Single, Sexy...And Sold! Read online

  “I have absolutely no intention of making love to you.”

  “Good, because I have no intention of making love to you, either,” Natalie said.

  Jonah’s kiss came hard and fast, and she moaned with delight. Pushing her down against the leather bench, he began working at the buttons of her blouse as he continued to kiss her.

  She pulled his knit shirt from the waistband of his slacks and ran her hands up underneath to feel the play of muscles across his broad back. To touch him was heaven. To be touched by him was…unbelievable. She gasped as he unfastened her bra and cupped her breast. It was the right touch, the one she’d waited for, dreamed of… She saw stars. She heard bells.

  Or rather one bell, which was ringing rather persistently.

  He lifted his mouth from hers. “Lunch,” he said raggedly. “If we…” He paused to take a deep breath. “If we don’t go on deck, they’re liable to come down after us.”

  “Oh,” she whispered. “I’d forgotten about the media circus surrounding this date. Do you think the TV crews are still out there?”

  “It’s very likely,” Jonah answered. “And unless you want the world to know that you haven’t been making love with your $33,000 man, I’d suggest we get dressed.”

  Vicki Lewis Thompson

  SINGLE, SEXY…AND SOLD!

  For Audrey and Dan,

  who will live happily ever after.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  THE PUPPY HADN’T worked out, either.

  Natalie’s breath frosted the air as she stood beside the lake in Central Park and played out the leash while Bobo searched for the perfect place to squat. Not far away a camera crew from WOR-TV was taking scenic shots, probably to use on the evening weather report. Natalie watched them for a minute before returning her attention to the puppy.

  Damn, he was cute—jet-black except for a white spot on his tummy where he loved to be scratched. She’d been sure his floppy ears, stubby legs and soulful eyes would captivate her mother. But Bobo hadn’t rated any more attention than the herb garden, the laptop computer, the aromatherapy unit or the home gym Natalie had hauled up to her mother’s apartment. Six months after her husband’s death, Alice LeBlanc did nothing but work thousand-piece jigsaw puzzles and cry. It broke Natalie’s heart.

  But having Bobo helped ease the pain. He’d chewed her favorite loafers and stained the Oriental carpet beside her bed, but one look into his baby brown eyes and she forgave him anything. During the cab ride home from Wall Street every afternoon she pictured his wriggling, joyful welcome and was almost glad her mother hadn’t wanted him.

  Almost. She needed to solve this problem with Alice, who refused to see either a doctor or a counselor. Gazing over the tops of the leafless trees, Natalie picked out her own lit apartment windows and her mother’s two stories above that. There had to be a way to coax her mother out of this depression, if she could just think of what—

  “Bobo!” She made a grab for the leash, but the puppy’s unexpected leap for freedom yanked it right out of her hand. “Bobo, no!”

  Leash trailing, he bounded toward the lake, intent on playing with a pair of mallards pecking a hole in the ice.

  “Bobo, come back!” She ran after him, but he was already skidding across the slick surface in pursuit of the ducks. Then, with a sickening crack, he fell through.

  “Bobo!” She started after him just as his head bobbed to the surface. He’d never be able to climb out again. The ice was too thin.

  A strong hand gripped her arm, pulling her back. “I’ll get him.”

  She looked into the warm brown eyes of a stranger. “But—”

  “I’m a firefighter. Rescues are my job.”

  She glanced down at the letters on his sweatshirt—FDNY.

  “Don’t worry,” he murmured. With a reassuring squeeze he released her arm and started out on the ice.

  “He’s…he’s just a puppy!” she called after him.

  “I know. He’ll be fine.”

  Natalie clenched her hands under her chin. “It’s okay, Bobo! The nice man’s coming to get you! Keep swimming, baby!” Heart pounding, she watched the puppy struggling to keep his head above the icy water. Oh, God. He was so little.

  “I’m coming, Bobo. Hang on, buddy.” The firefighter inched forward, testing the ice with every step. Finally he got to his hands and knees and crawled.

  Natalie winced as she imagined how cold that would be on his bare hands and through the knees of his cotton jogging pants. He must have been out for a late-afternoon run when he saw Bobo fall in. She held her breath as he eased to his stomach and stretched out his arms to the puppy. Just a little more…a little…

  Crunch. A portion of ice gave way beneath his shoulders as he made a grab for the dog. When his head and shoulders went underwater, Natalie started out on the ice.

  “Wait, lady!” someone yelled. “He’s got him!”

  She paused, just as powerful spotlights illuminated the area. In the same instant the firefighter came up with Bobo and rolled sideways to a solid patch of ice. Several people cheered, and Natalie looked around in amazement at the crowd that had gathered, including the TV crew. A camera was trained on the drenched man crawling back to the shore, a wiggling Bobo clutched under his arm.

  Natalie wanted to hug the breath out of that fireman. As the terror receded she noticed he was darned cute, too. His job required him to be in shape, but she doubted the fire department required a square jaw and beautiful eyes.

  When he reached a firmer patch of ice he staggered to his feet and 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, and amazingly, it was. The emcee tried to coax more from the crowd, but apparently thirty-three thousand dollars was the limit. Some limit. He’d be spending a weekend with a very wealthy idiot.

  An aide posted at the back of the room hurried forward with the winner’s name and handed it to the emcee.

  The emcee read the information on the piece of paper and glanced up with a grin. “This is a moment right out of a romance novel, ladies, what people in the trade call a cute meet. Our lucky bidder is none other than the woman whose puppy Jonah saved from the freezing lake, Natalie LeBlanc!”

  Oh, sure she was, Jonah thought. Women had been calling the station for weeks claiming to be Natalie LeBlanc. One had even said she was Natalie’s mother. He hadn’t dared return any of the calls. Then women had shown up at the station with their hair dyed blond and cut short, the way Natalie’s had looked on the TV clip. This was probably just another goofball looking for publicity.

  The emcee motioned Jonah over to the mike and he went with great reluctance. She spoke into the mike. “Have you and Natalie communicated since that afternoon, Jonah?” She held it out to him.

  He cleared his throat. “No. My life since then has been a little crazy.”

  “Understandably so,” the emcee said. “I’m afraid that’s what you get for being such a great guy. You have our sincere gratitude, Jonah. If you’ll just follow Denise, she’ll escort you to Natalie. Let’s have a round of applause for firefighter Jonah Hayes. We’re all carrying a torch for you, gorgeous.”

  Certain he was about to be the victim of some fatal attraction, Jonah allowed himself to be led off the stage and into the audience. Getting to the back of the room was no easy trick as guests left their tables to block his way. And of course, the damn TV camera preceded him, poking in his face whenever possible.

  Denise was polite but firm as she eased him through the crowd. Jonah had never inhaled so much perfume in his life. Individually he might have liked many of these women. As a mob they were scary. They all wanted something—an autograph, a button off his coat, a kiss, a date, a date for their daughter. Soon the pockets of his tux coat bulged with slips of paper women had stuffed in as he went by.

  As he glanced toward the back of the room, he noticed a blonde who’d done a better job than most at imitating the woman who’d lost her puppy. He looked closer. She was all decked out in a sparkly silver off-the-shoulder dress, but her hair was the way he remembered it, very light blond with a raggedy cut framing her face, making her look like a sexy urchin. As he continued toward the back of the room and got a better look, he was impressed with how much she looked like the real Natalie. It was probably the lousy lighting in the room.

  She was definitely the highest bidder, because there was an empty chair pushed in next to
hers at the table. His chair. But of course she wasn’t really Natalie. The real Natalie wouldn’t be here—not the woman who looked so cute playing with her dog, who had such expressive gray eyes, who had such an adorable turned-up nose. That person wouldn’t have been stupid enough to pay thirty-three thousand dollars to be with him. She wouldn’t bid on a guy like a rancher buying a prize bull to stand at stud. She wouldn’t—

  “Jonah,” Denise said, “although you’ve met before, allow me to formally introduce you to the lady who submitted the winning bid, Natalie LeBlanc.”

  She would.

  NATALIE TRIED not to hyperventilate. She’d just cleaned out her retirement account, her nest egg, her hedge against turning into a bag lady, in the space of ten minutes. And her reward was approaching her table, much to the excitement of the women sitting with her.

  “I can’t believe you did this,” her friend Barb said under her breath.

  Natalie glanced briefly at her redheaded office partner. “I had to,” she muttered. Then she turned back to Jonah, her smile firmly in place. The money didn’t matter, she told herself while she tried to keep her teeth from chattering as adrenaline poured through her system.

  What mattered was that her mother had seen the news clip of Jonah rescuing Bobo and had begun writing a romance novel with a firefighter as the hero. This particular firefighter, in fact. Her mother hadn’t been able to reach him to ask all her research questions, and heaven knows Natalie had tried. But when she had suggested contacting other firemen, Alice seemed to think only Jonah would do.

  Natalie believed this novel-writing project would do the trick. Her mother had always fantasized about being an author, but marriage to a New York Times book critic had sapped her courage to try. Years ago Natalie had found the first chapter of a romance her mother had started to write then abandoned for fear her intellectual husband would make fun of her. Now Alice was free to follow her dream.