Page 14 of Mismatched Mates (Special Bear Protectors)

JANE

I t felt as though I had suddenly stepped off a cliff, from reality into a dream. Grant came through the back with me and didn’t so much as utter a word of complaint as I talked him through how it was going to work—he was going to stay here in the hopes that it would be a surprise for the audience, and be presented last as the biggest prize.

And then, as per the terms of the deal, he would actually have to go on a date with the successful party. I outlined the expectations—dinner date, prepaid, at a reputable restaurant in the heart of Pine River, lasting for at least an hour—and tried not to imagine him sitting there with a nameless woman.

The thing was, Grant was right: he could be charming. It was only when you looked closer, saw everything his smile hid, that you might suspect he wasn’t as easy breezy as he seemed.

“You okay?” he asked when I was done, reaching out to brush that annoying strand of hair back from my forehead.

“Yeah, good. Better. Just…” I hesitated, because I was grateful, but this event was a big deal, with a lot of society names in attendance, so I couldn’t afford for things to go wrong…

“Why did you offer to help?”

“What do you mean?” His eyes looked into mine without a hint of guile.

“I mean this isn’t part of our deal.”

“I didn’t come here of my own volition,” he grinned and bent down to kiss my cheek. “But now I am here, I might as well do something useful.”

“Yes, but do you actually want to do this?” Was it curiosity or suspicion that fueled my question?

The smile left his eyes, and he tipped my chin into the air. “I wanted to help you because you looked like you needed help, and I could. There doesn’t have to be anything more to it than that.”

My heart gave an alarming pang. If I was honest with myself, this wasn’t me. The person who was so distracted in the final days of organizing this event wasn’t me. I wasn’t the kind of person to fixate on a man to the degree that I couldn’t focus on anything else. For three days straight, all I’d been able to think about was the gleam in his silvery eyes and the low grunt he made at the back of his throat when I’d put my hands on him.

Control was slipping through my fingers, and it had everything to do with the man standing in front of me, rescuing the day.

A few minutes later, the auction started. The men we’d selected were reasonably attractive, and they took it in good sport, posing and flexing as the ladies around the tables shouted out numbers to the auctioneer.

Then it was Grant’s turn.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an unexpected addition to our auction lineup tonight," I announced, and as his eyes found mine, a flicker of something I couldn't quite name passed between us. "Grant Elston has generously offered himself as a date to the highest bidder."

Jacket on but somehow still managing to look sexily disheveled, he strolled onto the stage to loud whistles and whoops. The whooping overpowered the applause. Grant grinned, hands on his hips, and gave them a flourishing bow.

“We’ll start the bidding at $500 for our worthy cause.” A conservative estimate, but he wasn’t the special guest we had bargained for, and I didn’t want to seem too eager. Anxiety coiled in my stomach. What if this plan backfired? What if no one...

"$500!" A bid broke through the silence, followed by another at $650. Relief washed over me as the bids climbed higher; each number a step closer to success.

“One thousand,” one woman said, blowing a kiss at Grant. He pretended to catch it, and my stomach did an unsteady wobble.

Then came a sudden leap to $5000 that startled everyone present. My gaze flickered between Grant and the bidders, feeling a strange mix of hope and concern knotting in my chest. As more bids soared past $6000 and beyond, I stole glances at Grant who egged them on silently.

The bids spiraled – $6500, $7000 – fueled by competitive spirits vying for victory. Grant gyrated his hips and then, with a wink at me, tugged off his jacket, revealing the T-shirt underneath that was molded to his skin. My mouth went dry at the sight of his long, lean body, the rounded muscles of his shoulders and arms, the tight, slim line of his stomach and hips.

“Your boyfriend is hot ,” Midge, one of my employees, whispered, leaning over at me. When I glanced at her in surprise, she added, “Leon told me.”

A swift movement snagged my attention, and I pivoted to see a woman advancing purposefully towards the auction block. She cut a striking figure in a sleek champagne gown, accentuating her platinum blonde hair spilling over one shoulder.

"Ten thousand dollars," she declared, her voice ringing out clear and self-assured. The room hushed momentarily before erupting into a buzz of excitement.

The auctioneer started the count, "Ten thousand going once..." only to be swiftly interrupted by another voice, "Eleven thousand."

The blonde bidder raised her paddle once more, announcing confidently, "Fifteen thousand." A sense of astonishment gripped me; this bid far exceeded my expectations for the fundraiser.

"Twenty thousand," a new bidder chimed in from the crowd.

The blonde's gaze sharpened as she countered. "Fifty thousand dollars," the blonde proclaimed firmly.

The auctioneer's voice echoed. “Going once, going twice… “ The gavel descended with a resounding crack. "Sold! To the beautiful blonde with a huge heart for $50,000!”

"Looks like you might have lost him to that beautiful blonde," Midge remarked. Not only was she stunning, but her bold bidding had captured the interest of everyone in the room.

I cleared my throat of the frog that seemed to have taken residence there. “Yeah.”

The blonde ascended the stage and Grant took her hand, kissing it gallantly, just the way he did with me.

I wanted to help you because you looked like you needed help, and I could. There doesn’t have to be anything more to it than that.

There was no doubting that he’d done just that. A small gesture to him that meant so much to me—but did he know? Or did the world just watch me lose another man to another woman?

His gaze met mine over the crowd, and he gave me a smile meant just for me. Warmth spiraled through me, and I shoved the ugly, jealous thoughts aside. I needed to stop overanalyzing for once. He’d just stepped up for me in a way my ex never had.

Once the event ended, he sent Konrad home with Winslow and opted to stay and help me clean up. We’d hired a few extra hands, but it would have been negligent of me to leave before making sure the venue was in the condition we found it.

“You didn’t have to stay, you know,” I said.

He shrugged. “I know.”

“Ready for your date?”

“She’s a very beautiful woman,” he said with a straight face, and laughed. “No, but seriously,” his gaze darkened when he looked at me. “I can name one person I’d rather be on a date with.”

“Sorry I don’t have fifty thousand to give you.”

“I’ll settle for a kiss.”

"One kiss," I conceded, my tone firm. When our lips met, there was no intense desire or overwhelming passion. Instead, the kiss held a tenderness that caught me off guard. Stunned, I realized it was the first real kiss we’d shared. We parted reluctantly, and he gave me an exaggerated bow.

As he turned to leave, he called out, "Jane?"

I paused, looking back over my shoulder.

"Thank you," he said. "For letting me help tonight. It... it felt good to do something worthwhile for a change." Then he hurried off to help two men fold one of the larger tables.

This was the Grant he didn’t usually let the world see, the one hiding under the careless smile. The Grant I didn’t even think his father saw in him. The urge to capture it, hold the image of him doing this like a polaroid, was almost overwhelming, and I turned away. I had a job to do, and it was decidedly not to moon over Grant Elston.

But one thing was certain: the line between fake and real was blurring more with each passing day. And I had no idea how to stop it – or if I even wanted to.

Despite the undeniable sexual chemistry, after the gala, I was able to convince myself that I didn't have any feelings for Grant.

But after seeing him volunteer to be auctioned off to help me and staying until the very end, his T-shirt soaked with sweat as he helped clean up, I couldn’t deny it any longer.

I liked Grant. There was a mischief to him, a lightness that made me want to smile the way I hadn’t in a long time. But more than that, there was a good man lurking underneath all those layers of defensive charm, and I wanted to peel them back. Expose him for the man he was.

More than anything, I wanted to see him again. As ridiculous as it was, as unnecessarily dramatic as it was, I found myself craving him. Unable to sleep, tossing and turning as I thought about his hands on me at the gala, or the look in his eyes when he told me he wanted to help me just because. The charity had rang and told me he’d gone on the date, just as promised. Imagining him on a date with that gorgeous blonde made my stomach squelch.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as I stared at my computer screen, the cursor blinking accusingly on a half-finished email. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, but instead of typing, they drifted to the edge of my desk, drumming an absent, nervous rhythm.

Grant's face floated into my mind unbidden. That slight quirk at the corner of his mouth when he'd caught me staring.

I shook my head, trying to focus. "Get it together, Jane," I muttered. The ache in my shoulders intensified as I hunched further over my laptop, squinting at the screen.

The faint scratch of my pen against paper filled the quiet office as I absently doodled in the margins of my notes. Spirals and loops, unconsciously mirroring the circular path of my thoughts. They kept returning to Grant, to the guarded way his voice had tightened when he'd mentioned his father.

I’d always been a nurturer. It was maybe my best quality and biggest flaw. As the days dragged by, I found myself wondering what I could do to soothe the pain he probably didn’t even acknowledge he had.

Five days after the charity auction, I idly corrected the same typo for what felt like the fifteenth time when my phone buzzed beside me. The muted buzz of my phone cut through my reverie. I grabbed it, seeing my son's name on the screen. “What’s up, buddy?”

“Soccer practice finished twenty minutes ago.” He sounded annoyed in a way I was certain would only get worse as he aged. “Where are you?”

“What?” I glanced at the clock only to find it was nearly half past five. “Shit. I’m so sorry, I’m coming now.”

“Was that a bad word?”

“No!” Note to self: stop swearing around the kids . “Are you okay? Is there somewhere safe you can wait?” I closed my laptop without bothering to finish the email and grabbed my jacket, hurrying out into the sprinkling rain. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Did you forget about us?”

“Of course not..” I felt guilty enough for the both of us already. Even after Jason left, I never forgot about their practices. Tuesday and Thursday were soccer days—I picked them up on Tuesdays and Mom picked them up on Thursdays.

How did I not know what day of the week it was?

I hung up and pushed the speed limit—never quite breaking it—to the front of the school, where the boys were sitting on the steps alone. The rest of the kids had all gone home. The guilt rose in my chest. Bad enough their Father supposedly moved on—I couldn’t let them think I’d forgotten them too.

"Hey guys," I called, trying to inject some cheerfulness into my voice. "I'm so sorry I'm late."

"Practice ended forever ago, Mom," Lance grumbled as he slid into the backseat.

I swallowed hard. "I know, I lost track of time at work. How about we grab some pizza on the way home to make up for it?"

“Takeout?” Brandon asked skeptically, tilting his head. Usually pizza meant a frozen pie.

I gave in. “Takeout. But don’t tell Grandma, because she doesn’t think small boys should have pizza too often.”

“We’re not small boys,” Lance said.

“Yeah,” Brandon said. “And last time we were at Grandma’s house, she said we needed to stop growing because it was a crime. So there.”

“It’s true,” I said, catching their eyes in the rear-view mirror. “You are growing up too fast. I want you to stay my little boys forever.”

Brandon just rolled his eyes. “ Mom .”

“I’m serious.” We pulled up on the driveway and I put the car in park. “Okay, you know the rules. Get changed and put your gym stuff in the laundry basket and then we can talk about pizza.”

They slammed the doors as they raced inside, too-big bags bouncing on their backs as they yelled encouragement at each other, turning the simple chore into a race.

I dipped my head into my hands for a moment. Disaster averted—the title of Worst Mom Ever hadn’t been handed to me along with a crown of thorns—but even now, even when I still churned with guilt about forgetting to pick up the boys, Grant was still in the back of my head.

The white scar across his lips. The mischievous glint in his eyes.

The way he’d come to my rescue and protected me from his family’s barbs. The way he’d stepped up at the charity event even when that wasn’t part of our deal. Just because .

I felt as though I was losing my mind, that tug in my stomach still urging me toward him even though we hadn’t spoken or texted since the event. Not once.

“Mom,” Lance yelled from their bedroom window. “Come on . I want pizza.”

I shook myself out of my daze. “Coming!” I swore to myself I was going to put Grant out of my mind, at least for the evening, but I knew it was going to be impossible.

Three days later, I sat at my kitchen table, staring at a to-do list that seemed to mock me with its unfinished tasks. A half-empty mug of coffee sat by my elbow, long since gone cold. I tapped my pen against the paper, my mind refusing to focus on the mundane tasks before me.

The itch hadn’t gone away. If anything, it only got stronger, and by Friday, I was about ready to throw in the towel. Call him, ask him to come over, just break the silence that was eating away into my peace.

As it happened, however, I didn’t have to. My phone buzzed and my heart leapt when I saw the name on the screen.

Grant: Look outside .

For three full seconds, I didn’t move, waiting for the surge of happiness from a simple text to subside. Then, phone clutched in my hand, I pushed back from the table and headed to the long window by the front door.

Grant stood next to a red sports car that looked alarmingly like a Maserati, with flowers in his hands. A red car with matching red roses. I guess it was just another vehicle owned by the family, who seemed to have more cars than most people have shirts.

It felt as though my entire body was shaking as I unlatched the door and opened it. “What are you doing here?” was the best I could manage.

“Not the best way to greet your boyfriend.” He leaned in and kissed me on the mouth. “Sorry if this is a bad time. I tried to time it with your lunch hour.”

“I—” I’d forgotten to eat lunch, so wrapped up with what was going on in my head and heart that I’d forgotten my stomach might need some attention.

Something else that was new for me. Usually , I never forgot to eat. My lunch hours were an important part of every day. A healthy body equaled a healthy mind.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh, sure.” I stepped aside, doing my best to ignore my body’s urge to touch him on his way past, to lay my hands on him to reassure myself that he was real. “I mean it, though. You never said that you were coming.”

He offered me the flowers with his best impression of a rueful expression. “It was a bit of a spur-of-the-moment decision. Honestly, I missed you.” He let the thought sit for a moment. “And I justified it to myself by thinking that it would be a good thing if people saw me going to your house in between now and the wedding.”

I missed you .

That was the feeling in my chest, the one I’d never really had with Jason despite the ten long years of marriage. I’d missed him.

He frowned as he stroked my face. “Is everything okay?”

No. I’ve been going half out of my mind thinking about you. And I’m freaking out about what that might mean for the long term.

“Still no word from Jason on the lawsuit,” I said instead. “But no news is good news right?”

“I told you it was taken care of,” he murmured, eyes darkening. “Want me to pay him another visit?”

“What? No. I want to forget he exists.”

Grant’s eyes fell to my lips and his fingers moved to the back of my neck. “Want me to help you forget?”

We needed to have a conversation about this entire situation. The dress, the flowers, the sudden arrival here in the middle of my workday.

My pragmatic side screamed at me to step back, to maintain what little distance I had left. But for once, I silenced that voice. Instead, I let my hand drift up to rest on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my palm. My fingers were curling in the material of his T-shirt, my back was against a wall, and I didn’t know how any of it had happened.

His breath played across my skin. "What are we doing?" I murmured against his chest.

His chuckle rumbled through me. "I have no idea," he confessed. "But I know I don't want to stop."