His Southern Sweetheart

“Oh, yeah,” she said teasing, “we don’t want the bidding ladies to think the merchandise is broken.”

Nate fought against the impulse to cover his groin as all eyes went toward his lower half. “Will you keep your voice down?”

“Oh, trust me, I don’t think anything will stop a bidding war. As a matter of fact, I heard some of the ladies in the church choir comment on how they’ve pooled their money together and are going to divide up your weeklong stay amongst them.”

“What did your future fiancé get me into?”

“A sleazy way to do a good cause,” Lexi joked.

Nate turned to her and grabbed her arm. “You’ve got to do me a favor. Lexi, I need you to bid on me.”

“I didn’t bring any cash.” Lexi stretched her eyes wide with such surprise, Nate believed her.

“I will give you everything in my wallet.” Nate reached for his back pocket but a heavy hand patted his arm down. He turned in time to see his smug big brother grinning.

“You’re not trying to get my lady to buy you?” Stephen asked, siding up to Lexi with a protective arm around her waist. “You wouldn’t want to start any rumors, would you?”

Tight-lipped, Nate shook his head back and forth. Lexi had spent most of her life dealing with rumors about herself, her family and her brother-in-law. Being born a blonde to a family of brunettes was enough to get the townspeople talking. The former beauty queen had had to deal with vicious lies about relationships and of course the clincher—when she left the pageant world and her parents turned their backs on her. Nate admired Lexi. “Funny, considering you’re the one who—”

“Another round for my brother!” Stephen interjected himself verbally and physically. He tapped the top of the bar for attention, probably to avoid Nate bringing up the unfortunate topic of how he’d met Lexi. “What are you drinking? Beer or cognac?”

“He ordered a beer,” Lexi said, saddling up to Stephen, “but Philly’s teacher down there sent this drink over.”

Kill me now, Nate thought.

Amused, Stephen saluted Brittany down at the other end of the bar. “A potential buyer? Nate, dance with the woman so she can see what she might be getting.”

“Man, in a minute I’m leaving this place.”

“You can’t go now,” Lexi wailed. “Think of the children.”

“I’m rich, Lexi,” Nate countered with a cocky smile. “I will write a check for a sizable amount.”

Another hand snaked around his free arm. Nate turned to the side and flashed a grin at Donna Jean, secretary of the First Baptist Church. She took notes for the pastor and all the board meetings, but in the bedroom, she loved to give dictation. He bent close to give her a side hug.

“You’re not thinking about backing out?” Donna said with a wicked grin. Her long nails slipped under his jacket and drew circles down the center of his back. “I emptied my savings account.”

“Donna Jean!” Lexi gasped.

“What? I know what I’m getting and I’m not about to let this one slip through my fingers.” Donna Jean’s note-taking fingers slipped down to pinch his bottom.

Nate tried not to make an obvious gesture to get out of the way. He chuckled and drained his beer. “Well, if you all will excuse me, I think I’ll go check out my competition.”

Never before had he felt so much like a piece of meat. As he made his way toward the stage, women reached out to whisper in his ears how much money they were willing to spend in order to buy him. If only he had someone he trusted to make the purchase. Too bad a majority of the women in attendance tonight had already sampled a bit of him. It appeared as if every woman he’d told about his no-commitment rule was willing to accept forty hours of his time.

As if to make matters worse, Stephen slapped him on the tail before Nate entered the lionesses’ den and shouted, “No competition here, little brother.”

Chapter 3 (#ulink_a963ac08-892b-595f-8e51-ca8fd25a62aa)

Amelia Marlow smoothed her fingers across the white cloth of her table. The siren-red nail polish matched the body-hugging dress she wore for tonight’s activities. Earlier today she had driven east of Four Points to Black Wolf Creek to get a quick mani-pedi before heading off to the bachelor auction. Natalia had offered to make things up to her by getting her pampered for the day, but Amelia did not want to overdo her appearance for her return to the South. Not too many folks would be happy to see her.

Thanks to a high school exposé on peach farmers, Amelia had accidentally, yet singlehandedly, destroyed the town’s income. Her intentions came from a good place. She’d wanted to show how her town, and other parts of Four Points, were all connected. Most of the townsmen in Four Points were migrant workers from Southwood, Peachville, Black Wolf Creek and Samaritan. They all worked on the farms for cheap wages, being illegal migrants. Amelia had ended up uncovering a deeper secret about the most of the farmers’ tax evasions. Workers were deported and without their help farms had struggled to harvest their crops, then family businesses had perished. Her exposé had had a trickle-down effect, and everyone in Southwood with a peach orchard farm had suffered. Because she felt so horrible for her part in the demise of the town, Amelia never wanted to come back. Instead of wallowing in her guilt, she avoided reunions like the plague and let her love of exposés propel her into studying journalism in college.

The salon in Black Wolf Creek had done an excellent job styling her shoulder-length hair. Her dark tresses flipped off her shoulders, bared in her red strapless body-hugging dress. In her four-inch heels, she was like a panther out on the prowl. Her eyes scanned the tops of the heads of the patrons at tonight’s bachelor auction. Her elevated view gave her the ideal spot to prey on the man of the hour. As expected, a crowd of women followed him wherever he went. The corners of her lips tugged downward, as she realized she, too, was part of the admiring crowd. The man certainly knew how to fill out a suit. A close-cropped black beard covered the square jaw she’d stroked during their lovemaking. The palms of her fingers tingled with desire to touch its texture.

The tall single white candle in the center of their table flickered when Amelia’s cousin as well as best friend, Cayla Marlow-Beaumont, bumped the table with her hip when she returned with two glasses of red wine. Amelia took her eyes off the bar where Nate stood as the center of attention.

“Thank you,” Amelia said, circling her finger around the rim of her glass. “I didn’t want to risk being seen.”

“Is the dating world this hard?” asked Cayla.

Amelia pressed her lips together and frowned. “This is not about dating. This is about revenge. Nate Reyes used me.”

“From what you told me, you used him, too,” Cay reminded her. “You left without giving him your information.”

Why did she always tell her cousin everything? Cay lived vicariously through Amelia and in return acted as Amelia’s conscience. “Information he clearly had since he stalked me at the bar and seduced me in order to distract me from my job.”

Across the table Cay rolled her eyes. “You’re really going to go through with this?”

“I kid you not. Angels sang when Pastor Rivers announced the charity event.”

Cay squinted her hazel eyes. “Somehow I do not think you understand what the word charity means.”

Amelia’s eyes widened with surprise. “Are you kidding me? I donate all the time.”

“So you’ll donate your time and services for next month’s Hardware Hottie Bachelorette Auction?”

“What?” Amelia frowned.

“Kind of like this, but women are auctioning their time. Greg is threatening to nominate me,” Cay said with a giggle. “I might need to do some sexy lingerie shopping. Pastor Rivers’s guilt speech does not apply to husbands and wives.”

Giving her cousin the side-eye, Amelia shook her head. Tonight’s event offered forty hours of service from these handymen. The time put in could mean a couple hours of community service here and there. Amelia planned on cashing in her winnings this week. Once she got her grandmamma settled, she was out of here. So any sort of volunteering of her time was out of the question—especially not in this area.

“No, thanks.” Amelia’s frown deepened. “Besides, I am dropping enough cash tonight that all the schools in four counties should name a gym after me.” As she spoke, her cousin shook her head, not convinced of Amelia’s pledge. “What?”

“You can afford to hire someone else to fix Grandmamma’s place.”

“Principle, Cayla, principle.” Amelia cut her eyes back down to the bar where one woman blatantly ran her hands underneath the hem of his jacket. If everything went according to plan tonight, she’d prefer to not have him manhandled and cluttered with cheap perfume. He actually had the nerve to stand at the bar and pretended to push off one woman’s hand. “Nate Reyes used his wealth and connections to influence my job and get me suspended.”

“Did he make you turn your cell phone off?”

“It wasn’t off,” Amelia confessed before biting the corner of her lip to withhold the wanton grin spreading across her face. “More like underneath a pile of clothes.” Under the techno lights, she felt her face warm with the memory of her behavior. With each bright beam striking across her face, she feared her blush would be exposed.

“See,” Cay said, her frown turning up into a grin, “this is the point where I am going to change the subject.” Her eyes wandered around the open floor space while Amelia cut her eyes toward her cousin’s no-nonsense black slacks, white collared shirt and Great-Grandma Marlow’s pearls. Far be it for Amelia to judge. Standing next to the Ruiz family she screamed frumpy, but her cousin—six months older than Amelia—took the cake tonight. Cay’s idea of dressing to kill meant something completely different; her attempt to dress sexy tonight could not have gone more wrong, if Amelia said so herself. When Amelia had arrived at her house, Cayla had met her on the porch before her three children realized Auntie Amelia was in town. With no children of her own or nieces or nephews, Amelia looked at Cay’s kids as hers, which went along with the right to spoil them.

“I can’t believe we’re here again,” Amelia said, looking around once they found their table at the club. Southern Charm had been around for years. As a rebellious child, she and her high school friends had snuck into the bar with fake ID’s and drank warm beer. The establishment back in the day barely ID’d kids, as long as you were with someone you knew or you slipped the bouncers a few bucks. One of the first shows Amelia pitched was called Faking It. The show hadn’t taken off because every audience targeted had thought she meant something else, like sexual struggles some women faced in the bedroom.

Nowadays, security was tight and the entry fee to get in was astounding, though tonight’s auction didn’t make things better. To drag her cousin away from her boring couch with the husband she’d married directly after high school had cost Amelia an extra hundred bucks just to come to tonight’s event. She could have possibly shown her credentials from the network, if William hadn’t insisted on Amelia leaving them in the Orlando office. A badge from MET was like having a golden key to every event. Everyone wanted to be on television. All Amelia needed was to suggest her new ideas for reality shows and the floodgates opened. Family members told lifelong secrets and the most interesting part of her job was capturing people’s behavior when a camera was on them.