As she passed, a drying strand of hair fluttered, snagging on his cuff link and draping over his hand. Each movement of her head as she continued talking shifted the lock of hair without sliding it away.
Why couldn’t he twitch the strand free? “You may or may not have read about how my last breakup ended badly. My ex-girlfriend didn’t take it well when I ended things and she let that be known in the press. Of course the media never bothered to mention she was cheating while I was in D.C.”
Her answer dimly registered in his mind as he stared while the overhead light played with the hints of gold twining through the red lock. He kept his arm motionless. The strand slashed across his hand the way her hair had played along his chest when she’d leaned over him, her beautiful body on display for him.
Naked.
He cleared his throat and his thoughts. He needed to prepare her for what she would face once she left this room. “The media are going to hound you for details. You can’t comprehend how intense the scrutiny will be until you’ve lived with it. Do you have any idea how many reporters are out there waiting for a chance to talk to you right now?”
“When my sister gets here, we’ll slip out the back entrance.” She eyed the door with a grimace. “I’m sure the hospital staff will be happy to help.”
He scratched behind his ear. “It’s not that simple. And your sister’s not coming.”
She pointed to his hand. “Stop scratching.”
What the hell? “Pardon?”
“Scratching. It’s your poker tell. You only do that when you’re trying to think of a way around a question. What are you hiding—” She paused, scowled. “Wait. You told my sister not to come, didn’t you?”
Matthew dropped his arm to his side. Damn it, he’d never realized he had a “tell” sign. Why hadn’t he or his campaign manager picked up on that before? At least Ashley had alerted him so he could make a conscious effort to avoid it in the future.
Meanwhile, he had to deal with a fired-up female. “Her husband and I thought it would be safer for her to stay out of the mob outside.”
“You and David decided? You two have been as busy as your campaign manager.” She scooped up her overnight tote bag.
“I’ll take a cab.”
Matthew eased the canvas sack from her hand before she could hitch the thing over her shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. My car is parked right by the back exit.”
Her eyes battled with him for at least a three count before she finally sighed. “Fine. The sooner we go the sooner this will be past us.”
A short ride down the elevator later, he opened the service entrance—and found four photographers poised and ready. He shielded Ashley as best he could and hustled her into his car. More pictures of the two of them wouldn’t help matters, but better he be there to move this along than having her face them alone.
He plowed past a particularly snap-happy press hound and slid into the driver’s side of his Lexus, closing the door carefully, but firmly after him.
Ashley sagged in her seat. “God, you’re right. I didn’t realize it would be this bad.”
“Bad?” He gunned the gas pedal. “I hate to tell you, but we got off easy, and they’re not going to give up anytime soon.
They will pry into every aspect of your private life.”
Her face paled, but she sat up straighter. “I guess I’ll just have to invest in some dark glasses and really cool hats.”
He admired her spunk, even more so because he knew how much harder this was for her than it would be for others. “The press isn’t going to leave you alone. They’ve been trying to marry me off for years.”
“I’m tough,” she said with only a small quiver in her voice. “I can wait it out.”
Except she shouldn’t have to. This was his fault and he should be the one bearing the fallout. Not her.
Then the answer came to him in a sweep of inspiration as smooth as the luxury car’s glide along the four-lane road. Hadn’t he already noted how much easier managing the media would be for her with him by her side? He knew the perfect way to keep her close and tamp down the negative gossip.
Decision made, he didn’t question further, merely forged ahead. “There’s a simpler way to make this die down faster.”
“And that would be?” She swiped her palms over her jeans again and again, her frayed nerves all the more obvious with each passing palmetto and pine tree.
Stopping for a traffic light, he hitched his arm along the seat behind her head and pinned her with his most persuasive gaze.
“We’ll get engaged.”
“Engaged?” Her eyes went wide and she jerked away from the brush of his arm as if scorched. “You’ve got to be kidding.
Don’t you think getting married to pacify the press is a little extreme?”
Marriage. The word stabbed through him like a well-sharpened blade. He absolutely agreed with her point about staying clear of the altar.
The light turned green and he welcomed the chance to shift his eyes back to the road. “It won’t go that far. Once the buzz dies down and they focus on the issues again, you and I will quietly break up. We can simply turn the tables and state that the pressure from so much media attention put a strain on our relationship.”
Yeah, the idea of lying chafed more than a little since he considered his ethics to be of the utmost importance. But right now, only one thing dominated his thoughts.
Keeping Ashley’s reputation from suffering for his mistake.
He would have to live with the fallout from that, not her. This was the best way to protect her. “We’ll set up a press conference of our own to make the official announcement.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, her brown eyes glinting nearly black with a determination that warned him he may have underestimated the strength of the woman beside him.
“Congressman Landis, you are absolutely out of your flipping mind. There’s not a chance in hell you’re putting an engagement ring on my finger.”
Four
U h-oh. She’d thrown down the proverbial gauntlet again.
Ashley gripped the sides of the butter-soft leather seat. She couldn’t miss the competitive gleam in Matthew’s eyes as he drove the luxurious sedan.
“Matthew,” she rushed to backtrack. “I appreciate that you’re concerned for my reputation, but one night of sex does not make me your responsibility. And it doesn’t make you my responsibility, either.”
He reached across to loosen her grip and link hands as they sped down the road. She looked away and tried to focus on the towering three-story homes, their deep porches sheltering rocking chairs and ferns. Anything to keep from registering how Matthew’s thumb brushed back and forth across the sensitive inside of her wrist.
His callused thumb rasped against her tender skin, bringing to mind thoughts of all those photos of him in the paper featuring the numerous times he’d worked on Habitat homes. He came by the roughened skin and muscles the honest way. Her traitorous heart picked up pace from just his touch, a pulse he could no doubt feel.
Yep, there he went smiling again.
She snatched her hand away and tucked it under her leg. “Stop that. The last thing we need is to provide more photo ops for gossip fodder.”
“Be my fiancée.” He stated, rather than asking.
“No.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” He winked.
She covered her ears. “I am Ashley Carson and I do not approve this message.”
Laughing, he gripped one of her wrists and lowered her arm. “Cute.”
“And hopefully understood.”
“Ashley, you’re a practical woman, an accountant for God’s sake. Surely you can see how this is the wisest course of action.”
Practical? He wanted her for “practical” reasons? How romantic.
“Thanks, but I’ll take my chances with the press.” She tried to tug free her recaptured hand.
No such luck.
He held on and teased her with more of those understated but potent touches all the way to her sister’s house—which just happened to have a red-and-blue Landis For Senate sign on the front lawn. Ashley shifted her attention to Beachcombers instead. And gasped from the shock and pain.
The sight in front of her doused passion and anger faster than if she’d jumped into the crashing surf in front of them.
Beachcombers waited for her like a sad, bedraggled friend. Soot streaked the white clapboard beside broken windows, now boarded over. The grassy lawn was striped with huge muddy ruts from fire trucks and the deluge of water.
If she kept staring, she would cry. Yet, looking away felt like abandoning a loved one. She had bigger problems than her reputation—or some crazy mixed-up need to jump back into bed with a man certain to complicate her life.
She needed to regroup after the devastation, to meet with her sisters and revise her whole future. And no matter what plan they came up with, Matthew Landis would not be figuring into the strategy.
This time, when she pulled her hand back, she would make sure he understood that no meant no.
Waiting for Starr to come downstairs, Ashley peered through the living room window, watching as Matthew drove away.
A marriage proposal. Her first, and what a sham.
Now that she’d gotten over the shock of his faux fiancée proposition, she had to appreciate that he wanted to preserve her reputation. An old-fashioned notion, certainly, but then his monied family was known for their by-the-rules manners. How ironic that Starr belonged in this kind of world for real now that she’d married into an established Charleston family.
The Landis’s Hilton Head compound might be more modern than this place—she’d pored over a photo spread in Southern Living—but his home proclaimed all the wealth and privilege of this Southern antebellum house that had been in Starr’s husband’s family for generations.
Her artsy sister had put her own eclectic stamp on the historic landmark, mixing dark wood antiques with fresh new and bright prints. All the dour drapes had been stripped away and replaced with pristine white shutters that let in light while still affording privacy when needed.
Like now.
Ashley wandered across the room past the Steinway grand piano to the music cabinet beside it. Photos in sterling-silver frames packed the top. One of Starr and David on their wedding day. Another of David’s mother perched royally in a wingback chair holding her cat.
And yet another of Starr, Claire and Ashley standing in front of the Beachcombers sign when they’d officially opened the business three years ago. Most restaurants failed in the first year, but they had defied the odds despite having no restaurant experience.
Their clientele swelled as Charleston’s blue-blooded brought their well-attended bridal breakfasts and showers to Beachcombers, drawn by hosting their events in such a scenically placed historic home.
Once Starr lured them in with her decorative eye for creating the perfect ambiance, their sister Claire’s catering skills sealed the deal and Ashley tallied the totals. Their foster mother may have used up her entire family fortune taking in children, but she’d left a lasting legacy of love.