This month's Round Robin Blog Authors are posting Flash Fiction or story excerpts for your enjoyment
Marrying off Murphyⓒ
Flash Fiction
Contemporary Romance
Connie Vines
Snagging a copy of the OP News, Professor Murphy Flynn found himself staring at his unflattering photo. The headline: “Bachelor Auction.” The submissions editor was Sylvie Dupree. A dark-haired Creole beauty who was his stepsister’s best friend.
#
“Tallulah Belle!”
Sylvie bolted from her chair.
“You’ve made me the laughing stock of the faculty.”
Sylvie peaked around the corner to see her boss wave the program under his nose.
“Murph, it’s for charity.”
Murphy’s gaze locked with hers. “If I’m going to do this, I need to look the part. Sylvie, can you help me?”
Her mouth went dry and her pulse fluttered. “Laissez les bon temps rouler, Murphy.”
#
Leaving Murphy at the barbershop, Sylvie examined the tailored shirts in at the department store.
“Is that the shirt you’d like me to try on?”
The tall, vaguely familiar man reached for the garment and she released the hanger with nervous fingers. No way. This gorgeous male was… “Murphy?”
He arched one eyebrow. “Yes?”
Sylvie knew her jaw had gone slack and she was staring, but she couldn’t help it. Murphy had gotten his haircut and styled, and he’d shaved his beard. His cheekbones had a Slavic slant to them, his jaw was firm and sexy; and his hair had a tousled look. She had a feeling she’d unleashed a tiger.
#
“Let’s go over the program again,” Sylvie coached Murphy behind the temporary rigged curtain inside the crowded restaurant.
“I smile, walk down the runway, take off my jacket, turn around, and then walk back to the podium.”
The frenzied sounds of bidding for the first bachelor filled the room. “It’s the emcee’s job to pump up the bids. Just strut your stuff.”
“Strut my stuff!” he yelped.
Sylvie seized him by the hand. “It’s an auction, a bachelor bidding war, remember?”
“Sylvie,” Murphy growled, his eyes dark with desire, as well as a hint of fear.
She liked the crisp scent of his cologne and the flare of fire in his green eyes.
Murphy stroked Sylvie’s jaw, is mouth hovered a mere inch from her own. “Do you really want me to smile at other women?”
Before she could admit her feelings, Tallulah parted the curtain and shoved Murphy onto the stage.
#
“What did you say to him?”
Sylvie watched Murphy toss his jacket into the crowd and yank off his bowtie. “I told him to strut his stuff.”
“Three-hundred!”
“Three-fifty!”
Tallulah glanced at the crowd. “Don’t just sit there, Sylvie. Bid!”
“Oh, I can’t just—” Sylvie watched, rendered speechless, as Murphy unbuckled his belt and tugged his shirt free of his trousers. “Five hundred!” she screamed.
“Six!”
“Seven!” she countered.
“One thousand!”
The emcee’s gavel hits the podium. “Going once, twice—”
“Two-thousand!” Sylvie shouted, knowing darn well her check would bounce.
“Sold!” yelled Murphy. He jumped off the stage, hauled Sylvie out of her chair, and led her to a secluded corner.
As his lips captured hers, Sylvie tangled her fingers into his hair. The sweet and gentle kiss soon turned hot and fierce.
“Laissez les bon temps rouler,” she murmured against his lips. Let the good times roll!
I hope you enjoyed my Flash Fiction Story, "Marrying Off Murphy".
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Frequently, well often, I post about my dog Chanel (a Toy Poodle/Cavalier King Charles Spaniel-mix. 
