Bidding on the Bodyguard

  Bidding on the Bodyguard

  Bid on Love: Bachelor # 7

  Kristi Avalon

  Copyright © 2018 by Kristi Avalon

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Cover design by Judi Perkins of Concierge Literary Designs & Photography, LLC

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  Contents

  Also by Kristi Avalon

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  The Billionaire Bodyguard Series

  About the Author

  Also by Kristi Avalon

  The Billionaire Bodyguard Series

  The Billionaire Bodyguard (Book 1)

  The Billionaire’s Possession (Book 2)

  Bedded by Her Bodyguard (Novella 2.5)

  The Billionaire’s Prize (Book 3)

  The Bodyguard’s Baby (Novella 3.5)

  The Billionaire’s Dare (Book 4)

  The Billionaire’s Seduction (Book 5)

  The Bodyguard’s Temptation (Novella 5.5)

  Chapter One

  IT HAD ALL started with the mugging.

  Helpless, her life flashing before her while a stranger held a knife to her throat, and his accomplices groped her and stole her purse, Emma Stallings could’ve lost more than her wallet that night. As she’d sat in the saggy chair at the police station while a bored rookie took her statement, she’d experienced a revelation—things needed to change.

  Eight weeks, a dozen inspirational quotes plastered around her apartment, several resolutions, and one life coach later, here she sat at a bachelor auction with her friend and coworker, Therese, feeling a flutter against her ribs. Her new life coach, Mae, had told her to pay attention when her subconscious nudged her, no matter how subtle.

  This wasn’t subtle. The bachelor on the platform might as well have stepped forward surrounded by flashing lights, a neon arrow, and a sign above him shouting “Pick Me.”

  Eyes round with amazement, Emma sat up in her chair.

  Had she heard the announcer correctly?

  Therese leaned across the table. “Emma,” she murmured, “didn’t you tell me—just yesterday—you wanted to sign up for a boot camp class?”

  Dumbfounded, Emma nodded. “Yep, yesterday.”

  When Life Coach Mae assured Emma things would start falling into place for her, because she had chosen change over stagnation by lifting her consciousness to align with the Universe’s blessings—or something—Emma had been intrigued, even hopeful. The desire to try a boot-camp-style class to lose those last ten stubborn pounds, and prove her inner strength after the mugging, had popped into her head out of nowhere…just yesterday. She’d casually mentioned the idea to Therese, while they’d waited for the office coffee pot to brew their morning caffeine fix.

  This moment of serendipity seemed surreal. Or meant to be?

  Silence resounded in the winery.

  Perhaps most women wouldn’t leap at the chance to spend a weekend far out of their comfort zone. Most women wouldn’t take this bachelor up on his offer to bring them face to face with themselves, to explore the extent of their limitations or courage.

  Wasn’t that her new mantra? Be real, take risks, live in the now, accept the unknown.

  Emma shot her hand into the air.

  “Hey, there’s a brave lady in the crowd, ready to lace up her combat boots and give this fantastic veteran a chance. Guys like him are why we’re all here.” The woman who’d arranged the auction had switched her mic back on and interrupted the auctioneer. She grinned a warm, attractive smile. “This stud is offering a weekend of boot camp training. And he’s the real deal. Come on, ladies, who hasn’t fantasied about spending a weekend getting sweaty with a marine?”

  Instantly, a dozen hands rose around the room.

  “Crap,” Emma said under her breath.

  The male announcer recited in rapid-fire, “Fifty, sixty, seventy, do I see eighty? Eighty. Ninety. Do I see one-hundred? There’s one-hundred. One-ten, one-ten, one-ten—there it is. One-twenty. Do I see one-twenty-five? One-twenty-five. One-fifty. One-fifty.”

  The bidding war was on. The auctioneer continued his baiting, stirring up Emma’s competitive streak she hadn’t realized existed until these other women bid against her.

  Didn’t they know this weekend of boot camp, this vet—who, she paused to take in fully, had an incredibly ripped body packed with sexy muscle—was meant to be hers?

  As the bids drew closer to two hundred, then three hundred, then five hundred dollars, most of Emma’s competition dropped their hands. All except one.

  “You’ve got a rival,” Therese said, frowning in the direction of the woman who kept bidding against Emma. They couldn’t see the woman clearly through the crowd. Therese sent Emma thumbs up for encouragement. “Remember, our boss sent us here. He’s on the community board of directors that helped promote this. He promised to match any donations.” Her friend’s brown eyes twinkled. “I say take Jim Stover up on his offer. Bid a grand, and you’ll only owe five hundred. It is for a good cause.”

  Excitement rushed through Emma. “One thousand dollars,” she exclaimed, her hand poised high with purpose.

  The rival across the room remained silent, Emma noted with satisfaction. Soon after, the auctioneer announced her the winner.

  A sense of pride welled in her chest. She grinned as the spotlight left the stage and shone on her. Cheers from the audience bombarded her.

  The spotlight returned to the man she’d won. Inwardly, she laughed. She would’ve never pictured herself “winning” a guy. Her prize kissed two fingers of his right hand and held them out in her direction, like a silent, Thank you. He gave her a casual salute from his temple.

  Their eyes met. Unexpected connection sizzled in the air, defying laws of physics, gravity and everything else, leaving her breathless with anticipation.

  Wow, he was sexy. And he was all hers for a boot camp weekend.

  “Congrats, girl.” Therese nodded with approval. “You’ve got to keep going after what you want. Eventually, you’ll get it.”

  “Thanks,” Emma said, appreciating her friend’s support. Therese knew that four months ago Emma had put in for a management position, a step up from the title of project coordinator she’d held at AmeraBank in downtown Norfolk for seven years. Upper management had not chosen her from the list of candidates they’d interviewed. She’d begun to wonder if she would stay stuck as a mid-level employee forever.

  Tonight she felt bold, a little giddy. She barely recognized herself. She glanced around at the sleek and modern surroundings, whimsically called Mermaid Winery. A nice mix of old barrels on one end, with a modern bar and quaint overhead lights on the other. A place she’d never stop for a glass of wine after work and wondered why. Why had she kept to herself so much over the past few years?

  No risks taken meant nothing lost. It also meant nothing gained.

  Turned out her life coach was right. Emma had been stagnant, going through the motions of life for too long. Now she wanted to live. That meant doing unexpected things, like bidding on a stranger who’d shake up her world for
one weekend.

  When she thought of his incredible body, a sharp swirl dove through her abdomen. Nothing would happen between them, because she never spent the night with a man she barely knew. Yet the idea of being surrounded by all that sexy muscle, under the spell of his dazzling smile, enticed her. Who said she couldn’t flirt a little?

  “You have a naughty grin on your face, girl,” Therese said, flicking her designer nails against Emma’s arm. “What is your imagination doing to that marine who’s all yours for three days?”

  Emma arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure nothing he can’t handle.”

  Therese tilted her head. “I like this side of you.”

  The compliment registered deep inside Emma. “Me, too.” The self-confirmation echoed in bold places she’d lost touch with in herself. Or maybe she hadn’t discovered them to begin with, and this unfolding was completely new.

  She could only hope the bachelor she’d won would be up for the challenge. That made her wonder…

  What am I supposed to do now?

  It all happened so fast, Emma wasn’t sure what came next. Would she meet this marine vet tonight?

  Fortunately, the hostess of the evening paused at their table to offer instructions. “I hope you didn’t think I’d make you wait another day to meet that hunk of hotness, am I right?” Nadine’s effervescent personality and smoky voice made her instantly likeable.

  Heat infused Emma’s cheeks. “I’ve never bid on a date before. I could use some direction.”

  “The guys will be joining the crowd through that set of doors.” Nadine pointed to the left. “You’re welcome to go up to him, or let things unfold however feels right. But he’s yours, make no mistake, and he will uphold his bargain. They’re all good guys like that.” She squeezed Emma’s shoulder. “Bravo, girl. Enjoy your man this weekend.”

  Bravo. Emma momentarily wondered about the chances of Life Coach Mae putting Nadine up to this. Ridiculous, she admitted. Besides, she didn’t need anyone encouraging her and congratulating her for stepping outside her comfort zone, for digging into a challenge.

  It all seemed so synchronistic. Too serendipitous?

  If she believed in fate, Emma would’ve said this was meant to be. She wasn’t that generous yet. This whole trusting the Universe thing remained a curiosity, not a conviction.

  Suddenly, the doors Nadine had gestured toward flung open. A collective gasp rose up, the room going silent, every female head swiveling.

  The auction’s bachelors strutted into the main room. The silence broke. They received a collective cheer from attendees, the applause punctuated by whistles and whoops.

  “Oh, my God. He’s right there.” Nervousness tightened Emma’s stomach. She reached blindly for her friend’s arm. “This is crazy. Did I really bid on a guy for a boot camp weekend?”

  “You did,” Therese said cheerfully. “And that soldier has a good sense of direction. He’s heading right for you.”

  When Therese withdrew from her grasp, Emma tightened her fingers in her lap. “You think?” she asked, hope trickling along her tight nerves.

  Therese sent her sidelong glance. “All he has to do is take one look at you, and he’ll thank his stars you’re the one who bid on him.”

  Shaking her head, Emma disagreed. “You know that kind of connection never happens right away with me.” She sighed. “Maybe after he meets me, gets to know me…”

  “Well, here’s your chance. Good luck, girl. I’m outta here.”

  Emma did a double take. “Wait, what? You’re leaving me?”

  “Jim Stover gave anybody who won a bid the day off Friday. Not that you didn’t sacrifice for a noble cause.” Therese nodded solemnly, while humor crinkled the corners of her eyes. “I’ll be solo at the office, brewing coffee all by myself in the morning, while you sleep in before you meet that gorgeous marine. Quit feeling sorry for yourself, you should feel sorry for me.” Therese waved behind her, bright nails flashing as she scooted toward the nearest exit sign. “Have fun. Enjoy your day off, and your weekend. And please do something neither of us would ever do.”

  Pretty good advice, Emma thought, half-heartedly waving as her friend disappeared out the front door. Alone at her table, she swallowed.

  Was she up for this?

  Too late to back out now.

  Bachelor number seven’s laser-bright eyes locked onto her, his gaze breath-taking intense. As he took off his mask, he headed right toward her. He was head-turning handsome.

  Desire thickened in her blood. Undeniable electricity crackled in the air, but she was sure it had nothing to do with her. He was the man in demand. What woman wouldn’t aim her sights on him?

  She sat motionless, as if an invisible arc of attraction drew her to him. That pull must have seized him, too, compelling him toward her, bringing them together in an inevitable collide.

  “Hey, pretty girl,” he said, setting his forearm on the high tabletop, comfortably resting his left arm around the back of her chair like they weren’t strangers, like he’d done it a hundred times. “Nice to see you.” He seemed to mean it, dragging a long, slow glance from the top of her brown hair to her peep-toe heels. “Great shoes.”

  “Thanks,” she said, impressed he’d noticed.

  “It’s a funny thing,” he said, rubbing the scruff of his face that would form a goatee if he didn’t shave in two more days. “When you spend half your life in combat boots, you notice good footwear.”

  Charmed by his easy, casual camaraderie, she rested her forearm alongside his. “I have never owned a pair of combat boots or Doc Martins. Does that disqualify me from your weekend?”

  “Hell, no.” A grin lit his face, and while deep webs fanned out from his eyes when he smiled, a glow of genuine interest sparked in them. “Talk to me.”

  A long, but not uncomfortable, silence spread between them. A small shock registered, when she realized she hadn’t been the focus of a man’s complete attention in ages.

  During her online dating debacles over the past three years, she’d never met a guy who told her to “talk to me,” as if she were the most fascinating woman in the world. She’d been on dozens of “interview dates,” with prefabricated questions from guys, like “tell me about a time when your ex wronged you, how did you react?” or “I’m really busy, how do you handle a guy with priorities beyond you?”

  She squirmed awkwardly, realizing she hadn’t had a date to practice with in over a year. She should’ve thought of that, before bidding on a man who’d be saddled to her for an entire weekend. She didn’t have her “I’m absolutely fascinating” game on, words eluding her.

  At her continued silence, a serious expression crossed his face, at odds with the amusement sparking in his eyes. “My buddies at the gym don’t think I’m funny. I have no future in stand-up comedy. Is that a problem for you?”

  Emma laughed. “Not a problem,” she said. “My friends say I’m too serious, so if you’re looking for a woman to lighten you up, I might be the wrong girl.”

  The corners of his eyes crinkled. “You get my humor,” he said on a wink. “So when I make a bad joke or a line from the movie Old School, you won’t tell me to take a hike?”

  “Depends on the line,” she returned.

  He grinned. “I might quote obscure nineties movies when we hang out. Is that a deal breaker?”

  With that smart-meets-carefree smile, he was wickedly alluring—and funny, for a guy who had likely seen more atrocities during deployment than the average person could fathom.

  She smiled shyly. “The only deal breaker would be if you didn’t show up to help me train. I don’t want you to go easy on me. I want to face boot camp like a real recruit.

  His eyebrows, a shade darker than his brushed-back, dark-blond hair, drew together as he contemplated her more seriously, as if mentally peeling back layers of complexity he hadn’t expected. “Tell me more about what you want to get out of this weekend.”

  “I’m not sure what to expect,” she a
dmitted. “I hadn’t planned to bid tonight, but I had just told my friend who came with me that I wanted to take a boot camp class. I wanted to feel stronger, better able to protect myself. In case anything ever happened again, you know?”

  The intrigued expression on his face said I don’t know, baby, but I want to.

  Repositioning his hand from the back of her chair to her shoulder, he brushed his thumb along the side of her neck, so lightly she wasn’t sure if he’d meant to touch that intimately. Shivers slid across her skin.

  This weekend might offer heart-pumping action beyond an obstacle course. The idea both excited and terrified her. She couldn’t get too caught up in the moment. She couldn’t forget the reason she slowed everything down with men. She never let herself open up too much to a stranger.

  The knotted, gasp-inducing scars spanning her back were an ever-present reminder she needed to stay cautious, so her heart wouldn’t get crushed under the weight of humiliation ever again.

  Chapter Two

  SCANNING THE WINERY with a subtle but sharp-eyed glance, Shane Duncan asked the cutie who’d bid on him, “Feel like going out onto the patio? I miss the smell of the ocean.”

  Truth. He missed the scent of brine on the wind, the tang lingering in his nostrils when he stood on a beach and inhaled a deep breath. The rare times he returned to his hometown of Virginia Beach, wherever he stayed the night he kept the windows open. The smell of salt-spiked wind combined with the distant surf lulled him into the most perfect sleep.

  A second reason for the change of view centered on his dislike of crowds. He wasn’t claustrophobic, he just preferred a corner he could back into, where he could see everything happening, ready for anything.