The Playboy Bachelor

  Bentley frowned. “Yeah, why not?”

  “Most people are under the age of twelve.” The kid rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t exactly scream romance.” He scrunched up his nose. “Then again, you are old…”

  “Listen up, punk.” Oh God, he sounded like his grandfather. “You’re probably too young to understand this, but the best kinds of dates are the ones where you get blood pumping. Blood pumping to all the right places causes a woman to get excited, and when she’s excited, she’s—” Holy shit, why was he giving scoring advice to a high school kid? “You know what? Never mind.”

  The kid’s wide-eyed look was almost comical. “No, I want to hear this. When they get excited, what?”

  Thankfully, Margot came up behind Bentley just then and reached for his hand. “Everything okay?”

  “Holy shit, you’re hot.” The kid eyed her up and down, and his cheeks took on a pink hue as he licked his lips and focused in on Margot’s chest.

  Yeah, Bentley was going to land in jail again.

  Only this time for punching a minor.

  “You look intense.” Margot frowned up at Bentley. “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry, ma’am.” The kid flashed her a smile. Back the hell off, kid. “Your boyfriend was just telling me how to get a woman excited.”

  Bentley groaned.

  Margot smacked him in the chest. “Was he, now?”

  The kid nodded enthusiastically. “It’s why he brought you here.”

  “Listen, punk.” Bentley pointed at him. Oh good, he’d used the word punk again. Fantastic.

  “Thank you!” Margot said quickly to the kid and grabbed a helmet from Bentley’s hand. “For, uh, the rental.” She jerked Bentley away even as the kid checked out her ass and gave Bentley a thumbs-up.

  “Leave it,” Margot said under her breath, then burst out laughing once they were out of earshot.

  Bentley’s blood was still boiling, and rage clouded his vision. And he had no idea why. He pointed at him. “That kid was disrespectful.” Yes. Those words. They just came out of his mouth. The hell?

  “That kid’s maybe seventeen. Of course he’s disrespectful.” Margot rolled her eyes. “As I recall, you were worse at that age.” She eyed him up and down. “You may be even worse now.”

  “Do not compare me to that punk!”

  “‘Punk’?” She giggled.

  “I’ve apparently turned into my grandfather,” Bentley said, mostly to himself. “If I wake up tomorrow with gray hair and my pants pulled up to here”—he pointed high on his waist—“just do me a favor and pull the trigger.”

  “Stop being so dramatic.” She put on her helmet. “How do I look?”

  “Good enough to eat. Oh wait, I already did that.” Bentley pulled her roughly into his arms.

  She stiffened and then looked up at him with fear in her eyes. “I don’t want to drive.”

  “I know.”

  “No, I really don’t want to drive. The thought of it makes me sick.”

  “Margot, I say this as a friend…” He nodded toward the track. “If you don’t get your ass out there and teach that kid a lesson, we can’t have sex tonight.”

  “There are so many things wrong with that sentence,” she muttered.

  “Just think.” He tapped her helmet. “Beast mode.”

  “I’m not racing a six-year-old!”’

  Bentley pulled the helmet over his head and shrugged. “If you don’t, who will?” He tossed her the key to her go-kart.

  She rolled her eyes. “You’re insane, you know that, right?”

  “Margot.” His lips teased the outer corner of her ear. “Our sex life depends on you.”

  She giggled and walked over to her car, then got in, but not before the same six-year-old rounded the corner, slowed down, and said, “Hey, baby, wanna race?”

  “That little shit!” Bentley turned the key to start his engine just as Margot threw her head back and laughed. Damn, she was beautiful.

  His jeans tightened as an ache to have her built inside him, which was really unfortunate, since he was surrounded by children and sitting in a too-small go-kart that was littered with popcorn and bubblegum.

  Margot started her go-kart, and she and the little jackass were racing at ten miles an hour, away from him, laughing.

  Unbelievable. He’d just been taken down by a first-grader.

  Cursing, Bentley jammed his key to the right again. The engine finally started with a snarl and a puff of white smoke. He hit the accelerator and then managed to nearly take out the parked go-kart in front of him. He turned quickly and the go-kart started going backward.

  “Out of my way, loser!” The first-grader was moving toward him so slowly he wasn’t sure if it was an optical illusion. Margot followed, clearly allowing the kid to beat her, and motioned for him to move out of the way.

  “I’m trying!” he shouted through clenched teeth.

  “If you can’t drive get out off the track!” the high school guy shouted from his little booth.

  “Fun date!” Margot passed him by and waved.

  He hit the accelerator again and turned the go-kart to chase after Margot.

  The go-kart jerked forward and then stopped, only to jerk forward again.

  “What the hell is wrong with my car!” he shouted.

  “No cursing!” The high schooler pointed to a sign that had all of the rules listed, including no cursing, no destroying cars, no fighting. The hell with that! What kind of racetrack was this?

  “So,” Margot called to the kid she was racing as they made their way back toward Bentley. “How old are you?”

  “Today’s my birthday. I turn six!” He nodded proudly. “Want to be my girlfriend?”

  Margot laughed. “Of course.”

  Bentley glared and started after them. “She’s taken, Romeo!”

  “My name’s Jay!” The kid glared back at him and then shared a smile with Margot. “My mom says not to talk to strangers, but you’re not a stranger anymore.” He sighed. “He’s mean.”

  Bentley turned around just in time to see the kid pointing at him.

  “Oh, he’s not mean,” Margot said. “He just doesn’t like losing.”

  Jay giggled. “Yeah and he’s losing bad!” he yelled out. “Loser, loser, loser.” For a good five minutes.

  And that was how the rest of the date went.

  Bentley followed them closely while the little man flirted circles around him.

  And Margot drove the entire time.

  How was it possible that he didn’t even get the girl—and it was still the best date of his life?

  He parked his go-kart and hopped out to go rescue Margot from the snot-faced Casanova in training.

  “Jay, it’s been a pleasure.” Margot held out her hand to the little guy once they both stepped out of their cars. Bentley waited a few feet away. “Have a happy birthday!”

  “You’re a good driver, Mar Mar.”

  Bentley rolled his eyes. Nicknames? They had nicknames?

  “Well, I had a good teacher.” She winked.

  The kid’s chest puffed out. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

  He walked off and grabbed a juice box from one of the tables. Then he turned and gave Bentley an evil glare.

  “So your new boyfriend’s kind of a bully,” Bentley said when Margot rejoined him.

  Margot sighed and gave Jay a longing glance. “Yeah, but he really gets me.”

  “Between you and me, I think he’d probably choose pizza over you, but to each his own.” Bentley pointed to the birthday boy, who was in fact devouring a huge slice of cheese pizza, getting more of it on his face than in his mouth. A guy who looked like the kid’s grandparent brought over napkins and some bottled water.

  Margot burst out laughing. “He’s adorable.”

  “I can be adorable,” Bentley grumbled.

  “You—” Margot trailed her finger down his chest “—can’t even drive a go-kart.” She pulled her hand away. “Plus
Jay’s going to be an astronaut.”

  “Damn it, Jay!” Bentley put on his sunglasses. “I can’t compete.”

  “You can’t win them all. It’s not you.” Margot put a hand on his shoulders. “It’s me.”

  She looked so free, so beautiful, that he couldn’t help it anymore. He lifted her into the air and swung her around, then let her slide down his body. When her feet were on the ground, he pressed a kiss to her parted lips.

  “What was that for?” she asked breathlessly.

  “For being beautiful,” he answered truthfully. “And for driving a car for one whole hour.”

  “Thank you.” She kissed him again and again.

  Bentley groaned as their bodies pressed against one another. It was hard as hell not slipping his hands under her shirt or just taking her against the car.

  “Anytime you want to thank me,” he said in a husky voice, “I’m here.”

  With a laugh, she stepped back. “You’re a good friend.”

  “Best friend.” He accentuated the best part. “Right?”

  “The best I’ve ever had,” she whispered.

  And suddenly, the fear was back.

  That same choking feeling he’d had when he thought she’d died—it was back, reminding him it could happen again. Logically, he knew it was his anxiety speaking, but it was hard to control the choking sensation wrapping around his throat as he imagined a world with her no longer in it.

  And just like that, his world went dark again.

  And he was afraid.

  So damn afraid that maybe, just maybe, his anxiety never went away, he’d just been keeping it in check with the art of distraction. But Margot wasn’t a distraction—she was the trigger.

  Bentley inwardly cursed as he opened her door. “Let’s grab some takeout? I bet all that flirting made you hungry.”

  Margot kissed him one more time before getting in the car.

  His body felt numb, hollow, as he walked around to the driver’s side and pretended that his chest wasn’t aching.

  Hell, this was what he did, right?

  He pretended he wasn’t anxious.

  Pretended he didn’t care about anything but screwing.

  He’d been pretending all his life.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Bentley was oddly silent after they picked up their Chinese takeout. One minute they were laughing and having fun on their date—kissing, even. And the next minute he looked like someone had just run over his favorite pet.

  “Are you okay?” she finally asked, throat dry.

  Darkness had already fallen around the valley, sending tremors of apprehension along her spine as they drove back to the house. The roads were winding, and it wasn’t like there were a lot of lights lining them.

  She needed to focus on something else—badly.

  “Great. Why?” Bentley’s jaw twitched, as if he’d been clenching his teeth.

  “You just seem upset.” She brought her focus back to the road. “That’s all.”

  “And if I was upset…” Bentley’s voice trailed off. “What would you do to make me feel better?”

  He didn’t sound like he was teasing.

  He sounded serious.

  “Talk to you,” she finally answered. “I’d talk to you and try to help you.” It sounded stupid to her own ears. She’d talk to him? Like talking had ever helped her.

  The only thing that helped was the very man who seemed hell bent on ripping the steering wheel from the dash.

  Bentley’s eyes flashed as he slowly drew out the word. “Talk.”

  “Yes, we’d talk.” The air in the car was charged—though she had no idea why, or what had shifted between them. “Don’t you talk with all of your friends?”

  “Friends, friends, friends.” Each time he said the word his voice rose. “I don’t know what the hell you want from me right now.” He ran his free hand through his hair.

  Her eyes widened in shock as her pulse hammered in her chest. What had just happened? “I-I’m sorry, I thought we had fun today.”

  “We did.” He swore. “Sorry, I’m just…” He exhaled roughly. “I’m tired. That’s all. I’m not angry at you.”

  He was lying again.

  The weird tension made her feel sick to her stomach, and confused.

  “Margot, I have to tell you something and—” He squinted into the darkness, his jaw clenched.

  Margot glanced up. “And?”

  Bentley pulled over to the side of the road as the car kicked up dirt and gravel. “Stay here.”

  “What’s wrong?” Panic welled in her chest. “Bentley?”

  “It’s okay, just stay in the car,” he ordered, slamming the door after him.

  He moved toward a small object on the side of the road. “Please don’t let him be mauled by a bear,” she said to herself.

  Did they have bears in Arizona?

  She was being ridiculous.

  Bentley kneeled down; his back was illuminated by the headlights, but his body completely blocked whatever he was doing. When he moved again it looked like he was picking something up.

  He turned toward her.

  A mangy, rat-looking thing was resting in his arms as Bentley quickly ran to the car and opened the back door. “He’s hurt.”

  “Who’s hurt?” She wrinkled her nose at the sudden sour, earthy odor.

  “The dog.” With gentleness that made Margot’s heart hurt, Bentley spread his hands over the dog’s body and sighed. “I think he got hit.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he was rescuing the dog, not that she didn’t care, but he didn’t even know the dog and he wasn’t responsible. Who just rescued a stray dog?

  Correction, what was Bentley Wellington doing rescuing a stray dog?

  “We need to find a vet clinic that’s open,” Bentley said almost to himself, as he continued running his hand over the dog’s matted fur. She couldn’t tell if it was dirt and gravel making the fur brown or if the dog really was that color.

  “I’ll look it up on my phone,” Margot offered.

  It took a few minutes but she finally located a clinic that was open 24/7, and the on-call vet said he’d be waiting for them.

  “Do you—do you want me to sit in the back with him?” Margot asked once Bentley got back into the driver’s seat.

  He nodded. “Yeah, that would be good. He’s probably scared and in a lot of pain.”

  “Okay.” She quickly unbuckled her seat belt and got in the backseat, careful not to get too close to the dog just in case it got agitated enough to bite her hand off. It wasn’t that she didn’t like animals—she’d just never had a pet before.

  Bentley didn’t count.

  She smiled at her own joke.

  “Something funny?” Bentley asked as he turned the car around and headed back into town.

  “Nothing.” Margot ran a hand along the dog’s wet fur. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

  “I felt a broken rib or two,” Bentley said, surprising her. “And his nose is dry, his breathing labored—”

  “How do you know all of that?”

  Bentley was back to clenching his jaw shut. Finally, he whispered in a hoarse voice, “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.”

  Margot frowned down at the poor animal. “Bentley, I think…his back leg is twisted funny.”

  Bentley didn’t say anything.

  “Did you hear me?”

  “It’s broken,” he said after a long pause. “Let’s just wait until we see the vet.”

  Memories of metal crunching metal came flooding to the surface. The poor dog.

  “It’s going to be okay, buddy.” Tears welled in her eyes. It was almost impossible to keep them back once they started burning. Why was she crying over a broken dog?

  The dog snapped at her hand.

  She jerked it away.

  Stunned.

  Not because it almost bit her, but because it suddenly hit her—Bentley was right. She’d been acting like a hur
t puppy, an abused dog. She was crying because she saw herself in the dirty, mangy mess sitting next to her.

  * * *

  I’m sorry,” the vet said after examining the dog. “There’s nothing I can do for the leg.”

  Margot gasped. “But he needs his leg!”

  Bentley was quiet and then pulled the doctor aside, leaving Margot with the dog. She refused to leave his side.

  The black Lab puppy kept whimpering and he looked terrified even if he was sedated. A muzzle covered his snout, and his eyes locked with Margot’s. A pang sliced through her chest.

  “It’s going to be fine,” she whispered, running a hand across his back.

  “Thanks, Doctor.” Bentley shook the man’s hand and returned to Margot. “You ready?”

  “No!” She shook her head. “You can’t just save him and then abandon him, Bentley!”

  He smiled down at her. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “But…” Okay, he was confusing her. “You asked if I was ready?”

  “To eat cold Chinese food.” Bentley’s hand found hers. “The vet is going to operate—he needs to amputate at the dog’s hip.”

  Margot was frozen in place. “Will he be okay?”

  “He should be great.”

  “I’ll pay for it.” Margot swallowed the thickness in her throat.

  “No need.” Bentley squeezed her hand. “I’m taking care of it.”

  “You?” The word was out before she could stop it, and her shocked expression didn’t help. Did she still think so little of him? That he wouldn’t go out of his way to do something kind for an animal?

  “That hurts.” Bentley looked down, breaking eye contact.

  She choked back a sob. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you are.” He finally looked back at her. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you think so little of me…when I think the world of you.”

  And then he walked away.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The cold Chinese food tasted like salt and sandpaper in his mouth and sat like a rock in his stomach.

  Margot’s words had hurt.

  And he was pissed off that he’d let himself get hurt.

  First the anxiety and now this. This horrible feeling that he had somehow fallen for Margot—but she still thought of him as the playboy who arrived on her doorstep—when he wanted to be so much more to her.