Hidden Pleasures. Brenda JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
Do we have two-ten?” No one said anything. Both Brittany and the short, stocky man were still speechless.
“Going once, going twice. Sold! The house has been sold to the man in the rear. And I suggest we all take a fifteen-minute break.”
The people around her started getting up, but Brittany just sat there. She couldn’t believe what had just happened. She had lost her mother’s house. Her house.
She glanced over at the short, stocky man and he seemed just as disappointed as she felt. He nodded in her direction before he and the man he was with got up and walked out. The room was practically empty now with everyone taking advantage of the break. There was nothing left for her to do but leave. However, she couldn’t help wondering the identity of the individual who had won her house. She really needed to get that person’s name and if nothing else, hopefully she could negotiate with him to purchase her mother’s belongings and—
“Fancy running into you again.”
With so much weighing heavily on her mind, it took Brittany some effort to lift her head up to see who was talking to her. As soon as her gaze collided with the man’s green eyes, she knew. Her mouth gaped open as she stared at him while he stood there smiling down at her.
“Wh-where did you come from?” she stuttered as she tried recovering from shock.
This was the same man who, even with all his less-than-desirable manners, had been able to creep into her dreams once or twice. She swallowed knowing it had been more often than that. And just thinking about those times sent a shiver through her. Fantasizing about him in her dreams was one thing, but actually seeing him again in the flesh was another.
What was he doing in Phoenix, and better yet, why did their paths have to cross again? Especially now?
“Where did I come from?” he asked, repeating her question as if he’d found it amusing. “I came from my house this morning and don’t worry I came by car and not by cab.”
She glared at him. If he thought that line was amusing he was wrong. All it did was remind her of just how impolite he’d been that day. That’s really what she should be remembering, not thinking about the way the smile touched his lips, or what a gorgeous pair of eyes he had, or why even now when she had just lost the one thing she’d ever wanted in life, that she could feel the charge in the air between them. The heat. She’d felt it that day in New York, too, even with all her anger.
She hadn’t taken the time to analyze it until a few days later, in the privacy of her bedroom when every time she would close her eyes she would see him looking so extremely handsome and dressed in a tux. And his pants had been unzipped. A sensation stirred in her belly at the memory.
Automatically, her gaze lowered to his zipper and she was grateful he was more together this time. Boy, was he. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a white Western shirt and a pair of scuffed boots. He was holding a dark brown Stetson in his hand, and she appreciated that at least he didn’t have it on his head. Someone evidently hadn’t told a couple of the men who’d attended the auction that it was bad manners to wear a hat inside a building.
And he was tall. She had to actually tilt her head back to look at him. He was built and she particularly liked the way his jeans stretched tight across his thighs. His shoulders were broad beneath his tailored shirt. She could tell.
The sight of him could make a woman drool, and as she continued to study him she remembered how his eyes had captured her from the first. Although she hadn’t wanted them to. Those gorgeous Smokey Robinson eyes. She’d thought that then and was thinking the same thing now.
“Small world, isn’t it?”
His statement made her realize she was still sitting down. The shock of losing her house hadn’t worn off. She slowly stood up and didn’t miss the way the green-eyed gaze traveled over her when she did so. She rolled her eyes. She was a big girl and could handle lust for what it was. He was a man and, she presumed, a single man. At least he wasn’t wearing a ring, not that it meant anything these days. Besides, no matter how good he looked she couldn’t forget that he was the epitome of rude.
And she was quick to size him up. He was a man on the prowl. She’d met more than one in her day and had always managed to convince them to prowl someplace else, in some other woman’s neck of the woods. She’d discovered long ago that the whole idea of sex was overrated. She certainly hadn’t gotten anything out of it so far.
“So, what about you? Where did you come from?” he prompted.
She thought that perhaps they were standing too close. Had he taken a step closer and she hadn’t noticed it? She glanced around. The room was completely empty except for them.
“Doesn’t matter where I’m from because I’m on my way back there.” She glanced at her watch. “If you will excuse me, I need to find someone.”
“Who?”
She tightened her lips to keep from saying it wasn’t any of his business but decided not to. Besides, if he had been in the room during the bidding, there was a chance he might know the identity of the person who’d won her house.
“The man who placed the winning bid on the house I wanted. I really need to see him,” she said.
“Okay.”
When he didn’t step back she moved around him. “Have a nice day,” she said, throwing the words over her shoulder as she headed for the exit door.
“Where are you going? We haven’t been introduced.”
She stopped and turned to him. She refused to be rude even if he had a history of doing so. “I’m rather in a hurry. Like I said, I’ve got to find—”
“Me.”
Brittany tilted her head slightly. “Excuse me?”
A slow, sinfully sensual smile touched his lips. “I said in that case you’re looking for me. I’m Galen Steele and I’m the person who placed the winning bid on house number eight.”
Brittany took a step back thinking that couldn’t be possible. This man, this rude man, could not be the new owner of her house. Not a man on the prowl. The man whose high testosterone level spoke volumes, to the point where even she—a person who’d never enjoyed sex—could read it. She guessed you didn’t have to enjoy the act to feel the effect. Case in point, the way her heart was thumping in her chest.
“You have my house?” she asked, taking a deep, steadying breath. She still didn’t want to believe such a thing was possible.
He nodded. “Signed, sealed and delivered. But it could be yours. I’m definitely willing to negotiate, Ms.…?”
“Thrasher. Brittany Thrasher.” She brushed her fingers against her throat trying to keep up with him. “Are you saying that you might want to part with the house?”
He shrugged. “Why not? It serves me no purpose. I already have a house that I happen to like.”
She threw up her hands in frustration, anger and total confusion. “Then why did you bid on it?”
He chuckled. “Because I saw how much you wanted it and I figured it would be a good bargaining tool.”
Her brows furrowed in confusion. “A bargaining tool for what?”
“For when we make a deal. I’m going to make an offer that I hope you can’t refuse.”
She pulled in a deep breath. Did he think she wanted the house that bad that he could make a quick profit right here and now? Evidently that’s just what he thought. And unfortunately, he was right. She wanted that house.
“How much?” she decided to cut to the chase and ask.
He lifted a brow. “How much?”
“Yes, how much do you want for it?”
“A week.”
“Excuse