The Bachelor Pact (52 page)

A lesson to remember with Lance. And Rory and that singles service.

With Sophie's dancing gigs, she and Lucy had survived on their own. But Deseree had eventually popped back into their lives with promises that she'd mended her ways and lifestyle and wanted her daughters back in her life. Trouble was, Deseree meant well. Sometimes she lasted for months, working at a menial day job. But old habits were hard to break, and Deseree was no stranger to temptation. She'd meet an old client or flake out into one of her obsessive shopping sprees, and she'd run up her credit cards, and need a quick way out of debt.

In Vegas she could always find someone to oblige her.

Sophie had long since stopped blaming her mother for her weaknesses. She loved her in spite of them, and she worried about her like crazy.

Still, she prayed she didn't show up at her house while Lance was hanging around finishing the renovations. With Lucy coming, Deseree might be not be far behind. An explanation might get sticky.

Lance buffed the wood stain on the doorway and stepped back to examine his work.

Sophie couldn't help but admire him... er, his attention to detail.

"It looks fabulous, Lance."

"Thanks. I'm pleased." He turned to her with an odd look, a fine sheen of perspiration dotting his forehead. Odd how Rory looked grossly sweaty all the time, but on Lance a little moisture gave him a sexy bad-boy appearance.

She'd been so distracted watching Lance work that the sauce bubbled over. She jumped back to attention before she set the house on fire, and turned down the burner.

"That smells delicious."

The wooden spoon stilled in her hand. "It's pretty simple. I've been making it for ages."

"You enjoy cooking?"

"It's relaxing."

His eyebrow shot up as if he were surprised.

"You don't see me as the domestic type?"

A chuckle reverberated in his chest. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"It's Lucy's favorite." Speaking of her sister, where was she?

He crossed the room to wash his hands while she removed the pasta to drain it. They met at the sink at the same time. Steam oozed from the pot, curling around them. Or maybe the steam was oozing from her. Lance certainly made her hot.

Damn him.

She stepped aside, gestured for him to finish, then emptied the pasta in the strainer as he dried his hands. His gaze latched on to her, following her every movement. His stomach growled.

Oh, good heavens.
She sighed. "Lance, do you want something to eat?"

His gaze met hers, the look in his eyes full of hunger.

But before he could open his mouth to reply, Lucy burst through the back door, dressed in workout clothes. "Yum, Soph, smells great."

Sophie dragged her gaze from Lance. "It's ready."

"Good, I'm starved." Lucy grabbed a glass from the cabinet. "Besides, we need to hurry. I invited a bunch of girls over for a Sleepover party tonight."

"A what?"

Lucy filled the glass with sweet tea, then plopped into the chair. "A Sleepover. I gave out business cards at the club the other night. The girls will be here any second."

Lance gathered his toolbox. "I guess I'd better get out of the way then."

Sophie nodded and let him go. Having him around was entirely too painful. Too tempting.

Too nice.

She did not want to want him this way. She wanted to be over him.

"Now," Lucy said, "let's eat; then I'll fill you in on the games we'll play at the party." Her eyes lit up with excitement. "Wait until you see the party favors."

Sophie stared at the silver case full of goodies and grimaced. What in the world did Lucy have in mind?

Chapter 8

You don't see me as the domestic type?

Hell, no, he didn't, Lance thought as he let himself inside his duplex. But he could imagine her in nothing except that damned apron and those clunky heels. And he had envisioned dotting sauce on her body and licking it off.

Frustrated, he strode to the refrigerator and scrounged through the measly contents. A half-wilted head of lettuce. Six-day-old pizza that had turned into a moldy brick. A soured carton of milk. An empty container of orange juice. Two beers.

Ahh, another night of a liquid diet or takeout. That is, unless he wanted to dress up and go out. Meet women. Flirt. Maybe bring one home.

Bachelorhood. The life he'd always wanted. The life he'd once loved.

Dirty clothes on the floor. His favorite sports magazines roosting on his scarred coffee table in the den. His bed unmade. His bathroom free of women's stuff.

Like the flimsy black teddy that had been draped over the shower rod in Sophie's bathroom.

His body thrumming with desire again, he phoned the new Philly cheesesteak delivery joint around the corner, jumped in the shower to chill his libido, then dressed in a pair of running shorts. Tired from lack of sleep but rejuvenated, he scrubbed a towel through his wet hair and tossed it to the floor. Another perk of singlehood—he didn't have to worry about a wife nagging him to keep things neat.

Grabbing a beer and the remote, he settled into his favorite rust-colored recliner. He'd watch TV while he waited on his food, then consider going out. He needed something or
someone
to distract him from Sophie Lane.

Or maybe he'd simply veg out and sleep. God knew he needed to catch some z's. With Sophie's door firmly back in place, she and her loony sister were safe. McDaniels had the bids for the contract. Maddie was content at home with Chase. And Reid... well, his brother would probably be on the prowl, but at least he wouldn't be out with Lucy.

Because she was entertaining a group of women to sell her sex toys.

Why would women want that stuff anyway, when they could have their choice of any red-blooded male instead? He didn't understand it. Then again, women had always been the world's biggest mystery.

He flipped the channels, grunting at the choices. Reruns of several sitcoms. A cooking show. Fishing tips. Mating patterns of some beetle. The best bathrooms in Vegas. Hmm, Chase and Maddie should be viewing it for ideas.

Right, the newlyweds would certainly be glued to a show on bathrooms.

He flipped again. A hundred and ten channels and nothing on worth watching. The doorbell rang and he dropped the remote, his mind conjuring images of Sophie's homemade spaghetti sauce instead of fast food. Sophie feeding him...

The doorbell dinged again, and he hurled himself forward. A few minutes later he banned Sophie from his mind while he chowed down on his cardboard cheesesteak, his gaze cutting toward the shopping bag from the mall. Afraid he wouldn't sleep again, he'd stopped by the mall and bought some ridiculous relaxation tapes the salesclerk suggested and had sprung for one of those rock garden waterfall thingies that were also supposed to be therapeutic.

Surfing the channels one more time, he sighed in relief when he discovered a sports channel. "Tonight we have an interview with Rory Dalton, one of the greatest football players to ever grace the field. We'll be hearing all about Dalton's favorite plays and his plans for the future now he's retired."

Lance frowned at the picture of Dalton that flashed on the screen, photographs of his past seasons filling the footage. Had Dalton used his favorite plays on Sophie?

Had they worked?

The phone trilled, cutting into his disturbing thoughts. He checked the caller ID—Tanya Whitson—he didn't recognize the name. Assuming it was a sales pitch, he let the machine pick it up.

"Hello, I'm calling for Lance Summers. My name is Tanya. I saw your name and number at the singles club." She hesitated, then lowered her voice to a breathy level. "I'd like to meet for a drink. If you're interested, call me at 555-2545. 'Bye."

Lance dropped his half-eaten sandwich onto his plate. The woman had a nice voice. She sounded pleasant. And he had nothing better to do.

But was he interested?

* * *

"Thanks for coming, Maddie. At least there's one sane person at this party." Not only had Lucy hung lucky charms around her place, but now a group of tittering women had gathered to examine Lucy's sexy products. And Sophie still hadn't told Lucy that she had actually had Lance arrested the night before....

"Wow, look at all this stuff!" Maddie screeched.

Erotic massage oils and liqueurs, edible underwear, feathers, boas, Venus Butterflies, videos, pictures, artificial body parts, vibrators, posters, penis-shaped pasta... she had never seen so many types of romantic notions, as Lucy called them, in one place at one time.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't have missed it." Maddie plucked a tube of grape lipstick in the shape of a male sex organ (the theme, it seemed) off the display and tested the color on her lips. "I may be married, but I'm far from dead, Soph. In fact, sex has never been better."

Tiffany, one of the guests, stole Maddie's penis-shaped drink charm from her martini with a grin. "Caught you."

"Drat, drat, double drat," Maddie said. "I just can't seem to hold on to my male organs tonight."

"It's because you can't stop saying the S-word." The object of the game, Sophie thought wryly, was not to say the S-word or you lost your stick. Difficult when every item on display conjured images of just that—sex.

Something Sophie had done without lately.

"Okay," Lucy said as she lit a boob-shaped candle. "Time for another party game."

"Oh, heavens," Sophie said. "What next?" They'd already played Finish the Picture—essentially a picture of a man missing one important vital body part. Of course, Maddie had won with her sketch of Chase, which had every woman there anxious to meet Maddie's husband.

"All right." Lucy waved a glittery stick that resembled a magic wand—women were supposed to use it to make their partners deliver their fantasy. "This game is to stimulate your imagination. Everyone has to take the name of their first pet and combine it with the name of the street where they grew up. That will be your porn star name."

Several of the women squealed with delight. Sophie grimaced.

Maddie clapped her hands. "Okay, I've got mine. My cat's name was Too Cute, and the street I grew up on was Eaton Drive."

"Too Cute Eaton," Lucy said with a squeal.

Lucy passed the magic wand to the next girl in the circle. "I had a German shepherd named Tootsie and I lived on Poplin Avenue." Olivia twirled her olive in her glass. "Tootsie Pop."

The next girl snatched the wand with a mischievous grin. "Honey Lipton."

"Honey Lips," Lucy amended, bringing a round of laughter.

A stunning brunette lawyer joined in the fun. "Pepper Sprayberry—no, Pepper Spray."

"That sounds dangerous," Lucy said. "But exciting."

The magic wand continued, the game picking up speed. "Fluffy Main."

"Sticky Waters."

"Angel Ashton."

"Satin Butts."

"Furry Hornsby."

"Hotshot Sister."

"Blackie Humphrey—Blackie Humps."

Sophie rolled her eyes, quickly downing the rest of her martini as the spotlight turned to her. "My cat is Jazzy."

Lucy's eyes twinkled. "And your street was...?"

She could not believe she was saying this; it was everything she had fought so hard not to be. "Bell."

"Jezzy Bell. You're our winner tonight." Lucy stood and handed over the prize, a pair of red fur-covered handcuffs and a black feather boa. Lucy gestured toward the refreshment table. "While we snack, ladies, look over your brochures and place your orders."

Sophie headed to refresh her drink while Lucy unveiled the treats—a seafood dip in bowls shaped like male body parts and a booty-shaped cake with chocolate icing. Several of the women congregated around the table, cracking jokes about their prospective orders while Maddie cornered Sophie. "Okay, what's up between you and Lance?"

"Nothing," Sophie said. "Absolutely nothing."

"Aren't you playing by the rules?"

"What rules?" Lucy asked, jumping into the conversation.

"The seven sacred rules for trapping a man," Maddie said. "Sophie's supposed to be using them on my brother."

"I am not," Sophie said.

"She is, too," Maddie argued. "He's a stubborn man. He doesn't know what's good for him."

"Your other brother is eye candy," Lucy said.

"He is, isn't he?" Mischief danced in Maddie's eyes.

"Yes, but I'm not looking for a husband," Lucy said, "so don't worry."

Maddie thumped her fingers on her hips, disappointment sliding across her features. "Hmm. Well, Soph, I know Lance saw the video of your date in Cancun."

"How do you know?" Sophie asked, suddenly suspicious.

"Because I made sure he did. Now it's time to turn to rule number three: Give him a nibble, then yank the line." Maddie tilted her head toward Lucy. "Translation: A little kissing is allowed, even a little tongue, but no heavy petting."

Sophie chewed her lip. "Well..."

Maddie narrowed her eyes, realization dawning. "You already did that?"

Sophie nodded, grabbed a cherry from the table, and popped it into her mouth.

"And how did Lance respond?"

Did she mean how was the kiss? Incredible. Hot. Tormenting. "He ran like hell afterward."