Between me and my highlander lay two round tables full of drooling women. Oh, for super powers. A single bound would come in handy about now.
I tripped over a mailed foot—mailed foot? I double-took the knight kneeling at the feet of a seated Gladys Bellyard, big and beautiful, a gorgeous red sequined top clinging to her ample endowments. The blue-eyed, blond-haired, knight could not keep his gaze from her magnificent cleavage as she removed her chiffon scarf and tied it to his...ummm lance.
Orlando Bloom did bachelor auctions? Who knew?
“Excuse me,” I said, one eye on my Highlander. Oh no, boob-girl, Candy, was also making a bee-line for him, her hand still firmly on David’s tool-belt as she dragged him along.
“My lady,” knight-dude said glancing up. “I doth impede your progress.” He
smiled and clanked to his feet, his mail-clad shoulders a solid wall of metal at eye level. He gave a courtly bow as I passed.
Hot. I was hot. He was hot. Could somebody open a window? I fanned my hand in front of my face.
Now where did I put that Highlander? I scanned the room. Regency-man David caught my eye as he peeled a teenager off his chest. He made one of those American idol phone me signs and waggled his brows. Oh Lord, it was all his fault I was in here.
Feedback screeched through the room. I covered my ears. Some bald idiot was tapping the microphone up on stage. The mayor. He mopped his face, then the top of his head.
“Ladies,” he squeaked. Then coughed. “Ladies.” His voice came out two octaves lower. “Time for the catwalk. Bachelors, please line up to the right.”
Disappointed mutters filled the room. I thought I heard sucking sounds, as if octopi were releasing their prey.
I sank into the nearest chair. The sight of so much eye candy in a line was just too much to handle standing on my feet.
Now for the real fun. The bidding.