Sold to the Highest Bidder (4 page)

“Yeah, well screw you and your bodyweight, buddy.”

He chuckled, a warm, fuzzy sound that tingled from her toes clear up to the top of her head. A bit louder until he was laughing. The sound was catching. She couldn’t help it. She joined in. It was all so surreal. She’d vowed she’d never come back to this house again. And yet here she was. Getting three sheets to the wind with her
husband
. The world had gone crazy.

“What the hell are we doing here, Dev?” she asked on a long sigh.

“Getting drunk.”

“You mean getting divorced.”

“I like my D word better.”

She leaned back in her chair as the room tilted slightly. A button on her blouse popped and she looked down, surprised, but she didn’t move to fix it. She looked over at Devin, leaned back in his chair, his legs extended on either side of the seat. His T-shirt was rumpled and she was treated to a recall of him pulling it off while on stage tonight. The way his muscles had looked, all firm and rigid and strong. How the hollow of his hips had just been hinted at by his low-slung jeans. Her body tingled all over because she knew. She knew what was beneath the jeans, the shirt, all of it.

It was the last thing that should be on her mind.

Chapter Three

Devin looked over at her and knew instantly what direction her thoughts had taken. It would be a mistake. Getting her slightly drunk had been a way of looking for an advantage, to maybe get her to finally admit what she’d done. To let down her guard the slightest bit. He’d wanted her to admit she was
wrong
. He’d made that ridiculous forty-eight-hour bargain because he wanted to punish her. He wanted to play with her feelings the way she’d played with his—without caring. But he couldn’t be that callous—it wasn’t in him—and now he was getting more—and less—than he’d expected. Oh yes, he knew when he was beaten, and this was it. Now there was a bit of a peep show going on at his kitchen table, and he was still sober enough to know what he was feeling was pure lust. The kind he’d never really felt for any woman but Ella.

Her bra was white, cut to a deep plunge, and molded her breasts perfectly. A shadow clung to the cleft below her collarbone and he wondered what it would taste like. If it would taste the same as he remembered. A little salty, a little sweet and a hundred percent Ella.

Her hair was falling out of its tidy sweep and he was reminded once again of how she’d turned her back on them to pursue what, this? Fancy clothes and a chick car, living in the city? That was her life now. And maybe he’d goaded her tonight. No maybe about it, he had. He was still angry deep down. She had walked in here, willing to believe this was all there was. She thought his life was this cabin and a second-hand sofa and a bottle of bourbon. She honestly didn’t know anything about him. Hadn’t taken the time to find out, when she could have so easily. He wasn’t sure if that was funny or just sad.

And yet, he’d seen her face when he’d toasted their wedding day. He desperately wanted to believe the kind, trusting Ella he’d married was still in there somewhere. That despite all the changes both of them had seen, at their core, where it counted, they were still the same people. And for that reason he knew he couldn’t give in and touch her. Not yet.

“Do up your buttons and go to bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Her saccharine smile wobbled on the edges as she stood, a bit unsteady. She balanced herself with her hands on the table before kicking off her heels. “What, chickening out, McQuade? There’s still half the bottle left.”

“Being sensible.”

“Tsk tsk. But I’m the sensible one, remember?”

It was a real job not to get up from his chair and take her in his arms. He remembered exactly how sweet and soft she could be. But he couldn’t. He was the one that had to remain in control. He wasn’t helpless anymore—this had to be on his terms. It had been many years since he’d let anyone call the shots in his life, and he sure wasn’t going to let Ella—beautiful or not—do it again.

“Not at this moment, you’re not.”

She wobbled and he stood quickly, reaching out and gripping her arm to steady her. “Jeez. You didn’t have
that
much.”

She turned brown eyes on him, sorrowful and long lashed. They were like a punch straight to his gut. “I don’t drink bourbon anymore.”

He closed his eyes. Lord, what was he going to do with her? He’d seen her across the bar and he’d damn well wanted to teach her a lesson. He’d been waiting a long time for her to finally get the courage to show up, to end their union with a little respect. He was the one holding the cards. So why was he finding it so difficult?

“Besides,” she continued. “I paid two thouzzand dollars for fordy-eight hours of Devin McQuade. Scooter Brown said so.”

He caught the slur. “You just did it to get me to sign the divorce papers.” It helped slightly to remember she’d come with her own agenda.

“Well, I’ve got you now. What
shall
I do with you? You’re at my beck and call, remember.” She ran a fingernail down his arm, making a shiver race down his spine.

Beck and call indeed. His blood surged at the innuendo. Why now? She hadn’t sent papers for a few years. Was it something…someone back in Denver making her come all this way? A boyfriend? The thought did nothing to cool his heels. It only served to resurrect some buried territorial instinct where she was concerned.

After the last time he’d sent the courier away, he’d thought she’d given up. That had been nearly two years ago, so what had changed? Why else would she be here, if not to free herself up for some other guy? He clenched his teeth. A husband was a heck of a skeleton in the closet, wasn’t it? He wondered if the new guy had any idea Devin even existed.

Or maybe she’d heard about his change in circumstances and wanted to profit from it. They’d never signed a pre-nup. At eighteen and poor as church mice, there’d been no need.

She was a reporter. It wouldn’t have been that hard, he realized. For a moment he dismissed the notion. The old Ella wouldn’t have considered it. But he wasn’t sure he knew this new person hanging off his arm. Perhaps all this guff about the cabin and him never moving forward was just a cover. Perhaps she knew all about him and what he’d done with his life, and she was after half of everything. In this age of technology, it was difficult to believe she didn’t know about DMQ. All it would have taken was one Google search to figure it all out.

He tried to turn her and steer her to the bedroom. Good Lord, she was going to have a head on her in the morning. He hadn’t meant for her to get this tipsy. Of course, she was a little bit of a thing. Compact, a bundle of energy and passion. Her breast grazed his hand and he gritted his teeth. If she hated him now, she’d really despise him in the morning if they slept together. Almost as much as he’d hate himself. He was in control. It was time she knew that. If she thought she’d get what she came for easily, she had another thing coming.

He’d take what he wanted first.

“Dev?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re so tall. You know that, right?”

He smiled. She could make it so hard to hate her, especially when she used that soft, slightly plaintive tone like she had to have it or she’d just
die
. “Yeah, rumor has it.”

“No, I mean really tall. Tall like women like their men to be tall. So that we have to tip our head back and look
way
up.” She sighed, her sex-kitten eyelids drifting half-shut. “Sexy tall.”

“Shut up, Ell.” A muscle ticked in his jaw and in another strategic location. If she kept looking at him that way he was going to find it very difficult to put her in bed and walk away. But he’d be damned if he’d give in to her tonight. No matter what it cost him.

They took two steps.

“Dev?”

He sighed.

“Yes, Ell?”

She gripped his other arm so she was facing him, looking up at him with her dark eyes and lips red and slightly puffy, ripe to be kissed. He swallowed, hard. God, how he’d loved her.

She did it then, standing up on her tiptoes, melding her mouth to his, the flavor of the bourbon seducing them tongue-to-tongue. His mouth opened in an instinctive reaction to feeling hers on it. He lifted one hand and cupped her head, sending the prim twist askew, hairpins dropping to the floor. Her breasts were firm against his chest and she let go briefly to tug at the hem of his T-shirt.

“Take this off,” she murmured, pulling the hem up over his abs. “Not in front of the bar. Not for Katie McGrew.” She said the other woman’s name with just enough venom for Dev to enjoy the surprising fact she was jealous. “Take it off for
me
.”

For her. The words fired him up and he reached behind his head, grabbing at the collar and pulling it over in one swift movement. This much. He’d allow this much. He’d let her get a good hard reminder of what she’d thrown away. But no more. They didn’t dare go any further.

Her fingers trailed down over his skin, the sensitive skin of his ribs, down his shoulder and to his elbow. “Mmm.”

He slid his hand over her blouse, allowing himself one gratifying handful as he kissed her fully. Despite the Jim Beam or the years that had passed, her taste was as familiar to him as the smell of sweetgrass. Ella. His Ella. He kept his mouth fused to hers as he blindly undid the buttons of her blouse, filling his hands with her breasts once the fabric fell away. Her hand slid around to cup his bottom through his jeans.

A murmur sounded deep in her throat and he knew he had to stop, reminded himself that sex right now would only make things worse. He couldn’t afford to spend Saturday dealing with post-coital fallout. She’d blame him for…what? There would be something, he was sure, and it would be all his fault and none of hers. No, tonight he’d leave her wanting more. He was the one with the self-control here. He’d get her to damn near ache for him, the way he’d ached for her for months after she’d abandoned him. And then maybe he’d sign her precious papers. After his lawyer’d looked at them. His terms, he reminded himself. She owed him that.

It took all his resolve, but he backed away, leaving her standing stunned and utterly beautiful.

“Go to bed, Ella.” He pushed her towards the single bedroom. “If you don’t, you’ll hate yourself in the morning far worse than you hate me right now.”

She turned and stared up at him with dazed, hurt eyes. He couldn’t bear for her to argue, so he walked out into the cool September air, letting the screen door slap behind him.

***

Banging. Someone was hammering something, and each sound wave was a shock to her brain.

Oh God.

Ella rolled to her back and closed her eyes. She was in Dev’s bed, the sheet twisted sideways and the comforter up to her chin. As her legs twisted in the cotton, she realized she was in her underwear. How had that happened? Had she undressed herself or…or had Devin had to help? Why couldn’t she remember?

Groaning, she pressed a hand to her forehead and rolled over, away from the light. Her blouse and skirt were in a crumpled clump on the floor beside the bed. Slowly bits and pieces of last night filtered back into her throbbing brain. Arguing. Then doing the shots. And then…

She sat straight up in the bed and groaned as all the blood rushed forward and suddenly down. She clasped her hands to her aching head. She’d kissed him. More than once. And she’d had her fingers on his skin. And he’d had his fingers on hers.

But they hadn’t slept together, of that she was sure. She sighed heavily, relief sluicing through her. That would have been a big mistake. But she also remembered it was Dev who had sent her to bed like a naughty child and she wasn’t sure the humiliation of that wasn’t just as bad. At least she’d had the wherewithal to undress herself. That much she remembered as her brain began functioning again.

“Drink this.”

His voice, deep with a bit of gravel in it, came from the doorway. He leaned against the jamb with a shoulder, holding out a mug with steam coming off it.

“Coffee?” The aroma wafted across the room. Now
that
she could live with.

“Yeah.” He pushed himself away from the door just as she realized the blankets were down around her hips and she was sitting there, still in the bra she’d worn last night. She went to grab the covers, but his sideways grin made her hands stop. There was no sense playing modest now. No sense playing shy. She was supposed to be a modern woman, after all. And the bra was far more modest than the bikini she’d worn in St. Lucia last year.

Dev had seen all of her lots of times. But it didn’t stop the odd feeling of shyness at being in his bed in nothing but her skivvies.

“You need something for your head? You’re not looking so good.” His hand reached out and touched her mop of hair and she cringed. “Is it bad?” He sounded genuinely concerned. The jerk.

She wanted to reach out and throttle him, but that would take physical effort, and sitting here scowling was far more preferable to collapsing in a post-drunken heap. “Yeah, it’s bad. So thanks for the coffee.”

“I brought your bag in from your car. I thought you might like to brush your teeth.”

“Thank you, Dev.” This politeness and courtesy was almost as nerve-wracking as being at each other’s throats. It certainly threw her more off balance. She only had to stay until tomorrow and he’d give her what she wanted. Clearly, sweet talking over a few drinks was not the correct approach. A blush crept hotly up her cheeks as she remembered how horribly she’d failed at that strategy. Instead she’d practically thrown herself at him. She was no better than one of those floozies at the bar last night who’d whistled and catcalled when he’d taken his shirt off.

Today she’d have to try something different, and try to keep this happy little reunion short. Above all, there couldn’t be a repeat of last night’s behavior. Maybe today straight shooting was the way to go.

“I appreciate the coffee, but you don’t have to be nice to me.”

“Is there some reason I shouldn’t be?”

There was an edge to his voice she hadn’t ever heard before. She could easily list a dozen reasons and proceeded to name the top contenders. “Because I left you within two months of our marriage and I’m here for a divorce?”

His expression soured. “There is that. But then…I am at your beck and call for another thirty-six hours.”

“I didn’t realize butler service was part of the deal.”

“Just thought I’d keep you in the style you’re accustomed to,” he jabbed, heading for the door. “Oh, and breakfast is almost ready.”