"Think she'll expect sex?"

Jake Muscat's head snapped up so fast he felt a neck muscle pull. He'd been zoning out--maybe he'd missed something in his conversation with Brett Huntsman, his friend of 16 years, something that could have made this comment sensible. But then again, Brett rarely made sense anyway. "What are you talking about?"

"The girl, the one who wins you tonight--think she'll expect you to put out?" Brett pulled back the heavy red velvet curtain and gestured to the throng of women covering every inch of the theater.

Built in the late 1800s at the height of the gold-mining era, the Nugget Theater had been well cared for, retaining its regal atmosphere with the original brick façade and iron shutters, high ceilings, and private balconies. The cast-iron, red velvet-covered rows of seats, usually lining the auditorium, had been removed to make room for the growing crowd of women holding auction paddles, dressed in their finest, and creating a roar comparable to that at a pro football game.

Jake wondered if he hadn't made a terrible, horrible, God-awful mistake when he told Sophie Huntsman, Brett's sister, he'd be the headliner for the fund-raising bachelor auction she arranged. How she'd ever sweet-talked him into being auctioned off like a piece of meat was beyond him. Jake always swore he'd be a good friend--but this was a bit much to ask of anyone.

Now, listening to the catcalls and howls erupting from the crowd--amazingly raunchy noises from these single women--he cringed.

"What did I get myself into?" Jake clung to the stem of his martini glass as though ready to strangle it. Pure estrogen filled the theater--the only men who'd dared risk their presence at this function were Victorian-costumed volunteers and tuxedo-clad eligible bachelors, Jake included, stashed away backstage.

"I love women: their bodies, their smell, their boobs; but this is scary," he commented to Brett, still peeking through the curtains at the crowd. "The way they scream every time a new victim walks on stage makes me think of some Amazon tribe of women who kept men captive."

"No problem here being tied up as a sex slave." Brett's reply was muffled, his face obscured by thick folds of velvet.

Jake spent his high school years on this very stage, acting in plays put on by the American Playwrights Festival. The philanthropic Huntsman Foundation, run and owned by Brett and Sophie's parents, had initiated 30 years ago a small summer-stock festival featuring plays written by American writers.

Within five years, the Festival grew to national importance and put the old mining town of Quartzton on the map. The small, flagging economy--thriving during the gold rush but battered down ever since--was revitalized by tourist dollars pouring in from festival attendees.

Now, Quartzton shimmered as the epitome of a quaint and sweet American small town, with wooden sidewalks, two-storied brick shops, and gingerbread Victorian homes. Several five-star restaurants and pricey boutiques dotted the main street; and several acting stars had gotten their start on Quartzton's theater stage--Jake among them.

Jake performed in the festival when he was 14. He would star in several plays before leaving for college on the East Coast, leaving behind his hometown, friends, and little sister Grace. Although Harvard and Broadway brought him success, Jake missed the small town with its beautiful forests and winding river, tightly woven community, and, especially, his sister.

At least the excuse of the auction had allowed him a long-overdue visit with Grace. Even when he had switched from acting to directing, his agent had kept him on such a busy schedule he rarely came to Quartzton to see her. Staying away had been such a mistake, he mused.

The familiar wave dissipated when one of Jake's fellow bachelors stepped on his foot, making him yelp. Jake had tried to stay inconspicuous by squeezing his six-foot-four-inch body in the corner, to no avail. The backstage area set aside for 30 bachelors seemed about the size of a Porta-Potty.

The heat was suffocating. The fact all the men had to wear tuxes didn't help the situation. He could tell his hair, now affected by the humidity, was curling. He'd inherited his mother's Native American thick, black hair, but from his father's Irish genes he got fair skin and hair that went curly every chance it could.

One of the bachelors abandoned his seat, heading to the stage. Jake grabbed the chair, swung it around backward, and settled his lanky frame down, one arm wrapped around the chair back like a shield; the other cradling his martini from the cluster of other eligible bachelors.

"You really think they might expect sex?" he asked Brett. One-night stands were great--he just didn't think he'd like being bought for one. Besides, he wasn't a complete and utter horn-dog like Brett. Jake liked the idea of getting to know a woman before taking her to bed. Sex always seemed better with personality involved.

"I'm hoping," Brett answered, digging his face out from between the curtain folds to flash Jake a smile. "I'd like a really hot one, someone who wants me to run my tongue up and down her body in one smooth motion, over and over again."

Jake let out a low chuckle; Brett was nothing if not consistent. "These women may actually be after something other than sex with you. Although," he paused, "I guess it's better if the girl who wins me is after just sex instead of a boyfriend."

Brett nudged him with an elbow. "Someday some woman's going to knock your socks right off and you'll be whipping out an engagement ring, down on your knee in front of her, yammering on about a lifetime together and all the babies you two will make."

Jake's jaw tightened. "Not gonna happen."

"Yeah right. Just you wait," Brett said, elbowing him again.

"Really Brett, it won't happen. End of story." Realizing his voice had taken on a harsh edge, Jake mimicked Brett and dug an elbow into his friend's ribs, bringing the cocky smile back to Brett's face. Jake's decision to remain single perplexed his friends over the years; but a relationship--being someone else's other half, having them rely on him, someone sinking her soul into his--it just couldn't happen. Not with him.

One of the bachelors pulled the curtain back a little too far when he went on stage, probably in a panic over seeing all the horny women shrieking from the seats. The gap allowed Jake a good look at the horde. The auditorium was filled with women. Haze dry ice floated at eye-level, giving the room an ethereal feel.

Then he saw her. An angel in the far back of the crowd, talking to his sister Grace, was just the woman to make Jake forget all his resistance to hurrying into bed. He could see himself running his tongue--and his hands, and his naked body--all over her.

It wasn't just that she was beautiful. The girl radiated. Even with her features blurred by dry-ice vapor, she stood out.

Good God, Jake though. Did she ever stand out.

Jake felt a hard-on growing--an instant reaction. The woman shifted and long, sleek hair cascaded over her shoulders. A black silk dress with a plunging neckline swirled around her legs, outlining a perfect, long body with gorgeous, deep cleavage. And that face: even through the haze he could see pink cheeks, bright eyes, and a broad, wet smile. Definitely lickable.

When she tipped her head back, laughing at something Grace said, Jake felt his stomach flip. This wasn't just some hot chick. No, this woman was the stuff dreams--fantasies--were made of.

"Brett," Jake tugged at his friend's sleeve, keeping his eyes glued to the angel in black silk. "Who's that girl?"

Brett leaned to the side, trying for Jake's viewpoint. "Which one, buddy? In case you haven't noticed, half the female population of Quartzton is staring straight at us, dying to strip us and have their wicked way with our eager bodies."

"Knock it off," Jake said. "The tall blonde, there, talking to my sister."

Jake pointed, but the crowd had shifted. The vapor had grown heavier, and he could no longer see the woman. He swept his view across the crowd, praying to the God of Eligible Bachelors to reveal her again. Juts then, a volunteer walked by and pulled Brett and the curtain back, blocking any possibility of seeing the bombshell again.

Jake sunk back into his seat. He swept a hand across the side of his head, stopping to twirl a black curl with his fingers. He had seen an auction paddle in her hand, hadn't he? Was she here for someone else, or would she bid on him?

If he was going to have a one-night stand, Jake thought, he hoped to the High Almighty that it would be with her.