Heated Rush - Leslie Kelly [5]
And he’d walked away with money. A lot of it.
“Mr. Murphy?” The busy auction worker was still waiting for his answer.
Would she, as many women did, immediately understand—or think she did? Would she sneer at him? Proposition him? Grope him? Or freeze him out? He’d dealt with all of the above.
In the years he’d spent traveling out and about in the world, meeting people—meeting women—he’d met with all kinds of responses to his lifestyle. Not that many people really knew the truth about his lifestyle. Or about him. But he couldn’t deny there was a certain prejudice, a preconception about what he did.
Sometimes he corrected it. Sometimes not.
In general, he didn’t bother explaining. Least of all to a complete stranger. So he kept things simple. “I just heard about it from a friend and wanted to help if I could.”
She smiled, readily accepting the explanation. “That’s great. Some of our bachelors got their arms twisted by their sisters, coworkers, that sort of thing.”
He sensed the fellow who’d sold before him, the rescue worker, had been one of them. He’d looked as uncomfortable in his tux as Sean would have in a pair of coveralls and a straw hat. Or, worse, in a classroom surrounded by squalling children.
Tuxedos? Well, those he could handle just fine. Given his family, he suspected he’d had one of them put on over his nappies before he’d learned to crawl.
“We’re hosting a small reception down the hall for the winning bidders and their bachelors to meet and exchange information.”
Uh-huh. Schedules. Phone numbers.
Birth control preferences.
Hell, maybe he was just jaded. There was no maybe about it, he was definitely jaded. Still, he supposed some of the women who’d come here tonight really did expect nothing more than a nice evening out in exchange for their support of a worthy charity.
But not all of them. Not a chance.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work,” the organizer said, her attention drawn to a confused-looking volunteer counting piles of cash into a lockbox. Before her, tapping her fingers impatiently, was the petite—but curvy—brunette who’d paid such an exorbitant sum for the bachelor who’d sold before him.
She was attractive. Very. And young, too. Which gave him hope for his own prospects. Not much, unfortunately, given the glimpses he’d caught of the audience from backstage, made up mainly of women who’d appeared much older…and much harder.
“Have a good evening,” Noelle said as she stepped away.
Sean murmured his thanks and headed in the direction she’d indicated. Might as well get this over with. He wanted a real look at the woman he’d be spending an evening with this weekend, rather than merely the shadowy glimpse he’d had of her blond head from up on that brightly lit stage.
Figuring out what kind of evening she expected him to provide shouldn’t be too difficult. If he had to guess, he’d say it would take no more than thirty seconds to determine whether she’d known who she was bidding on, or not.
Given the way she’d called out such a large sum without any prodding from the auctioneer, he suspected he knew the answer. He got the feeling that was why nobody else had bid after her. Considering what had happened with the preceding bachelor, she’d simply scared off the competition, who had probably recognized the same note of determination in her voice that Sean had.
So the woman probably had heard some rumors about him. Who he really was, where he really came from and what he really did.
He doubted, however, that those rumors in any way resembled the truth. So he hoped that the woman hadn’t given away a small fortune because she thought it would guarantee her a spot on his pillow tomorrow morning.
Nothing guaranteed that. Not unless Sean was well and truly aroused. It didn’t matter