Paying The Playboy's Price. Emilie Rose

was my brother. I’m not married.”

      “’S’all right then as long as you’re over twenty-one.”

      Her long lashes fluttered and a pleat formed between her eyebrows. “You have jealous husbands chasing you?”

      She’d ignored his comment about age. “Not anymore.”

      Her red lips parted and her chest—a damned fine chest—rose. “But you did?”

      “Yeah.” Most guys didn’t take it well when they found out their wives had slept with another man. Rex hadn’t taken the news that some of the groupies were married well, either—especially since the info had often been delivered via their husbands’ fists after the intimate encounters.

      He thought he heard Juliana wheeze as she turned to descend the steps. He’d have to be dead not to appreciate her long, sleek and sexy-as-all-get-out legs atop those red heels. She stopped abruptly at the base of the stairs with a distressed expression on her pretty face.

      “Problem?”

      She touched long slender fingers to her temple and then against her throat. “I rode with friends. I don’t have a car, and I want to…” She looked past his shoulder and panic flared in her eyes.

      He turned and spotted the pearl-clad dragon lady who’d organized the event and an uptight-looking man coming through the front door of the club. Understanding dawned. “You want to get out of here?”

      “Yes, and fast.”

      “Did you write a bad check?”

      Impossible as it seemed, her regal posture turned even starchier, as if he’d insulted her. “Of course not. Please, get me out of here.”

      These days he avoided ugly scenes. “My bike’s this way.”

      Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She gestured to her skimpy attire. “I’m hardly dressed for a motorcycle ride.”

      He ought to leave her, but dammit, he’d agreed to this stupid auction and he would follow through. Besides, he wouldn’t wish the dragon lady on anybody. “I don’t see any taxis. If you need to make a fast getaway, then I’m your only option. Where to? Home?”

      She grimaced. “Anywhere but there.”

      “Let’s go.” He grabbed her elbow and towed her toward his Harley. She jogged to keep up. When they reached the side of his motorcycle—one of a handful of items he’d kept from his past—he tossed her his spare helmet and waited to see that she knew how to fasten it before donning his own. “Hop on and hold on.”

      Seconds later she’d mounted the bike behind him and gingerly clutched his waist, but she kept several inches between them. He twisted the throttle. The engine roared and the bike surged forward as he released the clutch. Her squeal pierced the deep growl of the Harley, and then her arms banded around him with close to rib-cracking force, erasing the gap between them.

      Big mistake. Having her naked legs wrapped around his hips with the heat of her crotch pressed snugly against his butt just might melt a few brain cells. And if he couldn’t ignore the softness of her breasts mashing against his shoulder blades and concentrate on the road, then he’d end up wrapping the bike around a telephone pole.

      Warm, humid air rushed past them, fluttering her short skirt and baring more of her toned thighs. He forced his eyes away from the tantalizing sight and back on the road. Where could he take her? The shorter the ride, the better. The roar of the engine made asking impossible. Might as well take her to his place since he and Juliana needed to compare calendars and set up the riding lessons.

      Pride filled his chest as Renegade’s lights came into view. He’d bought the vacant riverfront building in the historical district eight months ago. It had taken a lot of sweat and most of his cash to turn the downstairs into a business and the upstairs into a home his sister Kelly and her girls could visit. He’d opened his doors four months ago, but business hadn’t been as brisk as he’d hoped—hence his participation in the auction.

      He pulled into his narrow private driveway, automatically counting the empty parking spaces out front as he passed. If he wanted to stay in Wilmington near his sister, then he had to turn a profit soon and pay off the bank note.

      He parked, climbed from the bike and removed his helmet. Juliana remained seated. She fumbled to unfasten her chin strap and then pulled off her helmet. Rex rocked back on his heels with a silent whistle of admiration. Now there was a centerfold-quality picture—minus the staples—guaranteed to keep a man up all night. Mile-long legs straddling the Harley’s black seat, red strappy heels, skimpy dress, beautiful face, tumbled hair. A hot package.

      But good-looking women had caused him plenty of trouble before, so he tamped down his physical response and offered his hand. Gingerly, she curled her soft fingers around his and then struggled to draw her leg over the seat. A glimpse of her candy apple–red panties hit his belly like a fireball.

      He caught her elbow as she wobbled on her heels on the cobblestone sidewalk. The evening breeze plastered the silky fabric of her dress against her puckered nipples. Was she wearing anything besides those panties under there? His pulse revved faster. Forget it, Tanner.

      She scrubbed her arms and her tiny silver purse sparkled in the streetlights like rhinestones under stage lights. “Could we go inside?”

      He motioned for her to precede him. When he reached past her to open the door, her scent, an intoxicating mixture of flowers and spice, filled his lungs. She stepped inside and looked around.

      What did she think of his place? He’d played on Wilmington’s TV and film industry. The bar’s theme was movie rebels and renegades—men Rex had identified with back when he’d been a teen who couldn’t wait to break free from family ranching tradition. He’d escaped the day he’d turned eighteen but, seventeen years later, the guilt of his bitter parting words still haunted him.

      The bar itself took up most of the back wall. He’d filled the floor with tables—too many of which were empty on a Saturday night. The waitresses leaned against the back wall.

      “You don’t have any memorabilia from your music career in here.”

      The comment stopped him in his tracks. Juliana knew who he was even though he’d deliberately excluded his recent past in the auction bio. Had she bought him for the braggin’ rights of bedding Rex Tanner, former Nashville bad boy? She wouldn’t be the first with that goal. And as appealing as the idea of hitting the sheets with Juliana might be, he didn’t want his old life intruding here. “No.”

      Her assessing gaze landed on him. “Wouldn’t it be wise to trade on what people know of you?”

      And be known as a has-been for the rest of his life? No thanks. “My music career is over. If people want a honky-tonk they can go elsewhere. Can I get you a drink?”

      “No, thank you. May I stay here for an hour or so? As soon as the auction ends, I can call a friend for a ride.”

      “I’ll take you home after we schedule your lessons.” Her eyes widened. “I have a truck if you don’t want to get back on the bike.”

      “Thank you, but I think I’ll stay with one of my girlfriends tonight. She can come and get me. My car is at her place anyway. We rode to the auction together.”

      Why would a rich chick need to hide? She looked over the age of consent, but looks could be deceiving. “How old did you say you were?”

      She hesitated. “I didn’t say, but I’m thirty, if you must know. Didn’t your mother ever teach you that it’s rude to ask?”

      His mother had taught him a lot of things. And like an ungrateful SOB, he’d thrown her lessons back in her face. “Aren’t you a little old to be running away from home?”

      “You don’t understand. My parents…” She trailed off and took an anxious peek over his shoulder as if she expected them to burst through the