teacher made it onto my list, and a doctor with a family practice.
I was scribbling madly when Kimberly said, “Ooh, another firefighter.”
“He’s very handsome,” Amarjeet said. “And don’t you love the ax?”
My head jerked up. Sure enough, it was the dark-haired man with the great smile. Quinn O’Malley, his name was. His skin was darkish, though lighter than mine. His black hair was cut short, in a style that emphasized his strong features and the dramatic slashes of cheekbone and black eyebrows. His eyes—dark brown or black—sparkled and his sensual lips curved, counterbalancing the impression of raw masculine strength.
His bare torso was strong and toned, but not in an overdone “must be on steroids” way. Even though his lower half was concealed by the turnout pants, I knew it would measure up. I wondered what, besides more toned muscles, he was hiding under those bulky pants, and felt the hot throb of arousal between my legs. With the cute waiters and some of the other bachelors I’d felt a quiver, but with Quinn O’Malley, the impact was a hundred times stronger.
He was utterly masculine and had a devil-may-care aura that reached out and grabbed a girl by the throat. And the pussy. No question which guy my body would vote for if it got a say in the matter.
“We’re supposed to talk about our jobs,” he said, “but you folks know what firefighters do. When I’m not at work, I sail, windsurf, ride my motorbike, hike.”
Though I had no interest in bidding on him, my brain was still in evaluation mode. Humble about work: a good thing. Hazardous occupation, motorbike, dangerous hobbies: bad. Very bad. An adrenaline junkie, a man who flirted with danger. That was unacceptable. In my teens, my papa, a cop, almost lost his life on the job. It traumatized Mom and me. She’d persuaded him to give up active duty, and since then he’d taught at the Justice Institute. I would never go through that kind of horror again. Never get involved with a man who risked his life every day.
No, wait. This wasn’t about whom I’d date for real, it was about finding the best faux fiancé. And it wasn’t Quinn O’Malley.
His smile deepened, revealing a dimple. “And, yeah, I’ve been known to enjoy romantic stuff like dinners out, dancing, moonlight strolls along the beach.”
Oh, God, those things were good, very good. I imagined dancing with him, feeling the coiled strength of that powerful body moving sensually against me. Or kissing in the moonlight, finding a deserted pocket of beach, making love with only the stars watching.
“Jade?” Kimberly tugged my arm. “You’re gaping at him like you want to eat him up.”
“Mmm.” With my tongue, my lips, my entire body. And then I wanted him to eat me up. Under my skimpy dress, my nipples rubbed against the lace of my bra, and the crotch of my panties was damp with need. Oh, yes, he could eat me up this very minute, and launch me into a shuddering, screaming climax.
He was talking about his skills, mentioning carpentry and cooking. His manner was so warm and intimate, it was as if he were speaking to me individually. Of course, every other woman no doubt felt the same way.
“So,” he finished, “if you win me, you can ask me to build a gazebo in your garden, barbecue you the best steak or salmon you’ve ever eaten, or take you out sailing and find a moonlit beach.” The dimple flashed again.
Cara Winters, the emcee, fanned herself. “Ladies, our imagination can fill in the rest.”
My imagination was working overtime. I had a feeling Quinn O’Malley could end my sexual dry spell with a bang. He hadn’t been any more blatantly sexy than the other men, yet his easy confidence told a story of its own.
Cara held out a fan of index cards. He chose one and handed it to her. She read, “Why are you still a bachelor?”
He was quiet a moment, and when he spoke his tone was serious. “I believe in marriage and kids. They give life meaning, and they’re a long-term commitment.”
As he spoke, I nodded in agreement.
“Yeah,” he went on, “I’d like that one day. I can see it.” His expression was reflective, almost as if he’d gone inside his own head and was envisioning the future. The man was no doubt a player, but these remarks seemed genuine. Then the grin and dimple flashed again. “So I’ll fall back on that old line, a guy has to wait for the right woman to come along.”
When he strolled off stage, his gait was easy, powerful, totally masculine.
“Jade, you aren’t writing any comments,” Amarjeet said.
“He’s—” I could barely speak, my throat was so dry. “He’s not the kind of man I want.”
“Yeah, that’s why you can’t peel your eyes off him,” Kimberly teased, “and you’ve crunched up your program in your sweaty little hand.”
I smoothed out the program, tried to calm my achingly aroused body, and did my best to concentrate. But my attention was shot. I made notes about one man, a lawyer who worked for a civil rights organization and was perfect, yet I couldn’t summon enthusiasm.
After the last bachelor, the emcee announced a 15-minute break. The three of us rose with the rest of the audience. “Another drink?” Kimberly said.
“Sure,” I said. “Bet they’re mostly fruit juice.”
“I will as well,” Amarjeet agreed. “I’m having so much fun.” As we lined up at one of the bars, she asked, “Have you chosen your man, Jade?”
3
I opened my crumpled program. “I’ve narrowed it to four.” I pointed to the pictures of the high-school teacher, the doctor, the civil rights lawyer, and bachelor number one, Justin Wong.
“Quinn’s not on the list?” Kimberly asked.
“The firefighter?” I tried to sound casual. “Blue collar isn’t the right image for Triple-F.”
“He’s a hero,” Amarjeet said. “Didn’t you hear the emcee say he’s got a commendation for bravery?”
“I missed that.” No doubt I’d been drooling over his pecs and dimple at the time.
We’d finally reached the front of the line and ordered another three Raining Mens.
“He has a great attitude about marriage and kids,” Amarjeet said.
“The guys were making a sales pitch. Half of what they said was just a line.” Except, while Quinn’s eyes had twinkled as he talked about sailing, cooking, and carpentry, his expression had seemed earnest when he spoke about families and commitment.
“I believed him,” Amarjeet said as we moved away from the bar.
“Plus, he’s sexy,” Kimberly said, “and Jade’s totally lusting after him. A girl should be attracted to her fiancé, even if he’s only a faux one.”
“Look, you two, I—”
“Jade?” A female voice behind me made me turn.
Oh,
