forms in the program, and you’ll get a tax receipt.”
Cara, the red-dressed emcee, took the stage. “Thanks again to all these wonderful, handsome, amazing bachelors who have participated in the auction. It’s easy to give a little money to charity, but these men have gone above and beyond. They’re giving their time—their brains and muscles and charm—for tonight’s valuable cause. And they don’t even get a tax receipt! So let’s show them all how much we appreciate them.”
The room exploded with cheers and applause. “I’m so nervous,” I murmured to Amarjeet.
“Have faith. If it’s meant to be, then it will happen.” Her pronouncement was punctuated by a hiccup.
Cara reintroduced Justin and called for bids. The lights stayed on so everyone could see who was bidding. As the bids rose, I leaned past Amarjeet to whisper to Kimberly, “Shouldn’t you bid?”
“I think we should pass on Justin and figure out how things work.”
It wasn’t like her to be cautious. Had Amarjeet been talking strategy to her?
The bidding for Justin heated up, rising to over $500, then stopped with a flashy redhead. And then it was the next bachelor’s turn. We watched until the high-school teacher came onstage. After a couple bids, I hissed at Kimberly, “Come on!”
“Right.” She placed a bid and someone topped it. When I hissed again, she placed another, of $400. A young brunette raised it, another bid came in, then the brunette topped that one. Amarjeet said, “Kimberly, don’t bid again. That woman’s determined. It’s not worth going high enough to win.”
“You’re right. Sorry, Jade, this isn’t your guy.” Her giggle told me she, too, was tipsy.
After another few bachelors, it was the doctor. “Bid on this one,” I reminded Kimberly.
“Have you thought seriously about his job?”
“He’s a family practitioner. What’s not to like?”
“He spends a lot of time peering up women’s vaginas,” Kimberly said, loudly enough that we both hushed her.
“It’s his job,” I said.
“But isn’t it kind of creepy?” She gave an exaggerated grimace. “Wouldn’t you feel weird, going to bed with him after he’d spent his day doing that?”
Surely doctors viewed the female bodies they saw at work in an objective, professional way. And the female body in their personal life in a completely different manner. Didn’t they?
“I heard a talk show the other day,” Kimberly said, “where some doctors said they couldn’t do gynecology or general practice because the vagina thing made them uncomfortable.”
“Well, he’s obviously not one of them.”
“No, but—”
“Moot point,” Amarjeet said, sounding almost smug. “While you two were arguing, someone else bought him.”
“Damn.” I shifted anxiously as the winner claimed a hug from the doctor. How could I have lost out on three men? “I’m down to just the civil rights lawyer. Kimberly, you have to win him.” He was an excellent candidate. Sure, I hadn’t felt enthusiastic when I’d seen him onstage, but that was only because the firefighter had me so fired up. Speaking of whom, he’d been up after the doctor…
And there was Quinn O’Malley, strolling across the stage with his distinctive brand of male confidence and grace.
“I wonder what the woman who wins him will make him do?” Amarjeet asked with a wicked, slightly drunken grin.
“Put out her fire?” Kimberly joked, her voice too loud again. Three drinks were obviously too much for us when all we’d eaten were a few tiny appies.
The firefighter had left his ax behind and stood easily, legs slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back. The posture emphasized his muscular chest and shoulders. Easy to imagine him hefting a woman in his arms, toting her out of a burning building and down one of those long, swaying ladders. Placing her on the ground, breathing air into her parched lungs as his sexy lips caressed hers. As, under his deft touch, her body came to life. To aroused, passionate life.
He glanced around the audience, a half smile on his lips, seeming unworried about who would win him and what she’d ask him to do. Vaguely, I was aware of women bidding, of Amarjeet whispering to Kimberly, but the man onstage was so fantasy-worthy that I barely noticed until a new voice joined the bidding. A voice I recognized.
I dragged my eyes off Quinn O’Malley to glare at Kimberly. “What are you doing?”
Amarjeet said, “You only had one man left on your list, and he’s near the end. Women will be getting desperate, bids will be higher. You might not get that lawyer.”
“But I don’t want this guy.” I stared back at the stage. Quinn O’Malley was watching us. Our gazes connected and I felt a zap of energy—sexual energy.
Kimberly giggled. “That’s not what your body language says. You’re leaning forward like you want to leap out of your seat and jump him.”
Quickly, I sat back, breaking that compelling eye connection, and tried to regain my sanity. “My body language is irrelevant.”
“He’s a hero. And he’s hot,” Amarjeet said as Kimberly placed another bid.
“For sure! But I want someone more conventional. White-collar job, good-looking but not so—”
“Freaking gorgeous?” Kimberly put in.
“Exactly.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” She waved her hand in the air.
A moment later, the emcee’s gavel fell and Kimberly said triumphantly, “Because this is the guy you’re getting.”
4
From: Jade Rousseau [[email protected]]
To: ‘Amarjeet Nagra’; ‘Kimberly Brock’
Subject: Write-off: Amarjeet’s new coworker, Sebastian
A compulsive exaggerator! (I’m being polite—really thinking LIAR <g>) Said he was a gourmet chef. I don’t care if a guy can cook, but if he says he can do something, he should be able to. He made a fancy French meal, said he added his “personal touches.” All I can say is, BARF!! (Yeah, literally. I’ll spare you the disgusting details.)
Frog detector rule: No dates with liars or exaggerators! And I’m going back to the original plan: only coffees or lunches, no dinners.
I could have stayed pissed off at my friends for conspiring to buy me the firefighter, but it was done. They’d been operating under the influence of too many Raining Mens. Quinn O’Malley was so not what I needed, but it wasn’t like I could exchange him for a more suitable model, so I’d make the best of the situation.
How bad could it be, playing lovey-dovey with one of the hottest men I’d ever seen?
Kimberly had told him she’d bought him for a friend and got his phone number. When I called, he’d sounded intrigued and asked what “services” I’d like him to provide. Wanting to tell him face-to-face, not in public where someone might overhear, I’d invited him to my place.
Pacing my Kitsilano condo, I resisted the urge to change clothes. Cotton pants and a T-shirt were perfect. Fancier might suggest a come-on, and work clothes were too stuffy. I left my hair loose, in a tumble of black waves that rippled past my shoulders.
After I buzzed him into the building, my heart raced as I waited for his knock on my door. I told myself it was only because this faux fiancé thing was so important to my career.
But then I opened the door and knew I’d been rationalizing. Quinn was dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt