The Bachelor Pact (47 page)

The man retrieved his briefcase, then gestured toward the silver suitcase. "This one yours?"

"Yes, my work. I didn't want to take a chance on it not making it."

"I know what you mean. I'd lose a big deal if I showed up at my meeting without the papers in my briefcase."

Lucy laughed, wondering whether to reveal her job to the man and try to make a sale. If she did show him the contents of her case, he might think she was coming on to him, and get the wrong idea.

Then again, Lucy could handle herself. Besides, it wasn't like Sophie was at home waiting on her tonight. The house would be empty. She'd let herself in when she arrived and Sophie would never know how late she'd stayed out.

Businessmen/bachelors were an untapped market for her Sleepover, Inc., parties—the perfect gift for a wife, girlfriend, lover.... Maybe she and Ray could see the town; then she could show him some of her products and end the night by closing a sale.

"You know, Ray, I'm staying at my sister's, but she's not home tonight. If you want, we could get a drink somewhere."

Ray raked a hand over his chin. "Sounds great. Let's grab a cab and go down to River Street. I've heard there's great food and blues and jazz music."

Lucy latched onto his arm and they headed toward baggage claim, her body thrumming with excitement. Maybe while she was here, she'd shake up Sophie and make her realize singlehood was much better than getting married.

* * *

"Check out that knockout strawberry blonde with the tight ass," Reid said. "Wow, does she have some moves."

Lance grabbed the beer mug and glanced up, his eyes widening at the sight of the voluptuous woman writhing and gyrating to the music. Her spandex top and tight jeans would have to be peeled off of her. "Not my type, but go for it, brother."

"I would, but she came with that blond guy." Reid leaned back against the bar and scouted out the rest of the room. "Man, think what Chase is missing. I can't imagine giving up all this."

Lance nodded, although his head was pounding from the loud music, and the smoke was clogging his nose.

He must be getting old. The dating scene felt odd, too, as if he'd gotten trapped in a wind tunnel that kept hurling him around and around in a circle. He was getting nowhere, still at the same place in his personal life as he had been at twenty.

"I'm going to check out that brunette in the red dress." Reid gestured toward a corner table, where two women sat sipping Cosmopolitans. "You interested in the one beside her?"

Lance shook his head. He'd heard her nasally voice when she'd passed him coming in. She must have a permanent sinus infection.

In fact, they'd been here for two hours, and he hadn't spotted one female yet in the entire room who appealed to him.

The strawberry blonde with the wild curly hair flitted past with her Norwegian-looking partner and Lance frowned, thinking she reminded him of someone, though he couldn't place who. He studied her as she and the man claimed a back booth. The man said something; then her peal of laughter floated over the sound of the music. She was Reid's type—flirty, fun-loving, and fancy-free.

He sipped the rest of the beer, hoping the alcohol would help him sleep tonight. He'd get an early start tomorrow, and install Sophie's new back door before she arrived home. Deciding to call it a night, he flicked a hand at Reid to wish him good luck, then headed out the door, but a commotion in the back drew his attention, and he hesitated. The security guard was standing over that strawberry blonde's table. She stood with her hands splayed on her hips, giving him hell. Some kind of silver case lay on the table.

He chuckled, grateful again that Maddie was safe and out of trouble. If that girl had an older brother or sister, they had their hands full.

Three hours later he lay on the sofa in Sophie's den again, counting the cracks in the ceiling in the dark, once again straining for sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he imagined Sophie in that string bikini with Rory Dalton's hand taking it off. He had already heated warm milk and tried that remedy, but he'd nearly gagged on the stuff. Then he'd tried some herbal tea he'd found in Sophie's too-orderly pantry—she really was an organizer, he realized when he'd noticed she shelved the items alphabetically—but he scalded his tongue and now it was numb.

A screeching sound erupted into the silence and he jerked up, scanning the interior. The cat? No, Jazzy was upstairs, staked out on Sophie's bed again as if to dare him to enter her private territory.

Another sound, more like something sliding across wood, echoed from outside. The rocking chair being moved on the porch? Footsteps clattered next. He tiptoed to the sitting room and noticed the window sliding up.
Shit.
Sophie had a burglar.

He glanced around for the phone and something to use for protection. The phone was in the other room, but a two-by-four lay in the corner. He grabbed it, poised to fight, when suddenly the person pitched a silver suitcase through the window. It hit the floor with a thud, the latch sprang open, the contents spilled and rolled across the hardwood. Next, a body dove headfirst through the window, a hand raked around empty air for a place to land, and the person toppled onto the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, squeals flying from her. One high-heeled shoe sailed through the air and barely missed his nose.

"What the hell?" He hit the light, the piece of wood at the ready, and gaped at the leggy strawberry blonde with the wild hair—it was the same strawberry blonde he'd noticed earlier at the bar causing trouble. Had she followed him here to rob him?

She saw him and screamed at the top of her lungs. Swinging her fists at his legs to take him down, she caught his ankle. He yelped, dropped the wooden beam, and collapsed onto the floor, cradling his aching shin. Good Lord, the woman had nearly broken his leg.

She was spitting and cursing and flailing her fists at him. "Help, burglar! Help!"

He winced as her claws dug into his ankle, then grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides.

"Why the hell are you screaming?
You
broke in!"

She stilled slightly and stared up at him, eyes wide with terror and temper. He loosened his grip. "Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

"I asked first."

Her lower lip quivered slightly. "I'm Sophie's sister, Lucy."

Sister? No wonder he'd thought the woman from the bar seemed familiar. They had the same dainty nose, the same fiery good looks, barring the hair color, the same great bod, but this one had a peculiar odor....

"What's that smell?"

Lucy turned up her nose. "My lucky charm—it's garlic and a few natural herbs."

She was certifiable.

"Now, mister, if you don't release me, I'm going to scream bloody murder and grab your balls and twist 'em until they fall off."

Laughter sputtered from him, but the fierce wildcat eyes told him she'd try to fulfill her threat. He braced himself for control, difficult since he was running on forty-eight hours without sleep. "My name is Lance Summers. I'm the contractor your sister hired to renovate her house."

"Oh." She relaxed slightly, her eyes skating over him, recognition dawning. "You're number two, the one who gave the dorky answers on her dating game show."

He gritted his teeth. Had everyone in the United States watched that ridiculous episode? "Yep, that's me."

"You need to work on your approach," she said, offering him a sweet smile as her gaze dropped to his hands where they still gripped her.

He released her and stood, then extended a hand. "And you need to learn to use the door."

"I forgot my key."

"You could have knocked."

"I didn't think anyone was home."

Right. He explained his reasons for sacking out on the couch while she stooped to gather her suitcase. He had assumed they were her personal things, but he suddenly realized that the suitcase had been filled with sex toys. A rubber dildo had rolled to a stop beside his feet, a fake set of plastic boobs sat with jiggling nipples jutting heavenward in the corner, and chocolate-scented underwear fringed with licorice had caught on the lamp, looking oddly out of place next to the Victorian shade.

Of course, the phone chose that time to ring. He glanced in the den, then realized it wasn't the home phone. Lucy dug around in her mammoth purse, extracted a cell phone, and flipped it open just as he spoke.

"You can't stay here," he said. "I'll take you to a hotel."

Lucy gave him an odd look, then said into the phone, "Oh, hey, Soph. I just got here." She shoved a mass of hair from her eyes. "No, you heard right. Your contractor just offered to take me to a hotel."

Chapter 5

Sophie clutched the phone in horror, reminders of her past life with Lucy-on-the-prowl floating back. Not that she blamed her little sister for attracting men—lust and Lucy were synonymous. But still, her baby sister possessed a naive innocence, and Sophie had lost boyfriends to luscious Lucy before, and Lance was... Lance.

Damn it.

She cleared her throat to find her voice. "You're going to a hotel with Lance?"

"No." Lucy's voice sounded shaky. "After all, I just met the man. In fact, he attacked me when I came in."

"Lance attacked you?"

"Yes, well, actually I sort of fell all over him, but I couldn't help myself."

Sophie gulped. Of course she couldn't. Lance was big and strong and masculine and the sexiest man she'd ever laid her eyes on. Lucy would think the same.

"I had a few drinks earlier," Lucy babbled, "and later I danced with this cute salesguy I met on the plane, but then this security guard thought I was soliciting at the club; I mean, I only gave out a few business cards—"

Typical Lucy story, ping-ponging all over the place. "Did you say soliciting?"

"Can you imagine? Then I offered to give him some freebies from my kit, and the imbecile thought I was trying to bribe him."

Oh, heavens, add bribing a cop to the charges
. "Lucy, you weren't arrested, were you?" She envisioned the headlines now:
Sophie Lane's Sister Arrested for Prostitution—Like Mother, Like Daughter.

"No, of course not. I explained that I was showing off the stuff in my new kit to this man in the booth—"

"What man in the booth?"

"The hunky Norwegian one."

"I'm not sure I want to hear any more."

"It was perfectly innocent. Besides, there weren't any 'No soliciting' signs at the club."

"What club? What kit?"

"The... club, and the kit from Sleepover, Inc., party goods."

Why would the cop think Lucy was bribing him with aromatherapy candles and lotion?

A big yawn stretched over the line; then Lucy giggled. "Don't be shy, Lance; go ahead and feel my boob if you want."

Sophie rubbed her temple where a headache pulsed. "What?"

"I told him to feel—"

"I heard that!" Sophie pinched her fingers over the bridge of her nose. "But why did you tell him to feel it?"

"Because he's staring at it," Lucy said on a sigh. "He might as well touch it if he's going to gape at it."

"Lucy, are you doing drugs?"

"Of course not."

"You're drunk then."

"Maybe a little tipsy." Her voice grew hushed. "Go ahead, Lance, play with it if you want. It's really firm."

"Lucy!"

"Well, he'll never buy it if he doesn't touch it and see how perky it is."

Sophie groaned. "Put Lance on the phone."

Lucy heaved another sigh. "All right, but ten more minutes, and I would have had him."

Just what she was afraid of.

Lucy would seduce Lance, then blab all of Sophie's secrets....

* * *

Lance gripped the phone, his stomach plummeting as he realized how Lucy's one-sided comments must have sounded. He'd been too poleaxed by the sight of all this... paraphernalia to hear the first part. Lucy had explained about her toy box, hadn't she?

Did Sophie approve of her little sister carting around such outrageous stuff?

"Sophie—"

"Listen here, Lance Summers," Sophie lit into him without giving him a chance to speak, "if you lay one finger on my baby sister, I'll come back there and rip out your eyes."

He swallowed hard. One sister wanted his balls, the other his eyes. He'd be dismembered before they finished with him. "Your
baby
sister is the one throwing her boobs all over the place. You should be talking to her, not to me."

"Don't you dare put this off on her. She said you were looking at them."

He glanced at the floor where the fake boobs still lay, springy and perky and too damn real-looking for comfort. "How can I not? They're huge and... all pink...."
And those nipples look so real....

Sophie's loud hiss echoed over the line, like a rattlesnake spitting poison. "I can't believe you're so crude. I really misjudged you."

Him? What had he done wrong? He'd been trying to sleep on her lumpy, too-short couch in her stifling-hot den while she was cavorting half-naked with strangers.... "Listen, Sophie—"

"You are not taking her to a hotel room, do you understand?"