The Bachelor. Marie Ferrarella

to whatever they had to return to. She’d seen more than one woman look Eric’s way as they walked past table after full table. Attractive women sitting across from attractive men.

      But then, Eric was in a class all his own. He had a certain something. Magnetism, she thought it was called.

      It could have been called Oscar for all she knew, Jenny thought. The only thing she was certain of was that it still had a deep effect on her.

      He was smiling at her, really smiling. Not indulgently, the way a person did when they pasted on a smile and counted off the minutes until someone was through talking to them, but genuinely.

      Or was that only wishful thinking on her part? “What?” she finally asked.

      Eric sobered ever so slightly. He didn’t want her thinking he was laughing at her. “It’s just that Jordan never mentioned any of this. The only time he talked about you was to say you were chairing some charitable event. I had no idea Jordan’s little sister had turned into Joan of Arc.”

      Self-consciousness returned in droves. Once again she was that little girl in the living room with two left shoes on. It had taken her years to live that down. Her mother kept it in her arsenal, ready to pull out at a moment’s notice.

      “Did I just sound too pompous?”

      He read her expression quickly and with regret. In his opinion, there weren’t enough true do-gooders in the world. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound as if I was poking fun at you, I was just impressed. My parents would have been, too. They believe very strongly in the concept of giving back.”

      A light turned on inside of her, burning brightly. He was impressed. Eric Logan was impressed with her. Never mind that it was for something she did as routinely as breathing, he’d taken notice of her. She felt lighter than air.

      “It’s not so much a matter of giving back as it is just trying to balance the odds.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent like that.”

      “It wasn’t a tangent,” Eric protested. “As I remember, I asked you a question.”

      She tried not to flush and mentally upbraided herself for her reaction when she did.

      What was it about the way the man spoke, looked, hell, breathed, that negated all her schooling, all her thoughts, everything inside her head and gave her the IQ of a dull button?

      “The question you should be asking is about the fund-raiser.”

      Then, as if he had done just that, Jenny went on to give him the date, time and location of the affair. The Portland Hilton had graciously donated one of their larger ballrooms for the evening in exchange for the publicity the fund-raiser was guaranteed to generate in the local newspapers. She’d already made a point to release the story to the Herald and the Tribune, making sure there would be follow-ups on the night of the event. Sleep these days came at a high premium.

      She watched Eric jot down the information and held her breath as he went through his PalmPilot and made sure he had no conflicting engagement. To her relief and minor disbelief, he didn’t.

      So far, so good.

      “I’ll need you there at least half an hour before the auction starts,” she told him as he closed his Palm-Pilot and tucked it away into the breast pocket of his Armani jacket.

      “Will you, now?”

      Jenny knew the teasing words were uttered just in fun, but she felt them slide down her spine like the warm, caressing fingers of a lover. Or what she imagined the warm, caressing fingers of a lover would feel like, never having had the firsthand experience herself.

      It took effort not to shiver as the sensation danced through her.

      From some unknown source, she discovered an iota of saliva and husbanded it before swallowing to relieve a throat that was suddenly so parched, it made the Mojave Desert look like a rain forest.

      “I mean we need you there earlier so we can go over the order you’ll all be in and what you want me to say when I introduce you to the bidders.”

      “I have to write my own intro?” He hadn’t thought of that. Listing his accomplishments wasn’t something he was accustomed to.

      Jenny thought of last year. A great many of the men who were auctioned off had very clear ideas about what she should say about them before the bidding began. “A lot of the bachelors like doing that.”

      Eric shrugged carelessly. “Why don’t you take care of that?” he suggested. In his estimation, she looked a little stunned. “Say anything you want to say.”

      How about “I love you”?

      Jenny blinked with a jolt, as startled by the unbidden thought as she knew he would have been had she said it out loud.

      Eric interpreted her reaction to be to his words, not some thought that had suddenly occurred to her. “What, no good?”

      She tried to suck in a breath as covertly as possible. “No, that’ll be fine. I think I know enough about you to make an intelligent presentation.” Striving to look anywhere but at his face, she glanced down at her wrist. And saw her watch. The numbers registered and she groaned. “Oh, God.”

      “What’s wrong?”

      She looked up at him, fighting a growing panic. She was going to be late. This was just par for today. “It’s two o’clock.”

      “And just what time did your fairy godmother tell you to be back?” he teased. He didn’t exactly know why, but everything about Jenny made him think of Cinderella. “Do your clothes start disappearing now, changing into tatters?”

      With her thoughts scattering in two directions at once, his words made no sense to her. She absolutely hated being late. She pictured poor Miguel and his family waiting for her in the long courthouse hallway, thinking that she had deserted them. “What?” She began rummaging through her purse for her cell phone, praying that the battery hadn’t been struck dead by some fluke of nature. “No. I mean, I’m due in court at three.”

      Taking her wrist, he turned it slightly so he could read the face on her watch, as well. “That still gives you an hour.”

      She could feel her skin throbbing where his thumb and forefinger had touched it. “Yes, but I need to call a cab and if there’s traffic—”

      He placed his hand over hers to curtail the stream of words he saw coming. Unable to quite read it, Eric found himself curious about the look that leaped into her eyes.

      “Why don’t I drive you to court?”

      The casual offer had air rushing out of her lungs like helium from a punctured balloon. “What?”

      Was it his imagination, or did she look flustered? “Why don’t I drive you to court?” he repeated, then grinned. “That would solve your problem, wouldn’t it?”

      All but for the lobotomy his smile was threatening to perform on her brain. She ran the tip of her dry tongue along her drier lips.

      “Don’t you have to get back to the office?” she asked hoarsely.

      It had been a full, if unproductive morning. “All of today’s crises have been safely averted,” he informed her. “And if a new one crops up, Peter’ll handle it.” He thought of his older brother, shoulder to the wheel, nose to the grindstone. His father couldn’t have asked for a better son to run the company if he had had him made to order. “Peter always handles it.”

      Was that a note of sibling rivalry she detected? No, if that were the case, then Eric would have been anxious to get back into the arena. It was more as if he was acknowledging the lines that had been drawn.

      “Peter’s very conscientious.” It wasn’t really a guess. Jordan had told her as much.

      “That he is,” Eric agreed. “To a fault.”