The Bachelor Auction (The Bachelors of Arizona Book 1) by Rachel van Dyken

insulting?
    Okay, she sighed. If I was a mousetrap where would I hide?
    After a few minutes rummaging in the barn, where the ass was currently watching her with terrifying intensity, she found some rat poison and two mousetraps.
    She walked back into the house, grabbed some peanut butter for the traps, then carefully walked up the stairs.
    Brock hadn’t moved from his spot. Instead, he was staring into the bathroom as if he’d just seen a ghost.
    “Move.” She pushed by him.
    “Maybe we should just shut the door,” He offered in a quiet voice.
    She jerked away from his body. “Shut the door? And what? Let the mice just spread throughout the house?”
    He seemed unsure, and then with a nod stepped away from her as she made her way back into the bathroom.
    Both mice were huddled in the corner, as if people didn’t bother them one bit.
    Were they pets or something?
    They looked at her, then at each other, then back at her, and slowly approached like she was holding out treats.
    “I can’t do it.” She stood and slowly backed out of the room.
    “What the hell do you mean you can’t do it?” Brock roared. “They’re mice. They carry diseases.”
    “They have kind eyes!” She lowered the traps. “And I can’t be responsible for their deaths.”
    “You’re serious?”
    She nodded and shoved the traps into his hands. In hindsight, she could have done it more slowly, possibly more gently, but the minute the traps snapped she knew it was too late.
    With a loud roar, Brock stumbled backward, one trap clinging to his fingers, the other hanging from his T-shirt from what looked like part of his nipple.
    He was still yelling in rage.
    Jane covered her face with her hands.
    When he was done swearing, she jerked the trap from his chest, harder perhaps than necessary.
    His glare said it all. “It’s not funny.”
    She bit down on her bottom lip and grabbed the other trap from his right hand.
    “There.” She couldn’t stop laughing. “You’re as good as new.”
    Nostrils flaring, he brushed up against her, setting her body instantly on fire. “You did that on purpose.”
    “Had I done it on purpose I would have aimed lower,” she said sweetly, blinking her eyes in innocence while trying to get out of the too small bathroom with the large man in it. Regardless of how many times he acted like a jerk, he intrigued her way more than she cared to admit. Because she couldn’t forget how kind he’d been at the party. And that guy had to be in there, too, right?
    He shook out his right hand and placed both hands on his narrow hips, which only drew her attention once again to his body.
    “Just stay out of the room next door.” He brushed past her and went straight down the stairs, leaving her alone with the mice, the traps, and the distinct impression that if he had a choice between her and the traps…
    He’d probably choose the traps.

Chapter Eighteen
    W omen asked too many questions.
    Stupid questions.
    Brock held the ice pack against his sore chest and winced as the memory of his last encounter with Jane played back in his head.
    Something inside of him was snapping.
    It was this damn house.
    The fucking living room with all of the pictures.
    The way that he couldn’t even look at the stairway without thinking about his father making them a slide down the stairs.
    Or the Legos that used to be scattered in every single corner until his father tripped on one of Brock’s latest inventions, only to fall down the stairs and sprain his ankle.
    Everywhere he looked, he saw happiness.
    Until the memory shifted and he was that same little boy, playing with the same toys—alone. The blinds drawn, the laughter gone.
    “Hell.” He wiped his face with his hands and cursed. It wasn’t her fault she was here.
    But she was an easy target.
    Because she made him feel things.
    She was a tangible reminder of all he’d lost, all he’d never have. She was doing exactly what his mother had done in this house—cooking,