blinked in the glare. Bobo squirmed in his arms, and he glanced down at the puppy. “I’m afraid we have an audience, sport.” Snuggling Bobo against his chest he walked carefully toward where Natalie stood with her arms outstretched, wiggling her fingers impatiently.
Gratitude put a lump in her throat. “How can I ever thank you?”
He gave her a crooked grin as he handed over Bobo. “You can call off the TV guys. What’s going on?”
She tucked the shivering puppy under her coat and gazed up at him. “I think they just happened to be in the area. Listen, I at least owe you dinner, or—”
His glance flicked past her. “There’s a reporter headed over here with a mike. I’m gonna disappear.”
“But—”
He backed away and pushed his wet hair off his forehead. “Call FDNY and ask for Jonah Hayes.”
“Sir!” The reporter hurried toward them.
Jonah turned and sprinted across the frozen ground.
1
JONAH WISHED the building would catch fire.
He’d never had such a horrible thought before, but it was all that would save him from walking out on the Grand Ballroom stage at the Waldorf in front of a thousand screaming women. He was to be auctioned off tonight.
Maybe a firefighter was a public servant, but this was more public than he’d ever intended to get. He’d rather be headed into a bad factory fire complete with hazardous waste. But the chief had said he could do this or turn in his badge. The reputation of FDNY was at stake, according to the department’s PR people, and the chief’s job was on the line if he didn’t make Jonah cooperate.
And all because a woman with tousled blond hair and big gray eyes had lost her grip on her puppy. Maybe if he hadn’t been wearing his FDNY sweatshirt he could have stayed anonymous, but WOR had hot-footed a clip over to the main office and he’d been identified in time for the evening news. After that, life as he’d known it had ceased to exist.
On stage the bidding ended for the poor bastard ahead of him, and Jonah’s throat went dry. Earlier in the evening he’d distracted himself by joking around with some of the other bachelors backstage, but as his turn grew nearer, he’d sought a spot alone to try to calm his nerves.
He reminded himself that the money was going to literacy. He’d fought a fire caused by someone who couldn’t read the directions that came with a toaster oven, so he knew literacy was an important cause. He’d begged the chief to let him donate a portion of his pay for the next million years instead of getting auctioned off tonight. The chief had said he wouldn’t make enough in a million years to equal the price he’d probably bring at this event. He was a local hero.
“And another six thousand dollars goes to literacy as our twenty-sixth bachelor walks out to meet the lucky lady who outbid the competition,” announced the female emcee.
Six thousand, Jonah thought. That was a pile of money. He wondered what sort of woman would pay that much for a fantasy date with a stranger. Even though it was for a good cause, she’d have to be very rich and a little bit nuts. Not his type.
“We have lots more of these highly eligible men to go, so dig deep, gals. Heart Books believes every man, woman and child should have the opportunity to read, and every woman in this room should have the opportunity to date a hunk. I promise you, that’s a mild description of the man who’s next on the auction block.”
Jonah winced. He’d never read a romance novel, but he’d never had anything against them. Until now. Murphy’s Law had been working overtime for the company to be planning its bachelor auction to celebrate fifty years of publishing at the exact moment when an editor had seen him on TV fishing a lady’s puppy out of the drink.
A cheer rose from the crowd, and he knew they must have flashed a still of that puppy scene on the giant screens positioned on either side of the stage.
“Although he needs no further introduction, let me add that this valiant and tenderhearted gentleman is twenty-nine years old, graduated from SUNY with a degree in sociology, stands six-two and weighs in at a hundred and eighty-three pounds dripping wet. His hobbies include basketball and sailing, and I’m told he plays a mean game of chess.”
Jonah grimaced at the sailing part. One of his buddies had a dinky little boat they took out once in a while, but Jonah didn’t consider himself much of a sailor. The chief had insisted he put it down on the questionnaire because it sounded sexy.
The emcee continued the buildup, tightening the noose. “As your program states, bachelor number twenty-seven comes with an afternoon sail on the Hudson followed by a breathtaking helicopter ride over the city at night. The couple will then be limoed to the Plaza, where dinner and two complimentary rooms will be provided, plus a gourmet breakfast. Let’s welcome the man who’s lit a fire under the entire female population of New York City, the man voted most wanted to carry us from a burning building, FDNY firefighter Jonah Hayes!”
The blood roared in Jonah’s ears as he forced himself to walk out on the stage. With luck he wouldn’t pass out, although unconsciousness might be a blessing. Fortunately the spotlights blinded him to the audience seated at linen-draped tables, but he couldn’t shut out the sound of their applause, the cheers or the whistling. It was a nightmare, and it was all the fault of that innocent-looking blonde he’d seen on so many afternoons in the park, walking her little black puppy.
Why couldn’t she have held on to the damn leash? Then he could have stopped during his jog some afternoon and spoken to her, as he’d planned to do. If she’d been friendly, they might have had a nice normal date. Meanwhile he’d still be living his own quiet life. He’d have been able to keep his old phone number and he wouldn’t be shopping for groceries at three in the morning to avoid being mobbed by women.
“And what’s the first bid for this modern-day Sir Galahad?” trilled the emcee into the microphone.
“Ten thousand!” called a woman from the balcony.
Jonah almost choked. The last guy had gone for six, and they were starting the bid for him at ten. Good God. Who did these women think he was?
“Twelve!” shouted someone from the main floor.
“Fifteen!”
“Seventeen!”
Jonah stood in total shock as the bidding grew frenzied, rising above the cost of a medium-priced car. What could an ordinary guy like him possibly do or say in a twenty-four-hour period that would make a woman feel satisfied with that kind of investment? He was doomed.
“Thirty thousand!”
Jonah closed his eyes. Unbelievable.
“Thirty-two!”
“I have thirty-two,” said the emcee, winking at him. “Do I hear thirty-three? Come on, ladies. People say the heroes in romance novels are too good to be true. Here’s living proof they’re not. Who’ll be the lucky woman to win New York’s favorite fireman?”
“Thirty-three!” came a bid from the back.
Jonah prayed that would be the end,
