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Unbelievable
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Tantalizing |
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Excerpts |
Excerpt from Fantasy | Excerpt from Tantalizing
With anticipation think in the air, the announcer called out, "Sold!" And Sebastion Sinclair watched as the man just purchased was led off the stage to the sounds of raucous feminine cheers. Soon it would be his turn. How the hell did I get myself talked into this? He wondered. Wearing a suit, watching huge amounts of money change hands with no consideration of the cost, being the center of attention-he hated it all. It reminded him of his youth and the fact that he had nothing in common with these shallow blue bloods. Most of all, he hated the idea of being bought like an expensive toy for the amusement of rich women-regardless of the cause. He seemed to be the only male not thrilled with the prospect of displaying himself. The others, in ages varying from late twenties to early forties, were smiling, flaunting their wares so to speak, and generally getting into the spirit of the thing. Only one man remained in line before Sebastian now and judging by the brawn of the guy and his rough-whiskered chin, he wouldn't last long. The women were really going berserk on the macho ones. Which was probably why the construction workers had on very snug, tattered jeans and T-shirts too tight for men half their size-an adjustment for their female audience, no doubt. There was absolutely no way a man could work comfortably in a shirt that tight. Likewise, the landscapers wore their work boots and jeans, some of them with no shirts on at all. And the carpenter-he had a heavy tool belt hanging low on his hips. The ensemble was complete with wrenches, a nail pouch, and the largest hammer Sebastian had ever seen, no doubt a pitiful attempt at symbolism. Sebastian shook his head and tried, without much success, to mask his amusement. The announcer, a woman with a very wide, toothy smile, led a man around the stage by one finger hooked in his belt loop. The audience roared, then roared again when she had him turn, showing him to advantage. The spotlight moved over his backside and feminine shrieks filled the air. Sebastian wondered if any of these rich people had realized the seriousness of the benefit, the purpose the money would serve in assisting abused women. He doubted it. To them, it was a lark, not a humanitarian deed to build shelters and help those in need. To Sebastian, it was much more personal. The brawny guy ahead of him bounded onstage, anxious for his turn to titillate the giggling masses, and Sebastian was left with a female attendant waiting for his cue. As he'd guessed, the bewhiskered fellow went quickly, the last bid coming on a crescendo of womanly squeals and bawdy jests. The attendant took Sebastian's arm and directed him forward. As he reached the center of the stage, hot lighting flooded over him. He stared out at the audience, satisfied with their reckless spending, but thoroughly disgusted by their careless attitudes. None of them gave a thought to where the money would go or how badly it was needed. They were all the same, full of glitz and shine; shallow, frivolous, concentrating only on their own pleasures. He was disdainful of them all. And then he saw her.
Sabastian didn't dare blink. She seemed awestruck and innocent and he found her utterly irresistible. For some insane reason, because something inside him had stirred and heated at the sight of her, he had no intention of letting her go. Maybe he wouldn't berate Shay after all. He just might be thanking her. She wanted him. Brandi stood in the middle of the floor, right beneath the stage. The men had been coming and going none of them overly remarkable to her mind, but then, she wasn't there to buy a man. She was only attending this benefit to support her sister, Shay. In truth, she avoided gatherings like this one, where the testosterone filled the air so thick you could choke on it. And there were any number of ways she would have preferred to spend her birthday. But none of that matter at the moment. The man onstage was incredible, and once her gaze locked with his, she couldn't seem to find the connection to him, and she couldn't seem to find the wit- or the will-to walk away. The woman handling handling the bids chuckled at some jest Brandi had missed, then turned to catch the man's arm. Holding a microphone in one hand, she gripped his arm firmly with the other and cuddled up to him. "Such a generous bid!" she called out sounding very excited, though Brandi, deeply involved in her own scrutiny, hadn't heard the exact amount offered. "He's worth every penny, ladies! Come on now, don't be shy. This one is quite a specimen." She squeezed his upper arm testing his muscle, then made an "oohing" expression to the audience. The man didn't look overly complimented. He looked disdainful, and rather than work toward drawing more attention to himself as the other men had, he merely crossed his arms and braced his long legs apart. He seemed impossibly tall and strong and masculine in his rigid stance. As impenetrable as a stone wall. Almost barbaric in his strength. And he continued to look at Brandi. The announcer struggled to gain his cooperation. She tried to force him into a turn, wanting to display him as she had the others in order to raise the already astronomical sum they'd collected. He resisted her efforts with ease. The announcer couldn't budge him a single inch. And the women loved it. They called out more bids, made explicit suggestions on what they'd do with him and haggled amongst themselves.
Brazen, she told herself, trying to get into the part she needed to play. Daring, sexy, confident. She'd scare the poor man to death and he wouldn't be able to leave quick enough. Josie had chosen the busy, singles meeting place, hoping that would end it right there. But he'd surprised her by agreeing with her choice. At least, her sister claimed he'd agreed. But her sister had also said he was "perfect" for her, which almost guaranteed Josie wouldn't like him. Susan had described him as responsible. Mature. Settled. Josie was so tired of her sister setting up blind dates, and she was even more fed up with the type of man her sister assumed she needed: stuffy, too proper and too concerned with appearances. Men who didn't want anything to do with romance or excitement. All they wanted was to find someone like them so they could marry and get on with their boring lives. She was twenty-five now and had spent most of her life working toward her goals, pleasing her sister with her dedication. Well, she'd reached those goals, so it was time for other things. Past time. She deserved to have some fun. Bob Morrison may be interested in a nice little house in a nice little neighborhood with a nice little family, but Josie Jackson had other plans, and if the location for this meeting hadn't put him off, one look at her would. She sauntered toward him. There was a low whistle behind her, and she felt heat pulse in her cheeks. The next thing she felt-a bold hand patting her bottom-almost caused her to run back out again. Instead she managed to glare at the offender and stay upright on her three-inch heels. No small feat, given that she normally wore sturdy, rubber-soled shoes. She could do this, she told herself, she could. All thought became suspended as the man turned to face her. Good heavens. Her breath caught somewhere in the region of her throat and refused to budge any further. She stared. Well. He certainly doesn't look stuffy, Josie girl, not in those nice snug jeans and that black polo shirt. This can't be the right man . For once, he seemed too.right, too masculine and attractive and sexy. Definitely sexy. Fate wouldn't be so cruel as to actually send her a gorgeous, stuffy man. Would it? She forced herself to take another halting step forward, hampered by the tight miniskirt, the ridiculously high heels and her own reservations. "Bob? Bob Morrison?" His dark eyes were almost black, as was the shiny, straight hair that hung over his brow, unkempt, but still very appealing. His gaze went from a slow, enthralled perusal of her mostly bared legs to her midriff where he paused, looking her over from chest to belly, his look almost tactile in its intensity, then he reached her face. He drew in a long breath, apparently feeling as stunned as she did. She waited for him to speak, to do or say something that would prove her assumptions had been correct, that he wasn't what she wanted in a man, that he was another typical offering from Susan who was supposed to further domesticate her life. But then he stood, towering over her, six feet of gorgeous, throbbing male, and he smiled. That smile could be lethal, she thought as it sent shivers deep into her belly. The man exuded charm and warmth, and there was absolutely nothing stuffy or uptight about him. In fact, she felt like Jell-O on the inside. Nothing stuffy about that. He held out his hand-a large hand that engulfed her own and seemed to brand her with his strength and heat. With the type of voice that inspired fantasies, he said, "I'm Bob. It's very nice to meet you, Josie." |
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