill, Bentley looked over at her, his eyes clear, searching, and maybe just a bit sad.

  “I think I’m lost.”

  “We’re on the trail, your house is that way.” He pointed over her head. “The stream is—”

  “Not geographically!” She smacked him in the chest. “But with what’s going on between us…I don’t think I understand.”

  Bentley set the basket down and interlinked their fingers, pulling her against his body. “I was always horrible at the tell part of Show and Tell…” His gorgeous grin was wreaking havoc on her ability to string together a thought other than Kiss me. “I want you.”

  He wanted her? What, like he’d wanted the other girls he had slept with?

  “Wow, I fully expected at least a smile. I must really be a dick.” He ducked his head toward her neck and slowly kissed his way to her ear, his lips grazing her skin. “This.” His kisses were causing a tingling sensation to build in her body, but it was wrong. All wrong. “I want this.”

  Insecurity slammed into her like a bucket of
ice water.

  No he didn’t.

  She was just available.

  And when she gave in—which she would because she’d always been in love with him—he would leave. And never look back.

  And she knew she couldn’t handle him walking out of her life twice.

  With a sigh, she untangled herself. “We should go set up our blanket.”

  He turned around and put his hands on his hips, then hung his head. “All right.”

  She didn’t miss the part where he adjusted his pants. Or kicked the dirt in front of him, missing a boulder by an inch before he stopped at the stream and dropped the basket again.

  The nerves returned as she watched his mini temper tantrum. She opened her mouth to suggest they return home when she tripped over a branch. All at once she was flying through the air, headfirst down the hill. She cried in terror as the ground rose up to meet her.

  “Margot!” Bentley called.

  Her hands stung from trying to break her fall and her prosthetic was twisted awkwardly beneath her.

  Groaning, she rolled over and looked back along the trail just as Bentley reached her. Her prosthetic lay caught on a large branch that had fallen across the trail.

  The thing had come clear off.

  Shame built up inside her chest until all she could do was stare at the ground as tears filled her eyes.

  “Hey!” Bentley was on his knees in front of her, his hands cupping her cheeks. “Are you hurt?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, just started rubbing his hands all over her arms and left leg, and then, he hesitated.

  There it was.

  He was disgusted by her leg.

  His eyes were locked on her leg. Her bad leg, the one that was half of what it should be.

  “Let me see,” he whispered.

  “No!”

  “Margot.” He slid his hand up her bare thigh, his fingertips grazing the fray of her shorts. “Please.”

  “Can’t we just have our picnic?” she begged, tears filling her eyes again. “I don’t want to…I just…” She blinked as he started massaging her leg, digging his palm into her muscles. It felt good. Too good. She hadn’t realized how sore that leg was from all the walking she’d been doing.

  He stopped moving his hand and stood. “I can do that.”

  She’d been expecting him to fight her on it, so she was surprised when he grabbed her prosthetic, and allowed her privacy to put it back on as he left her to lay out the picnic.