Heated Rush

He let his gaze travel the room, knowing he’d recognize the shade of his winner’s hair, even if it had been lent a more golden glow under the overhead lights in the ballroom.

Then he saw her. One woman, standing alone.

She was blond. She was young. Truly young, not just faking it. And, as he approached her, he realized she was pretty. Very pretty, in a fresh-faced, wide-eyed, all-American girl way, right down to the freckles he suspected were dribbled across her pert nose beneath her makeup.

She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous, and didn’t have that predatory look of a rich piranha, which meant she might actually have a personality.

This could work. Unless she opened her mouth and sounded like one of those brainless twits whose idea of fashion and taste came right from the tabloid princesses currently littering Hollywood.

But he doubted that would happen. Judging by her soft, silky yellow dress, the simple hairstyle—short, pulled back and held with a glittery headband at her nape—and her minimal jewelry, he suspected she was much more natural than that.

Then she spotted him. Those pink lips parted on a gasp, and her soft blue eyes—the shade of the cornflowers that grew wild back home in Wicklow—locked with his, and he knew he was right.

Because she was nervous. And absolutely not the predator he’d half expected to meet.

And he found her very—very—attractive.

Which suddenly had him suspecting this whole crazy auction scheme might not have been such a bad idea after all.

2

“GOOD EVENING,” SEAN murmured as he reached the side of the woman who’d bought him for a night. “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“You have an accent!”

He laughed softly. “Maybe you’re the one with the accent.”

“Oh, God, that was incredibly rude, wasn’t it?” She stuck her hand out, which was so small, it practically disappeared inside his when he reached out and clasped it for a formal shake. “I’m Annie Davis. And you’re…”

“Sean. Sean Murphy.”

“Like Bond,” she mumbled, “James Bond.”

“Not exactly,” he said, chuckling, “I didn’t say ‘Murphy. Sean Murphy. Besides, Bond was a Brit.”

“You’re not?”

“God, no.”

As if realizing she’d insulted him, she nibbled her lip. “Sorry. I only like the older movies and you sound like Sean Connery.”

So she had good taste, in Bonds at least, but obviously no ear for accents. “Connery’s a Scot. It’s not even the same island.”

She appeared so flustered, he knew he shouldn’t tease her, but he couldn’t help himself. The woman, who he figured to be in her midtwenties, a few years younger than him, was too adorable. Especially when trying to come up with something to say without putting her foot in her mouth.

“What are you?”

“A man, so I’ve been told. An Irish one. Also your date.”

She tugged her hand free of his, as if just realizing he still held it, and lifted it to her face, rubbing lightly at her temple. “I’m not very good at this.”

“And I’m teasing you,” he admitted with a soft laugh.

“I don’t respond well to being teased,” she warned him, frowning. “My oldest brother woke up with raw catfish in his mouth one morning because he’d started calling me Little Miss America after I got my first period.”

Her face, pretty and creamy-skinned, flooded with color. Her hand flew up again to cover her lips as her own words repeated in her ears. “I didn’t just say that, did I?”

Sean couldn’t help bursting into a peal of laughter. “You did, yes.”

“Get me out of here.”

He stepped in her path to prevent her from heading for the door, liking her more and more by the minute. How could he have thought her merely pretty? When her blue eyes sparkled like that, the woman was breathtaking.

“I prefer swordfish. Just so we’re clear. And while I enjoy sushi, I generally like my seafood grilled.”

“Will you excuse me while I go hide under a table?”

“No, I won’t, céadsearc,” he murmured, taking her arm. Noting the softness of her skin, he caught the faintest scent of peaches and smiled a little. Not musk. Not cloying gardenia.

Peaches.

Unwilling to let her out of his sight, he steered her to a shadowy corner near the bar. He had the feeling she’d bolt if he didn’t handle this right. Though why any woman would plunk down five thousand dollars to spend an evening with him, and then run away, he had no idea.

“What did you call me?”

A slip of the tongue. “I called you sweetheart,” he admitted.

“That’s sexist.”

“You American women…you mustn’t be so on guard. ‘Twas only an endearment.”

“How can I be your sweetheart when we just met?”

“Not my sweetheart,” he admitted. “But I must say, judging by how many times I’ve wanted to smile since the moment you opened your mouth, I think you must be very sweet and very funny and very good-hearted.” He grinned. “Stealth catfish attacks notwithstanding.” Letting go of her arm—the silky skinned, soft arm—he added in a half whisper, “I’m looking forward to knowing you, Annie Davis.”

He meant it. But the fact that he’d said it to her almost surprised him. Sean didn’t usually let his guard down so quickly. Something about this young woman, however, had him dropping the smooth veneer and the jaded mannerisms that suited him so well in his daily life.

He wasn’t flirting, or charming his way into her good graces. He was merely speaking honestly to her, something he wasn’t often free to do with women. Usually he was paid to tell them exactly what they wanted to hear.

Except “no.” They never liked hearing that. Sean, however, had no compunction about saying it.

“We are supposed to be getting to know each other, aren’t we?” he asked. “So tell me about yourself.”

He waited, wondering how she’d respond, this sweet-smelling blonde, who watched him with uncertain eyes.

“That word you said…what language was that?”

“Irish…some call it Gaelic.”

She frowned. “Can you speak without the accent?”

“We still haven’t established that I’ve got one,” he murmured, for some reason enjoying teasing her, even if it might someday cost him a mouthful of raw fish. Cute, that.

She looked away a frown tugging at her pretty mouth. “Well, I don’t think I ever said he didn’t have an accent.”

“Who?”

“You.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean him.”

“I ask again. Who?”

“It doesn’t matter. I was talking about you…the you I want you to be, if you’ll agree to it.”

He sighed. “I think I need a drink. Want one?”

When she declined, he gestured toward the bartender. He pointed to a bottle of whiskey and motioned first for a finger full, then widened his fingers to make it a double.

The drink was in his hand a few moments later, brought by an attentive waitress in a short black skirt. She smiled coyly and brushed her hand against his for a moment longer than was technically necessary to pass him the napkin-nested glass. Then she sauntered away, a definite flounce in her step.

“Boy, talk about rude.”

“What?”

“That waitress totally ignored me, not offering me a drink or even a glance. Like I wasn’t even here.” She rolled her eyes. “She might as well have ripped off her uniform and scrawled her phone number on those fake double-D’s of hers.”

“How did you know they were fake?”

“Oh, puh-lease…” Then, obviously having noted his inflection, asked him the same thing. “How did you?”

He responded the same way. “Oh, puh-lease.”

A tiny twinkle appeared in those eyes and her lips quirked up a bit at the edges.

Liking that glint of humor, Sean cast a leisurely gaze over her, taking in every inch of the woman standing before him, beyond just the attractive face, understated hairstyle, simple jewelry and clothes. He noted the delicate swell of her breasts beneath the silk of her dress. There was no question of how perfect, how natural, her curves were.

He sipped his drink. Slowly.

Her shoulders appeared capable, yet somehow fragile, her bare arms strong, yet pale and slim. Her body was in perfect proportion, her height an ideal match for his. She could easily tilt her head back to meet his kiss.

And Sean suddenly found himself wanting that kiss. A lot.

“You obviously know something about women,” she said, not sounding entirely pleased at the observation.

He knew enough to know she was one-hundred-percent female. And that she was instinctively messing with his head.

What, he wondered, would she do if he bent slightly to brush his lips across hers, as he suddenly wanted to do? Would she pull away if he cupped her waist in his hands, rested the tips of his fingers on her hips and tugged her close? Would everyone else in the room see the brush of their bodies as an innocent hug, or as the carnal invitation he knew he would be extending?

“I should thank that waitress, you know. She helped me confirm just how stupid this is,” she said, any hint of a smile disappearing.

Her tone chased away his sensual mood. He couldn’t believe she had truly been jealous about the ridiculous cocktail waitress, whose overblown charms had nothing on the more understated ones of this woman. “She was rude to you, but it’s cute that you’re jealous.”

The way she tilted her head to one side—puzzled—told him he’d misread her. Now he realized she hadn’t been jealous. In fact, she looked almost…deflated. Morose. “That’s not it. I mean this whole situation is stupid. I give up. Nobody’s going to buy us as a couple.”

Ignoring the obvious question—why anyone would have to—he asked the more interesting one. “Why not?”

Frowning, she gestured toward him—his face, his shoulders, his tux—then glanced down at herself. “We’re not what I’d call a match made in heaven.”

“We are a match made at an auction,” he pointed out. “And that’s all that matters.”

“No, it’s not,” she murmured, those amazingly expressive eyes shifting away again, as if she had something she didn’t yet want to tell him.

“What exactly is it you’re worried about?”

“Somebody meeting us would take me for your secretary.”

He snorted at the thought of him having a secretary. What? To keep track of his…appointments?

She ignored him. “Or your dental hygienist. Not your girlfriend.”

Girlfriend? He didn’t have those. Ever.

This auction was strictly for a one-date relationship, which was about Sean’s max when it came to his personal life, anyway. Or, at least, it had been for the past several years, since he’d told his old man to shove his estate and his plans for Sean’s future—including an appropriate marriage—and had hit the road, determined to find his mother and the other side of his history.

But he didn’t argue, still wanting to get to whatever point she was trying to make. “Or they might take me for your mechanic. Who gives a damn what anybody else thinks?”

At that, a rumble of soft laughter escaped from her mouth, sounding so genuinely merry, he couldn’t prevent himself from echoing it with a chuckle of his own.

“Yeah, right. Remington Steel showing up to fix my minivan. That’s exactly what people will see.”

A minivan…horrendous. “Who is Remington Steel?”

“He was a character on a TV show. My mom’s favorite when I was a kid.” Her brow scrunched in concentration. “Wait, Pierce Brosnan is Irish, right?”

“Oh, that show,” he replied. “Yes, he is.”

Sounding triumphant, she said, “And he’s Bond, too! So I wasn’t so far off.”

He nodded to concede the point. “But Connery’s still the best.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, duh.” She looked away. “My mother would be easy to win over,” Annie whispered, as if working things out in her own head. “She wouldn’t question the details once she saw your face and heard that voice.”

“Are we getting closer to the subject now?”

She shook her head, realizing she’d been overheard. “No. Not really. It’s still crazy and would never work, no way would anybody look at us and see what they expect to see, given the way I’ve been talking about you.”

“Me?”

“Him,” she said, her face flushing again. “Sorry.” Then, under her breath, she added, “I can’t believe I spent all that money. At least it’s tax deductible.” Nibbling her lip, she added, “I hope.”

“I wish I had some idea what the bloody hell you’re talkin’ about.”

“Come on,” she snapped. “Not only would you never fit in my world, but anybody looking at us would realize we are absolutely nothing alike. We have no common interests, no emotional connection.” She swallowed visibly. “Zero chemistry.”

There she was wrong. Very wrong. He knew it, instinctively, just as he knew he’d be replaying their unusual conversation over in his mind long after they parted company this evening. And that he’d be remembering the echo of that joyous, uninhibited laugh tonight as he tried to fall asleep.

They had chemistry. So much chemistry he could feel it pulsing between their bodies, like brightly colored fireworks, flashing red and gold in bursts of heat and light. When he wasn’t trying his damndest to decipher what the hell she was saying, he was forcing himself not to grab her and kiss the prattle right off her lips.

“Annie,” he murmured, lifting a hand so he could touch a strand of that golden hair, “we most definitely do have chemistry. I suspect we could set off an explosion without ever going near a laboratory, you and I.”

There hadn’t been many such explosions in Sean’s life. Physical gratification? Oh, to be sure, on occasion. But it had been years since he’d met a woman and wanted her on sight, for no other reason than the pleasure they would both gain from their physical connection. Especially one who had no idea who she was dealing with.

As Annie most assuredly did not. He knew that as well as he knew his own recent history. Which was much better than he knew his future.

I’ll get around to figuring that out.

“You’re still teasing…”

“No, I’m not. You feel it, too. Admit it.”

The friction rolling off her body and reverberating back off his underscored his claim and gave her no chance to deny it. They were close enough to share the same inch of airspace, to feel the light rasp of cloth on cloth as their bodies brushed against each other, sending the tension, the awareness, into the stratosphere.

For the first time since he’d arrived here tonight, he began to wonder if he was going to be inside this building until the sun came up tomorrow. They were in a beautiful hotel. Upstairs were hundreds of rooms waiting to be filled with lovers hungry to spend the hot summer night in a heated, carnal embrace.

What would she say if he made such a suggestion? Would he scare her off, or finally pierce through that self-deprecating wall of chatter she’d been using to keep him at bay?

“I feel it,” she finally admitted, dropping all pretenses. She said nothing else, just watched him, trying, as he was, to figure out what was happening here.

Something, that was for sure.

Annie’s lips trembled and her pulse fluttered rapidly in her throat. Ravenous for a taste of her, for a sample of that smooth skin, he settled for a kiss—just a brief one—on her pink lips.

“Sweet Annie,” he murmured before eliminating the inch between them and covering her lips with his. He didn’t press for more, didn’t demand entry into her soft mouth. Instead, he merely tasted her, shared a quick breath, inhaled the fragrance wafting off her hair—peaches, with the silky scent of her skin providing the cream. Then he forced himself to end it and back away a single step.

“Nice,” she whispered.

“Very nice.” His voice was just as low.

Much too nice to go too fast, despite how much he wanted to. While quick, hot affairs were nothing new to him, he knew from experience that if he made himself wait, the experience would be that much more pleasurable.

Besides, he didn’t want to be one of those couples slipping out of the room, exchanging keys, heading for the elevators. He didn’t want her to be one of them, either.

Regaining control, he cleared his throat. “That’s enough for now. When we go out on our date, we’ll talk a little more about this connection between us.”

“Connection…”

“Don’t make me prove it to you again.”

She suddenly reached up, brushing the tips of her fingers across the tiny gold stud in his ear, twisting it carefully in a move that was entirely innocent yet incredibly personal just the same. He could read the fascination in her face.

“Would you, if I said please?” She still sounded dazed, her stare locked on his mouth as she licked her lips in such blatant invitation it drew a groan from his throat.

“Annie…”

“More,” she demanded, swaying toward him in unspoken demand that he step forward to catch her body against his own or else watch her fall to the floor.

This time, the kiss wasn’t as sweet. Wasn’t as soft. And certainly wasn’t innocent.

This time, when his mouth touched hers, she immediately licked against his lips, demanding a deeper intimacy. As their tongues came together in a quick, hard thrusting, her hands went around his shoulders, her fingers twining in his hair. Quickly forgetting the others in the shadowy room, he allowed himself to enjoy it—to savor the taste of her, the smells, the incredible softness of her body pressed against his.

Finally, though, a loud, shrill feminine laugh from a nearby corner intruded. Annie seemed to realize what she was doing—practically wrapping herself around him in a silent invitation to carnal pleasure—and tugged her hands, her mouth, her body away.

“Nice,” he muttered, repeating her earlier description, which fit perfectly.

She nodded. “Very nice.” Then she fell silent, staring up at him, as if wondering what to do, where to go, how to proceed from here.

Those hotel rooms beckoned again. And he sensed he could have her up in one with the merest invitation. It was so tempting.

No. This was the first time in ages he’d wanted a woman purely for his own desires, separate from his life, his job, his past, his family.

He wanted her for himself. Which meant he was willing to wait for her, to ignore the primal, heated demand of his body, which was unaccustomed to having to wait for anything these days. “Tell me where to pick you up Saturday night.”

She blinked twice, her mouth falling open as she stared at him, still looking dazed, shocked into silence.

He sensed it was not a common occurrence. He pressed his advantage, not wanting to argue with her anymore about whether they would be seeing each other again. They would. Period.

“Don’t even try to say we have no chemistry. Not after that.”

She hesitated, then slowly shook her head back and forth. “No, I…”

“No is not an option.”

“God, you’re bossy,” she snapped, finally emerging from the sensual confusion she seemed to have been experiencing.

“No, I’m quite charming once you get to know me,” he replied with a cocky grin. “Come on, give it up. What time shall I pick you up for our date?”

Annie crossed her arms in front of her chest. His gaze dropped, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the tender cleavage so temptingly displayed. God, did the woman have no idea how attractive she was?

Perhaps not. He’d thought her merely pretty at first sight. He now knew she was beautiful enough to have him rethinking his decision to let her leave here without him tonight. Especially given the uncomfortable fit of his perfectly tailored trousers. So he imagined she might not understand her own soft, quietly seductive appeal.

It was immense.

She tried one last time to resist, sounding anything but determined. “This can’t work.”

“Yes it can. We have an agreement. I gave my promise to the people running this show and you paid a lot of money to get what you want. We’re doing this. If you don’t like what I suggested for our date, feel free to choose something else. But we will be going out together.”

With a disgruntled sigh, she finally gave up. “All right. You win.”

As if there had ever been any doubt.

Annie stared into his face, her lips slightly pursed, eyeing him as if to see how far she could push.

Then she pushed.

“You can pick me up this Saturday morning at nine. Our date will last until Sunday night at six. Bring something casual, something dressy, and at least two spare pairs of shoes in case you…step in something.”

It was Sean’s turn to drop his jaw in shock. “Wha…”

She tilted her head back, challenge shining from those baby blues, dripping off her posture, and ringing clearly in her voice. “You said I could choose. And I have. We’re going to my parents’ farm for the weekend.”

Her smile wicked, she concluded, “Hope you like big families…And cows.”

“HE’LL NEVER GO through with it. He’ll find a reason and bow out,” Annie mumbled as she and Tara made their way out of the hotel, heading for the nearby parking garage and Annie’s minivan—the spit-up and apple juice stained one that she used to transport kids to various field trips. The one somebody like Sean Murphy wouldn’t be caught decapitated in, much less alive and a willing passenger.

Tara didn’t seem to even hear her. “Are his eyes really that violet-blue shade from the picture? They’re not, like, colored contacts, right?”

“Did you hear what I said?” Annie snapped. Her friend had been jabbering nonstop for five minutes, ever since Annie had strode out of the cocktail party, leaving a bemused-looking Sean Murphy behind her. Tara had been full of questions about the man’s looks. Heaven help Annie if she let it slip that he’d actually kissed her. Twice.

Such a simple, normal thing, to kiss a man. And yet Sean’s kisses had been a complicated mess of pleasure and confusion and yearning and surprise.

His mouth was as fabulous as the rest of him. Any woman with an ounce of estrogen would want a much deeper taste.

She doubted, however, that she was going to get it. Not after the way she’d responded, practically backing him into a corner to get what she wanted—his company at her parents’ farm this weekend.

“Does he smell good? Guys like that usually smell good. Not like actors. They only smell like sweat, coffee and cigarettes.”

Annie merely grunted. How could Tara continue to yank her chain—which she was, with these intentionally ridiculous questions—when Annie was so anxious?

She still couldn’t believe the way it had gone down. She’d practically ordered a stranger to spend a weekend with a bunch of other strangers at a real farm a few hours outside of the city. Even more shocking, he hadn’t laughed in her face or run in the opposite direction.

Sure, one of his brows had shot up somewhere in the vicinity of his black hairline, and he’d been speechless for a few moments. Then, with a twinkle in those beautiful blue eyes—yes, they were really that amazing violet-blue reflected in the picture—he’d simply murmured, “Very well,” taken the business card she offered him and bid her goodnight.

As if it was all set. Easy breezy.

And completely freaking insane.

“He’ll stand me up.”

“Could you tell if that tux was designer-made? It sure looked like it from the back of the room.”

“He’s booking a trip to Siberia as we speak.”

“He’s tall, right? He looked tall.”

“Rather than giving me the rest of this week to prepare myself to show up alone, he’s going to leave me hanging—hoping—then stand me up on Saturday. I’ll be brain-dead from stressing out about it and won’t be able to invent a single excuse, like that my guy is on a top secret military mission to Hungary or something.”