Seducing the Bachelor (The Bachelor Auction Returns Book 3)

by Sinclair Jayne

  Most of his life was classified.

  “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be treating you,” he said, stopping in the tree line. “Lady’s Choice.” He reminded.

  “Oh, that.” She smiled, and he noticed this time it had a touch of sadness in it. His fault probably. “That was a pretty amazing kiss.”

  “You’re going to have to make me work harder than that, Talon.”

  She smiled, and this time is was more genuine. “Okay, then. I’ll try to be creative.”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  He walked her to the porch. She turned to face him. He waited. She always had something to say. But she was silent, her expressive eyes searching his. He wondered what she saw. Then he did something he couldn’t remember ever doing. He kissed her cheek.

  “Good night, Talon.”

  She ran up the stairs and slipped through the door. He stared at the door for a while, thinking of the woman and child behind it. The ghosts. The nightmares. The memories. He looked at his truck. So easy to fire it up and drive. He’d done that his whole life.

  Colt jammed his hands in his front pocket, avoiding his keys clipped to his belt loop and walked back to the cabin.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Colt looked at the etched words on the back of the hand-worked silver piece—You are my world.

  He touched the tiny script, traced each letter as he’d done hundreds, maybe thousands of times as a young boy. It had been his mother’s necklace, at least he thought so. The only thing he had left of her except a few snippets of memory, and even those he wasn’t sure of. It could have been an aunt or a foster mom as sometimes the faces, the hair, the rooms were different. He hadn’t come to live at the ranch with his uncle, who now might not have been his uncle, until he was eight.

  He didn’t regret tossing his uncle’s two letters in the trash unopened, but he hated the mystery. Thinking about it. Talon was making him think. This place was making him think. The homey house. The refurbished cabin.

  He turned the necklace over and saw the deep blue orb inlaid into the silver casing. Iridescent green and turquoise swirled in the depths of the blue, with hints of metallic glint that caught the light streaming in the window of the cabin. He tucked the necklace back into the cube and turned several of the pieces in different directions, locking it back into place.

  Immediately, his hand missed the feel and the weight of the necklace, the way the silver warmed in his hand. He cursed his sentimentality.

  His mother had left him. Again and again. He didn’t even know if that had been her necklace. Not for sure. And he sure as hell had never been her world, but when he’d been a kid, he’d liked to think that somewhere at some time there had been a man who had loved his mother enough to think that she was his world. He’d also thought as a kid that they would find each other again, this man, his father, and his mother, and they would be happy together. Happy enough to come find him.

  A childish dream. He’d known it even back them. Hope was a kick in the gut. Talon had probably had similar dreams. Both of them abandoned. Hoping to be reclaimed like luggage. He had shut himself off from hope. She still seemed to have it, embracing life and people, trying to make a connection.

  How?

  All he’d wanted last night was to be deep inside her body. That was all the connection he ever wanted, but he suspected Talon wanted a lot more than his inadequate best.

  So why was he still here? He’d gone for a pre-dawn run. Had a shower. His eyes quartered the cabin. It looked like nothing he remembered. The last time he’d been here, the cabin had been unfinished. The roof had been solid. He had redone it, nailing on the tar paper and weather proofing, screwing in the tin sheets and adding the insulation, but the inside had never been dry-walled or insulated. There had been running water, connected to the second well, and it had been plumbed to connect to the septic system. But it had been totally rustic. Hot in the summer. Frigid in the winter.

  Still, he had loved to sit in here on his free moments. Read a book, stare out the window and imagine himself like a cowboy of old, riding the range, driving the cattle higher to the spring pastures and then back down again in the late fall. He sat cross-legged and leaned against the wall of the main room, letting his gaze wander up to the loft area, where a fan now hung.

  It wasn’t so bad here. He could breathe here. No bad memories here. No sounds either.

  Until the quiet fall of footsteps on the porch.

  “Hey, mister.” A small voice called out. “Mister Ewing?”

  Colt allowed his eyes to close briefly. The kid. He knew it was coming. He hadn’t had to deal with a kid since… He broke off that thought and popped to his feet, bracing himself against the wall.

  He opened the door.

  “Wow! You’re tall,” was the first thing out of the kid’s mouth. “Mom says you’re a soldier. Are you for real? Have you killed anyone?”

  The question wasn’t one he hadn’t been asked before, but it snapped him out of his relaxed contemplation of cataloging the changes in the cabin. Instantly, the tension was back in his neck, his shoulders, even though he’d tried to run out the knots this morning.

  “Yes.”

  The kid stared back at him in awe. Dark hair, widow’s peak, grey eyes. He had the stare of someone much older.

  “My mom says killing is wrong.”

  “She’s right.”

  “She doesn’t even eat meat. Why’d you do it then?”

  “My job.”

  Again that solemn, judging stare.

  “You want pancakes?”

  He must not have answered quickly enough because the kid added. “Blueberries.”

  *

  Talon felt like she’d taken the coward’s way out, sending Parker to ask Colt if he wanted to eat breakfast with them. She’d expected to hear his truck roar to life any second as she lay gritty-eyed, staring at her ceiling for most of the night. She didn’t recognize herself as the woman who’d kissed a man she’d met only a few hours earlier, had let her hands walk all over his body.

  And he was still here.

  And now what? Pancakes? Cheery but false domesticity? Pretending that nothing had happened? Trying to get a timetable from him because she had to once again remake her life. The loss of control just when she’d been starting to let her guard down, was confidence shaking. But she had to get a grip. She was young. Healthy. Smart. Determined. She’d find a way.

  All she had to do was ignore her clamoring body that had had a taste of Colt last night and now wanted to feast. He wasn’t a one-night stand. He was a man with a capital “M”, and she feared she’d have a hard time forgetting him and moving on.

  “Hey, good morning! How’d you sleep? Coffee?” She practically shoved a cup in his hand as Colt came in behind Parker. “Cream? Sugar.”

  “Mom, he came for pancakes.”

  “Thank you.” He took the cup and his fingers brushed hers.

  She felt warmth to her toes and they wiggled in her boots. Wow. His hands just looked like they knew what they were doing.

  Okay, she was officially desperate and smitten.

  “Can I pour the batter?”

  “What?” She dragged her eyes away from Colt’s hands and stared at Parker, absently stroking her fingers through his spikey black hair. “Did you use a comb this morning?”

  “Mom.” He drawled out the word like it had five syllables.

  “Comb your hair.” She gave the batter one last unnecessary swirl. “And then you can pour the batter and add the blueberries.”

  “Yes!” He ran off.

  “Hope he didn’t wake you.”

  “No.”

  He sipped his coffee. She got out the silverware and napkins, which he took to the small worn farmhouse table that she’d found at a thrift store. Colt set the table, and she tried not to think how nice it looked to have three place settings instead of just the usual two.

  Don’t dream of stupid stuff.

&nbs
p; She pressed her lips together and took the butter, syrup, and juice out of the fridge. He put those on the table. His self-contained silence stretched her nerves to snapping.

  “Your mother trained you well,” she said flippantly, nervous by his nearness and quiet.

  “No,” he said.

  The word shot out like a bullet. Deadly aim. She kept stepping in it with him.

  “Me and my mouth.” She tried to laugh it off, but then he was staring at her mouth, and she felt the hot, gaze lodge in her tummy. Her skin prickled with awareness even as her head yelled at her to look away.

  “Your eyes are a beautiful color,” she whispered. “Like liquid gold.”

  And just like that, the air between the seemed to shimmer. His eyes seemed the only thing alive about him. The rest of him was so still, expressionless, so contained. Like a calm before a storm. But she had a feeling underneath all that disciplined calm was a cauldron seething, waiting for a chance to blow. And that should have worried her. Instead, she felt safe. Comforted by his presence.

  She was lonely. That was it, except when he took one step toward her, his fingers raised, and she had the crazy idea he was going to touch her again, tangle his hands in her hair, she leaned in, every nerve, every molecule clamored for his touch. Her eyes drifted shut, waiting, counting the seconds.

  “Okay, I’m ready.” Parker announced, running in and standing between them, breaking the spell.

  Colt stepped back, hand to his side. Talon had trouble acting normal. Her body felt like it had started humming in his presence, especially when he got close, like they were harmonic crystals. Anticlimatically, she asked Colt to pour three small glasses of orange juice.

  Colt leaned against the opposite counter watching them. Talon found it difficult to act naturally even though she was in her usual environment. She wanted to fuss with her hair, and she was super conscious that while she had worn panties, she had definitely thought twice and then three times about not wearing a bra. Then she’d done it just to prove to herself that she wasn’t going to fall under his spell. If only her body would get on board with that plan.

  “Do you want me to pour you a pancake in the shape of a gun?” Parker asked over his shoulder.

  “How about a baseball?”

  “Where’s the challenge in that?” Parker demanded looking affronted.

  Talon laughed. Colt’s attention shifted to her and his eyes dropped to her mouth. She felt it like a kiss.

  “Chef’s choice then.” Colt said softly.

  Parker turned back to being creative with the batter, but Talon was still looking at Colt and his eyes drifted down her body, lingering at her breasts far longer than he should have. She could feel a blush burn her cheeks and lower. Not fair, she wanted to say. He couldn’t start thinking about sex this early in the morning because they had logistics to work out. But his direct and very interested stare and casual sprawl against the counter told her that was exactly what he was thinking about.

  And so was she.

  She was so flustered, the spoon flipped out of the bowl and the batter splattered her front and then hit the floor with a clang. She bent to pick it up feeling self-conscious, clumsy, and obvious and, when she stood up, she froze, spoon dripping batter on the floor because she thought she caught a hint of a smile that lit of his eyes, and Talon felt as if the sun came out so she smiled back.

  *

  Colt stared at Talon. Looking at her face light up like he was something special made him uneasy, almost as if he had vertigo. He’d always been serious as a kid. Quiet. Boring. Probably why he’d never managed to stick it with the various people his mom had stashed him with before he’d come to live with his uncle. And in the service. Not much to smile about. But to feel the urge to smile here on this land, in this house, in this town was something he’d never seen coming. He watched them pour out the batter. Parker’s bright eyes sparkling, his tongue out of his mouth as he concentrated on following Talon’s whispered instructions—pouring the batter, flipping the pancakes, sliding them onto a plate and into a toaster oven, and then starting the process again.

  He should feel like an outsider. Parker and Talon were a family. He was a stranger. In a house that seemed more like theirs than his.

  “Grub’s up!” Parker called out, stuffing one pancake into his mouth. Talon carried the plate over to the table.

  There were also scrambled eggs with herbs and cheese and fresh fruit.

  He thought of things that he should say. Compliments, but nothing sounded right in his head.

  “Thanks.” He sat down.

  Talon brought over a carafe of coffee and poured him out a fresh, steaming cup.

  “Not a morning person?”

  He thought of all the predawn mornings he’d been up tending to chores before running the two miles down the driveway to meet the school bus. The wake-up alarms in the dark all over the world where he’d been sent with his team. Even when he wasn’t working, he couldn’t sleep past dawn.

  “Mornings are okay.”

  “I love getting up early,” Talon said, “I love watching the black sky stars spangling, begin to fade to grey, then fingers of pink streaking out like they are reaching for all that beauty. And the birds. In the spring and summer, the birds are filled with such ebullient purpose, so chatty with their friends and family. Have you been in the Middle East?” She asked. “What kinds of bird calls did you hear there?”

  He paused, pancake on the edge of his lips. How was he supposed to know? He stuffed the bite in his mouth and chewed carefully. Usually this worked. The conversation would steer away from him. Only this time, Talon and Parker continued to stare at him, awaiting news of native species of birds in Syria, or Iraq, or Afghanistan.

  “Don’t know,” he mumbled, surprised that their crestfallen faces bothered him.

  “You didn’t get a book?” Parker asked. “Read about the birds?”

  He’d had lots of books on army procedure, briefing on terror cell activities, hand-to-hand combat, information on local cultures blending in, survival skills, weapons operation and maintenance.

  “No.”

  “How many people have you killed?” Parker asked, his impish face just as curious as it had been about birds.

  “Parker,” Talon said, clearly censuring him.

  Parker looked completely unfazed.

  Damn.

  “I don’t think that’s breakfast conversation,” he said.

  “I’m almost done.”

  “Spoken with the self-centeredness of youth,” Talon said briskly. “Drop it, Parker. Lots of soldiers serve their country in many different ways. No need to dwell on the ghoulish. Besides, Colt is on vacation, so no talking shop.”

  Somehow the question, the reminder of who he was, who he’d chosen to become, stung a little. It never had before. He liked excelling at such a difficult, specialized skill. He’d initially been surprised to be singled out, sent for special training. To matter. He didn’t like the attention it brought when he was flown in for a mission, or at a briefing on a different base the other soldiers all greeted him either with awe or envy or overwhelming respect when they learned him name or saw his crest tat.

  It was a job to him.

  Not a calling.

  The last two times he’d re-signed with the rangers without thought. This time, he’d hesitated, wondering if he should try to live a different, more normal life before it was too late, but when he looked in the mirror, Colt had no idea what normal would look like for him, and after all the uncertainty of his childhood, he didn’t really desire to throw his life into chaos now.

  Parker picked up his plate and glass and padded over to the sink. “What do you want to talk about, Colt?” he asked. “My mom doesn’t like cool things like blood and zombies so we can talk about stuff like war and fighting after I clean up,” he said. “It’s a boy conversation.”

  Talon stared at Parker as if shocked by the sexist comment.

  “Lots of women soldiers,” C
olt said. “Who can kick a lot of the guy’s a…attitude,” he said. “Right out of them. Carry more weight in their packs out on a training course, break down, clean and reassemble their weapons faster, score higher on skills tests.”

  “Wow. Really?” Parker’s eyes were wide. “Lots of girls at my school run faster than me.”

  “Me, too.”

  Parker smiled. “Can I show you something cool?”

  “Here?”

  “Outside. I found something. Well…” He trailed off and shot a quick look at his mom.

  Colt had spent most of the breakfast trying not to look at Parker’s mom. That was how he was trying to think of her now. A mom. Not a woman with a mouth that made his cock stir every time she opened it. Not a woman with legs that stretched out long and lean under the table and that when she’d wrapped them around her waist last night had made him feel a deep connection that had turned him on and scared the hell out of him. He needed to shut those thoughts down. He was not a man who had relationships, and Talon was made for love and making a life with, not a quickie against a door. Seeing her here, smiling at him, making pancakes shamed him. He’d acted with the finesse of a bull just out of a chute.

  He’d treated her like a one-night stand. His usual fare when she was anything but.

  “Can I show you, Colt?” Parker’s eyes were round with inquiry. So clear and innocent. Confident and hopeful.

  Colt had lost the kid’s thread of conversation long ago. “If your mom says yes, but after we clean up.” He had no idea what he’d just agreed to, but hopefully whatever it was it wouldn’t have anything to do with looking at Talon so he could get his head out of his pants.

  Chapter Eight

  Talon walked beside Colt, wondering why she felt so comfortable. Maybe it was because he clearly wasn’t. Oh, he moved fluidly, like a well-lubricated machine, all efficient, coordinated moves almost like he was conserving energy. And when he wasn’t moving, he was so still. Like he just became part of the landscape. It should have been eerie. Instead, it made her hot as hell.