The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) by Naima Simone Page B

now; it clutched him every time he stared at those lovely thighs and the sexy, shocking art that ran down the outside of her right leg.
    Why it drew him, he couldn’t begin to grasp. The woman before him was nothing like the socialites and businesswomen he mingled with, dated. Fucked. Sophisticated and urbane, they covered themselves in couture dresses, expensive perfumes, and glittering jewels, not T-shirts, short-shorts, and combat boots. And definitely not tattoos. So why did this wild pixie with skin like a living, breathtaking art fascinate him?
    Because they were hers . The knowledge struck him with the assuredness of an arrow. They may not have seen one another for years, hadn’t been close for longer, but the tattoos seemed to perfectly reflect the woman before him. Sexy. Confident. Bold, yet delicate. She made a man wonder if the same fire that lit her eyes would burn him alive in bed…and if he would willingly throw himself into the flames just to find out.
    No . He shook his head as if he could physically rid his head of the thought.
    “Can we at least go inside?” he ground out, striding toward the sidewalk where she trembled. “It’s forty degrees out here, and you’re parading around in shorts and no coat.”
    “I’ve never paraded in my damn life,” she snapped but whirled around and marched back inside the brick building.
    He glanced down at the perfect ass encased in red nylon as she hustled up the walkway.
    “The fuck ,” Aiden snarled under his breath, jerking his gaze north. He followed her, his long strides carrying him to the entrance faster than her shorter ones.
    Yanking open the door, he swept his hand forward in a mock bow, allowing her to enter before him. Stabbing him with another glare that consigned him to a dark, fiery hell, she charged past him. Her light, floral scent teased him, a strong gust of wind ensuring he breathed her in. The same. As a man who couldn’t tell a daisy from a peony, he would still be able to pick out her scent in a flower shop. It was fresh, bright…and sensual as hell. He’d never forget it. Especially when her sweat and the fragrance from her arousal mixed with it, deepening it.
    Grinding his teeth together, he let the door slam behind him.
    “Forget it,” she spat. “I’m not staying with you.”
    “Yes, you are,” he countered, forcing a calm into his voice that did not exist.
    “Why are you pushing this?” she countered, those slender arms folding around her in that gesture of vulnerability, even though her eyes spat blue fire at him. He doubted she was even aware of the tell.
    Damn if he knew.
    “Where else will you go, Noelle?”
    He thrust his hands into his pants pockets, briefly turning to stare at the bank of mailboxes before returning his gaze to her. Against his will, he glanced at her wide, lush mouth. Unlike Friday night, the almost-too-carnal curves were unpainted, lending to the air of fragility that stubbornly clung to her despite the combat boots and attitude.
    “Forget the motel,” he continued, voice flat as he met her eyes again. “Your roommate said two weeks, but I seriously doubt they’ll have the apartment ready in that short amount of time. So three to four weeks in a cheap motel? Aside from the personal security issues, you can’t afford it.” Her lips parted as if prepared to argue with him, again , but he forestalled her with an abrupt shake of his head. “It’s been a while since I’ve rented an apartment, but since you just arrived here and haven’t started the job you mentioned, I’m going to assume you’ve paid first and last month’s rent, as well as a security deposit. Which leaves you unable to rack up a bill at an extended-stay motel. Face it. I’m your only option at this point.” He didn’t add that the thought of her in some seedy place with flimsy locks and little security caused an uncomfortable, tight ball of pressure to press against his sternum.
    She shook her head, the corner of her