The Taming of the Bachelor (5 page)

“I have no idea who—or what—you’re talking about.”

Flo rolled her eyes. “Then why are you blushing?”

Paige put a hand up to her cheeks, and pressed cool fingers to her hot face. She did feel flushed, and she wished she could pretend it wasn’t because of Dillon, that she had no interest in him, but it wasn’t true.

He was attractive.
Very
attractive. But he was also way too young for her. Eight years too young. She couldn’t imagine what they’d even have in common.

“Got a perfect score on his SATs his senior year at Marietta High, earning him a full scholarship to MIT, before heading to University of Texas where he graduated with a Master’s in Bio-Engineering at twenty-two, while most kids were just finishing their undergraduate degree.” Flo nodded towards the door. “He’s got a good head on those big shoulders, so don’t discount him just because he’s also inherited the Sheenan charm and pretty face.”

“I’m not discounting him, but he’s too young for me—”

“That’s not discounting him?”

“Flo, he’s nine, ten years, younger than me—”

“So?”

“And he’s leaving for Austin. This week.”

“Then get to know him before he leaves.”

“In two days?”

“He’s at the Bachelor Auction tonight, isn’t he?”

“And what am I supposed to do....chase him down, corner him? Flirt with him?”

“That’s a start.”

P
aige must have tried on a half dozen different outfits, unable to decide what was best for the Bachelor Auction tonight.

Most of her friends would probably be in boots and jeans, but Paige was sick of jeans and boots, thick socks and heavy down coats. She’d grown up just thirty minutes from the beach in Southern California and spent the first thirty-five years of her life in short skirts, flip flops and breezy tops, and missed those skirts and silky tops, flirty flats and sexy heels. She didn’t think she’d put on a pair of heels since Lewis’ funeral.

It was time to be pretty again, and girlish and sexy. Time to feel like a woman.

Not a mom, not a business woman, not a baker or a restaurant owner. But a woman. A thirty-seven—almost thirty-eight-year-old, because Saturday, one week from today, she’d be thirty-eight.

Crazy.

Crazy how she’d gone from a thirty-five-year-old wife to a thirty-five-year-old widow and she’d been stuck there ever since.

Not just grieving Lewis, but grieving who she’d thought they were as a family. His death had forced her to realize that he’d never really been there all that much. He was a traveler, an adventurer, a man in love with the road and what was around the corner...

So while he explored the world, globetrotting, she hunkered down with the kids, raising them, loving them, making sure they had as many of their needs met that she could meet and it didn’t cross her mind that she might have needs not being met...

It hadn’t crossed her mind while he was alive to be frustrated, to feel neglected, to feel anything but gratitude when he returned from his last adventure... the latest jump from a plane. The latest deep sea dive. The latest reckless pursuit.

Her friends in Tustin had never understood why she was so patient with his exploits in the first place.

How do you stand it?
They’d ask.
How do you manage? Doesn’t it bother you that he’s never here?

But Paige had been happy for him, proud of his daring and hunger to know the world, to try all the things that she didn’t feel compelled to do...

How cool that he was who he was...how amazing he could face fear, look death in the face, take those crazy risks...?

She’d been so naïve. She honestly didn’t think anything would happen to him. But why should she? Nothing bad had ever happened to her. She’d grown up in a cocoon of kindness and honesty, and then she’d had her faith, which had allowed her to feel safe. Even if something bad did happen, she had God. She wouldn’t be alone. Things would work out.

But then Lewis died and she hadn’t been prepared for the pain, and the grief. It was hard. It was consuming.

It was hard having faith when one’s children wept at night, asking for Daddy.

Lewis’ death tested her. The suffering tested her faith. She still wasn’t sure what she believed anymore.

Paige stepped from the tall gold heels then shimmied her hips, slipping out of the shimmery gold skirt before tugging the oyster silk blouse off over her head and dropping the skirt and blouse on the chair with the other outfits she decided against.

It was too cold to go out tonight with bare legs. And the sequins and sparkles didn’t seem right for Grey’s. The turn of the century saloon wasn’t fancy and the sparkles made her think of a Las Vegas club.

She stepped back into her closet and went through her wardrobe one last time. Blazers, camisoles, dresses, skirts, jumpsuit.

Jumpsuit.

She drew out the black jumpsuit with the halter top that left her shoulders bare and gave the hanger a little shake. The jumpsuit top featured a deep plunging v-neckline that revealed cleavage. She hadn’t worn the jumpsuit—or anything like this—since moving to Montana. The outfit was definitely sexy with the way the soft, jersey fabric hugged the breasts and hips and butt before falling in a wide straight leg past the ankle. The hem was long so she’d need to wear heels or a pair of dress boots.

Was she up for a very sleek, sexy look?

Paige thought of Dillon Sheenan—tall, young, hot—and the way he’d looked at her last night, as if she was something delicious, and then today, at the diner, his deep voice had rumbled through her this morning, low, and husky and all male, and a shiver raced through her.

Lewis died in May, four years ago this May, and she hadn’t been attracted to any man since. She hadn’t wanted to be interested in anyone. But Dillon intrigued her.

Yes, he was leaving in just a few days, but he wasn’t gone yet. There was no reason she couldn’t enjoy his attention. Enjoy a little bit of flirting.

It’s not as if anything would happen between them. They weren’t going to get serious or fall in love.

She just wanted to flirt. She just wanted to feel pretty...sexy. Surely that was okay? If it was just for one night?

But as she gave final instructions to her babysitter, Ruby, and then kissed the kids goodnight, Paige wondered if maybe the sexy black jumpsuit was too much. She didn’t want to look as if she was trying too hard.

Too late now, she told herself, as she settled into the driver’s seat of the car and put on her seatbelt. You’re here. You’re going. Just drive.

And so she did.

U
pstairs at Grey’s, Dillon was pouring wine, mixing cocktails and uncapping beers. He’d been working steadily for the past hour. The bar was crowded, upstairs and downstairs, with music thumping, and everyone anticipating the start of the auction.

The bachelors being auctioned were upstairs with him, and they had their own energy, a restless energy that reminded him of a locker room before a charity basketball game. The guys could act like they weren’t worried and didn’t care, but they were guys, men, and competitive. They were going to be stepping on stage, and auctioned off to the highest bidder. Talk about a testosterone rush. No wonder they were amped as they leaned on the balcony, drinking, talking, laughing. They might act like they didn’t have a care in the world, but they were not oblivious that a crowd of young, excited,
available
women had gathered below. For them.

Some of the bolder, braver women had come upstairs to drink and flirt.

Dillon had been keeping an eye out for Paige but hadn’t yet seen her. She could be downstairs with friends, tucked away in a back corner booth. If that were the case, he might not see much of her tonight at all.

He just hoped she was going to have fun tonight. Most the women he was friendly with in Marietta knew how to let their hair down, but Paige wasn’t a party-girl. She rarely went out at night, unless it was a school function, or a community event where she could contribute in a meaningful way. He didn’t know if it was the fact that she’d been married and widowed, or that she was a mother, but she tended to be reserved even when Marietta had a fun social event.

It was possible she’d decided to skip the auction, too.

He added more beers to the tub of ice and glanced over the balcony railing, gaze skimming the crowd, landing on a cluster of twenty-somethings in tight jeans and little skirts hanging out by the old jukebox, waiting for the auction to begin. He knew most of them. They were local Crawford County women with no agenda other than keeping a job, surviving the long winter, and finding a good man.

Or just a man.

Sometimes Montana women had to be practical. Far better to have some company than no company, especially if faced with months of snow, wind, and ice.

“What’s tonight’s popular drink?”

The soft, warm voice made something inside his chest tighten and turn over. He turned from the railing to find Paige at his makeshift bar, smiling.

Her golden blonde hair was loose over bare shoulders, and she was dressed in a slinky black outfit that outlined every curve of her body, and then some. She had an incredible body, too. Perfect breasts, tiny waist, rounded hips and a firm full butt. He’d studied it all earlier at the diner, imaging how she’d look without the cute skirt and apron, but seeing her tonight like this, it was a revelation. She was all woman. And as long as he was in town, she was his.

“Screaming Orgasm,” he said casually, aware that the guys at the railing were checking her out and liking what they saw. But how could they not? She looked like a Playboy centerfold before the clothes came off.

The slinky black fabric of her catsuit or jumpsuit or whatever it was she was wearing molded to her breasts, and hugged her tummy and hips.

“A Screaming Orgasm?” Paige repeated, sputtering as she said the name.

“Would you like one?”

Her cheeks turned pink and she bit into her bottom lip. He eyed her lip, and the way her teeth pressed into the soft, plump lower skin, and the air bottled in his lungs. He held his breath, counting to five, battling his attraction. It was so hard to just stand there and pretend he didn’t want her, and he hadn’t wanted her from the moment he first laid eyes on her three years ago.

“Are they any good?” she asked, cheeks still flushed, making her dark blue eyes shine.

“I’ve been told mine are the best.” He shrugged. “Not bragging. That’s just what the women have been saying tonight.”

“No, not bragging at all.” Her eyes met his and held, her expression mischievous. “Although, if it’s a skill, maybe you should? I imagine you’ve put in time. Practiced.”

He couldn’t even think of something to say because all he could think about was her, getting alone with her...

What were they even talking about?

“I imagine a lot of practice has gone into getting a Screaming Orgasm right,” she added thoughtfully, “and I hate to miss out on the fun, because your specialty sounds delightful, but I think I’d better stick to wine. Do you have a bottle of Pinot Gris or Chardonnay back there?”

“I do.” He reached for the bottle of white wine chilling in ice. “And you look incredible tonight.”

“Thank you.” Her smile turned shy and she touched her plunging neckline. “It is kind of low, isn’t it?”

“It’s a grown up party. You’re allowed to look like a grown up tonight.”

Her lips curved. “And once again, you say the nicest things.”

“Because it’s you. I think you know I have a soft spot for you.” He filled the wine glass and handed it to her, waving away her money bill. “It’s on me.”

“Why? No. Don’t—”

“You took care of my headache this morning, I’m taking care of the wine.” He reached into his tip glass, pulled out a five-dollar bill, and tucked it into his money tray. “Where are McKenna and Taylor? Are they here?”

“They’re downstairs at a table. I just wanted to come up and check on you, see how you were feeling, make sure your head was better.”

“Headache’s gone.”

“So you’re good?”

“I’m great,” he answered, silently adding,
Now that I’ve seen you.