A light touch on his sooty sleeve cut through his focus. Ashley’s foster sister stood beside him—Starr Reis. He remembered her name from other political events hosted at Beachcombers. Long dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, her eyes crinkled with worry.
“Congressman? What happened in there?”
“I wish I knew.” How had the place caught on fire so quickly? He hadn’t been gone that long.
“If only I hadn’t overslept this morning, maybe I would have heard the smoke alarm.” Starr shifted from one bare foot to another, her paint-splattered shirt and baggy sleep pants all but swallowing the petite woman. “I just called David. He’s on his way home from an assignment in Europe.”
“I’m glad you could reach him.” He recalled her Air Force husband worked assignments around the world. A photographic memory for faces and names came in handy on the campaign trail.
This had to be hell for the woman, seeing her sister in danger and watching her business burn. At least the flames hadn’t spread next door to Starr’s home.
“Thank you for going in there.” Starr blinked back tears and shoved a hank of wild curls from her face. “We’ll never be able to repay you.”
Matthew tugged at his tie, too aware of Ashley a few inches away, close enough she could overhear. He doubted Starr would keep thanking him if she knew the full story about what had happened last night and how it had ended.
He settled for a neutral, “I’m just glad to have been in the right place at the right time.”
“What amazing good luck you were around.” Starr smoothed a hand over her sister’s head. “Why were you here?
Beachcombers doesn’t open for another hour.”
His eyes snapped to Ashley’s. He didn’t expect she would say anything here, now. But would she be sharing sister girl talk later? He sure as hell didn’t intend to exchange locker-room confidences with anyone about this. Keeping his life private was tough enough with the press hounding him and everyone around him for a top-dollar tidbit of gossip.
Starr frowned. “Matthew?”
“I came by for—”
“He came to—” Ashley brushed aside Starr’s hand and lifted the oxygen mask. “He needed to pick up contracts for the fund-raiser. Please, don’t worry about me. What’s going on with Beachcombers? Is that another police siren?”
She tugged the blanket tighter and tried to stand. No surprise. While he hadn’t known Ashley for more than a few months, she clearly preferred people didn’t make a fuss over her. A problem for her at this particular moment, because he wasn’t budging until he heard the all-clear from her EMS tech.
Matthew turned to the burly guy who tucked a length of gauze back into a first-aid kit. “Shouldn’t she be in a hospital?”
“Congressman Landis?” a voice called from behind him, drew closer, louder. “Just one statement for the record before you go.”
Holy hell. He glanced over his shoulder and took in the well-dressed reporter holding a microphone, her cameraman scurrying behind her with a boom mike and video recorder. He recognized this woman as an up-and-coming scrapper of a journalist who was convinced he would be her ticket to a big story this election season.
How could he have forgotten to look out for the press, even here, at a restaurant buried in an exclusive stretch of beachside historic homes? He’d been a politician’s son for most of his life. A South Carolina congressman in his own right. Now a candidate for the U.S. Senate.
He might not always be able to keep his private life quiet, but he would make sure Ashley’s stayed protected. He’d hurt her enough already.
Matthew pivoted and before he could finish saying, “No comment,” he heard a camera click. So much for his resolve to close the book on his time with Ashley.
Showering in the hospital bathroom, Ashley finished lathering her soot-reeking hair and ducked her head under the spray.
The tap, tap, tap of the water on green tile reminded her of the sound of cameras snapping photographs earlier. At least the EMS technicians had hustled her into the ambulance and slammed the doors before any members of the media could push past Matthew’s barricading body.
Still, no matter how long she stood under the soothing spray, she couldn’t wash away the frustration burning along her nerves. Matthew Landis had only blown through Charleston a few times and already he’d turned her life inside out, like a garment tugged off too quickly.
Had he really stared at her for a second too long when the blanket slipped? Part of her gloried in his wide-eyed expression, especially after his hasty retreat earlier that morning. Then tormenting images came to mind of him risking his life to save her when she’d been trapped in the powder room. Ashley grabbed the washcloth and scrubbed away the lingering sensation of smoke and Matthew’s touch.
Once she’d dried off and wrapped her hair in a towel, she felt somewhat steadier. She slipped into the nightgown and robe her sister had brought by her hospital room, giving only a passing thought to the ruined pink peignoir. Yes, she was well on her way to putting the whole debacle behind her. She had more important things to concentrate on anyway—like the fiery mess. Ashley yanked open the bathroom door.
And stopped short.
Matthew Landis sat on the hospital room’s one chair, stretching his legs in front of him. He wore a fresh gray suit with a silver tie tack that she could swear bore the South Carolina state tree—a palmetto. How he managed such relaxed composure—
especially given today’s circumstances—she would never know.
He appeared completely confident and unfazed by their near-death experience. The small square bandage on his temple offered the only sign he’d blasted into a burning building and saved her life.
Her throat closed up again as she thought of all that could have happened to him in that fire. She needed to establish distance from him. Fast.
He held a long-stemmed red rose in one hand. She refused to consider he’d brought it for her. He’d undoubtedly plucked it from one of the arrangements already filling the rolling tray and windowsill. He twirled the stem between his thumb and forefinger.
Why had he stuck around Charleston rather than returning to his family’s Hilton Head compound?
Ashley cinched the belt on her hospital robe tighter. Her other hand clutched the travel pack of shampoo, mouthwash and toothpaste. “I didn’t, uh, expect….”
He didn’t move other than a slow blink and two twirls of the flower. “I knocked.”
She unwrapped the towel, her hair unfurling down her back. “Obviously I didn’t hear you.”
Silence mingled with the scent of all those floral arrangements. Matthew stood. Ashley backed up a step. She hooked the towel over the doorknob and looked everywhere but at his piercing green eyes that had so captivated constituents for years.
Everyone in this part of the country had watched the four strapping Landis brothers grow up in the news, first while their father occupied the senate. Then after their dad’s tragic death, their mother had taken over his senatorial seat.
Matthew had followed in his family’s footsteps by running for the U.S. House of Representatives after completing his MBA, and now that his mom was moving on to become the secretary of state, Matthew was campaigning for her vacated senate seat.
The name Landis equaled old money, privilege, power and all the confidence that came with the influential package. She wanted to resent him for being born into all of those things so far outside her reach. Except his family had always lived lives beyond reproach. They were known to be genuinely good people. Even their political adversaries had been hard-pressed to find a reason to criticize the Landises for much of anything other than their stubborn streak.
He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”
She spun to face him. “I’m fine.”
“Ashley.” He shook his head.
“What?”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m a politician. Word nuances don’t escape me. ‘Fine’ means you’re only telling me what I want to hear.”
Why did he have to look so crisp and appealing while she felt disheveled and unsettled? The scene felt too parallel to the one they’d played out just this morning. “Well, I am fine all the same.”
“It’s good to hear that. What’s the doctor’s verdict?”
“Dr. Kwan says I can leave in the morning.” She skirted around Matthew toward the bedside table to put away her toiletries. “He diagnosed a mild to moderate case of smoke inhalation. My throat’s still a little raw but my lungs are fine. I have a lot to be grateful for.”
“I’m glad you’re going to be all right.” Still he watched her with that steady gaze of his that read too much while revealing only what he chose.
“I’ve sucked down more cups of ice chips than I care to count. I’m lucky, though, and I know it. Thank you for risking your life to save me.” She tightened the cap on her toothpaste, then rolled the end to inflate the thumbprint in the middle. The question she’d been aching to ask pushed up her throat just as surely as the toothpaste made its way toward the top of the tube. “Why did you come back this morning?”
“I forgot my briefcase.” He set the flower aside on the rolling tray.
Her thumb pushed deeper into the tube of Crest. She looked down quickly so he wouldn’t be able to catch her disappointment. “I hope you didn’t have anything irreplaceable in there because I’m pretty sure that even if it didn’t burn up, the papers are suffering from a serious case of waterlog.”
She tried to laugh but it got stuck somewhere between her heart and her throat. For once, she was grateful for the cough that followed. Except she couldn’t stop.
Matthew edged into sight, a cup of water in his hand. She took it from him, careful not to brush fingers, gripped the straw and gulped until her throat cleared.
Ashley sunk to the edge of the bed, gasping. “Thank you.”
“I should have gotten you out faster.” His brow furrowed, puckering the bandage.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m alive because of you.” Her bare feet swinging an inch from the floor, she crumpled the crisp sheets between her fingers to keep from checking the bandage on his temple. “Uh, how bad was the damage to Beachcombers? Starr gave me some information, but I’m afraid she might have soft-soaped things for fear of upsetting me.”
He pulled the chair in front of her and sat. “The structure is intact, the fire damage appears contained to downstairs, but everything is going to be water-logged from the fire hoses. That’s all I could tell from the outside.”
“Inspectors will probably have more information for us soon.”
“If they show any signs of giving you trouble, just let me know and I’ll get the family lawyers on it right away.”
“Starr said pretty much the same when she came by earlier. She just kept repeating how glad she is that I’m alive.”
Their other foster sister, Claire, had echoed the sentiment when she’d called from her cruise with her husband and daughter. Insurance would take care of the cost. But Ashley still couldn’t help feeling responsible. The fire had happened on her watch and she’d been so preoccupied with Matthew she may well have screwed up in some way. How could she help but blame herself?