Bachelor Auction (31 page)

have been killed.”

“I know that.”

“You know that? You
know
that?” The truth

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once again slapped him in the face. “So you’d rather

get yourself killed than spend the afternoon with

me.”

“You were bent on interrogating me. As if my

life was any of your business. What was I supposed

to do?”

“You lie so well, you could have made up

something to get out of it anytime during the ski

lodge promo or later during lunch. A headache,

stomachache, cramps, anything.”

“You wouldn’t have let me get away with that.

You’d have followed me back to the hotel and started

in with your questions.”

“What is it you’re so afraid I’ll find out,

Charlotte? Is there something other than your

degree and your non-affair with Wylie you don’t

want me to know?” Her blue eyes rounded with fear,

like a rabbit cornered by a fox. He went for the kill.

“Everything about you is a lie, isn’t it, Charlotte?

Because you’re afraid. And not just of heights.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t drink, yet you pretend to.”

“It’s what society expects.”

“It’s what you want them to believe. You

couldn’t maintain your image if they thought you

were sober, could you? You couldn’t be the party

girl.”

Waving a hand in dismissal, she turned away.

“You think you know everything.”

He caught her arm and pulled her back around.

“If I’m wrong, then why bother making everyone

believe you had an affair with Grant Wylie when in

fact you were tutoring him? Doing something

constructive and admirable?”

She stared at him for almost a full minute then

threw her hands in the air. “Geez, Marcus, weren’t

you listening? Robyn told you why.” She flipped a

hunk of wet, limp hair over her shoulder. “I needed a

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break between men.”

“That’s not what she said. She said you were

trying to discourage the nicer guys.”

“Same difference.”

“I don’t think so. Now that I think about it,

other than Wylie, you’ve never had a relationship. I

always thought it was because you wanted to be free

to be with whoever caught your eye. But I think

you’re afraid of intimacy.”

“Hardly.” She laughed bitterly. “I’ve been

intimate
on a fairly regular basis.”

The carelessness with which she bandied about

her reputation added to his fury. “Dammit,

Charlotte, you know what I mean. I’m talking about

commitment.”

“What do you want from me, Marcus?”

“I want you to be yourself. The intelligent,

caring, beautiful woman you are. The one you let the

kids at the hospital see. The one who played in the

snow with me yesterday.”

She snorted. “You want me to be a woman easily

taken for granted. To let others walk all over me.

Well, I won’t do it. My mother let emotions rule her

life and look where it got her.”

“You’re stronger than your mother.”

“You don’t know that. I might be just like her. I

might fall so hard that I lose myself in trying to

hang on to some faithless bastard like my father. I

can’t—no, I
won’t
take that chance.”

Her voice broke, and most of the steam went out

of Marcus’s anger. Except for the bit reserved for her

parents. They had really done a number on her. “You

can’t go through life believing every man is like your

father.”

“Aren’t they?”

“I won’t lie to you. Some are. But not all.”
Not

me
.

She stared at him, telling him with her eyes she

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wanted to believe him but wouldn’t allow herself. He

wanted to tell her how he felt about her, but he

wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea yet. He hadn’t

even known himself until he saw her hurtling head

over heels down the mountainside and thought he’d

lost her.

The buzzing of an engine echoed behind him. He

glanced over his shoulder as the medic pulled the

snowmobile to a stop a few feet away. He held

Charlotte’s poles and toboggan in one hand. “Is

anyone hurt?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

They spoke in unison. Marcus indicated

Charlotte should go first. She folded her arms across

her middle. “I’m fine.”

“She took a pretty bad spill. She needs to be

checked out.” He wasn’t about to let her stubborn

pride stand in the way of common sense when she

clearly couldn’t ski down the mountain. And he still

worried about internal injuries.

The medic looked from him to Charlotte. “I’ll

take you down and have Doc Murphy take a look at

you.”

She hesitated, and Marcus busied himself

gathering her skis. She’d revealed so much of herself

in the past few minutes; admitting one more

weakness, especially in front of him, had to be

killing her.

He handed the skis to the medic, and while he

bungee-corded them to the snowmobile, Marcus

waited beside her. She refused to look at him so he

faced forward. “Make sure the doctor is thorough.

Let him prescribe something if you need it.”

“I will.” She sounded resigned now.

“And make Wylie get a taxi or drive you back to

the hotel. I don’t want you walking.” The hotel was

only a block from the ski lodge. They’d walked over

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after lunch.

“Okay.”

“A hot shower might help any aches and pains

the medicine doesn’t.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He glanced sideways and caught her wiping a

tear from her cheek. Aching to take her in his arms,

yet knowing she’d hate him if he did, he turned

away. “Just in case, I’ll—” he cleared his throat, “I’ll

be there as soon as I can.”

The medic motioned her forward, and Marcus

watched until she climbed on and they disappeared

over the next ledge. Then he turned away, slowly

making his way to where she’d fallen, and picked up

his gloves. He’d promised to hurry, but really, what

was the point?

Charlotte didn’t want his company. She’d said it

a hundred times and a hundred different ways over

the years. He’d respected her wishes in the past and

he would do so again. Their weekend was technically

over. So was the affair they’d never begun.

She didn’t want his help either. The woman had

more pride than he’d ever suspected. That and fear.

He finally understood why she did the things she

did. She had an image to maintain, a wall of

enormous proportions that she thought would keep

her safe from the pain love sometimes brought.

One thing was clear. If she didn’t want his

company, his help or even his sympathy, she sure as

hell wouldn’t want his love.

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Her bags were packed and waiting at the foot of

the bed. There was a flight out of Denver at

midnight—she’d missed that one—and another

around four in the morning, though that one took a

less direct route with a two-hour layover in Chicago.

After that there were no departures until their

original flight at ten.

Still, Charlotte couldn’t make herself leave. Too

much was at stake.

She twisted from her perch at the end of the bed

to glance at the clock on the night stand, wincing as

her strained muscles protested. Eleven thirty-nine.

Two minutes later than the last time she looked.

Midnight seemed eons away.

Flopping back on the bed, she wondered how it

had come to this. Her plan to knock Marcus off his

high horse had started out so simple. Seduce him,

prove he was ruled by his libido just the same as any

man, and get him the hell out of her system.

But Marcus had demonstrated more will power

than any man she’d ever known and turned the

tables on her more times than she was willing to

admit. Geez, all he had to do was kiss her, and she

melted in his hands, forgetting all else. Including

her objective.

He seemed to have his own agenda. From the

very beginning he had prodded and pushed until he

had her so upset and confused that she lost it and

confessed almost everything. What she hadn’t told

him, he’d guessed. She had seen the pity in his eyes

when he’d tried to convince her she could be herself.

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He believed society would accept her; she would be

safe in letting down her guard. Not every man was

like her father. Yet, after all was said and done, he

hadn’t been able to look at her.

Oh, she knew her way of thinking—hell, her

whole way of life—was distorted. She didn’t need

psychology books and professors to tell her that. She

had major issues with trust. Especially when it

involved men, thanks to her father. But if she tried

living as Marcus suggested, she doubted anyone

would believe the transformation. She’d lived the lie

far too long.

So, she sat in her room. In the silent darkness.

Waiting for Marcus to fall asleep so she could

convince him he was wrong about her. She behaved

the way she did because that’s who she was. She

couldn’t let him go home believing otherwise.

Marcus had to have flown down that damned

mountain. He had returned to the hotel almost as

soon as she had. The medic had insisted she see the

doctor at the emergency clinic, who then took forever

to release her, especially after she declined x-rays.

Grant and Robyn had found her while she was there,

escorted her to the hotel and refused to leave until

she was safely out of the shower and settled for the

night.

She had no more locked herself in her room than

Marcus entered the suite. He had immediately

knocked on her door and called her name. She

ignored him, hoping he would think she was asleep,

then realized in her panic she forgot to turn off the

bedside lamp. When he called out to her again,

louder and with a hint of concern, and actually

jiggled the knob, she knew she had to answer or he

would never go away.

Through the door, he’d asked if she was okay, if

she was hungry, if she needed anything. She told

him she was fine and just needed a good night’s

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sleep. A few minutes later she heard his shower

running. It was still early then, only seven o’clock,

but she’d hoped he would turn in anyway. Instead,

he called room service from the phone in the living

area and settled on the sofa to watch television. He’d

finally gone to bed an hour ago.

Another glance at the clock showed eleven fifty-

two. Not long now. Only eight more minutes before

she could set her new plan into motion. A plan that

would destroy everything between them and bring to

an end any thoughts he might have of pursuing a

relationship.

With a weary sigh, Charlotte pushed off the bed.

Time to get him out of her system once and for all.

****

yet something was different, not quite right.

Marcus resisted the pull of consciousness. He

didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to remain in the

dream, to finish it this time. He never allowed

himself to entertain thoughts like this during the

day. Not while his conscience demanded rigid

control. The least he deserved was to thoroughly

enjoy the fantasy while he slept.

So he slipped back into the realm of

subconscious, where he got to be whoever he wanted,

do whatever he wanted with whomever and without

guilt. Without remorse. Without consequences.

His
whomever
was always the same, or had been

the last five years.

Charlotte.

Charlotte’s lips smiling, sensual, parting.

Charlotte’s body, naked, dewy and writhing.

Always writhing.

Charlotte’s hands, soft, knowing, touching.

He could feel them now. Stroking the top of his

foot, caressing his ankle. That was the difference

between this dream and others. She’d never devoted

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so much attention to his feet. Not that he was