Ashley flatted her palms on his chest and shoved. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry.” Matthew squished back a step, hands raised in surrender, his flashlight casting a dome of light. “I saw you crossing the yard and I came in through the front.”
“It’s okay. Now that I can breathe.” It wasn’t fair that she felt like death warmed over and he looked so damned good. Even in khakis and a polo shirt, he rippled with power.
Still, she felt tired and cranky, and his appeal left her edgy and vulnerable. She didn’t like it—and she still had to tell him they were engaged after all. “What are you doing here so early?”
“You said you were coming to check out the damage.” He absently scratched behind his ear, then stopped. “I thought you could use some help.”
Miffed with herself for losing her temper, Ashley reined in her wayward emotions. She’d never used anger to get her way before. She couldn’t see any reason to start now. Must be nerves from what she had to tell him.
She’d wanted a good night’s sleep to brace herself, but so much for wishes. “I apologize and you’re right, I did need to speak with you. We can talk while I do my walk-through of the place.”
For the first time since she’d slammed into Matthew, his poster-boy-perfect mask slid. Concern wrinkled his brow. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Hire a clean-up crew and spare yourself some heartache.”
“I’m not going to clean the place yet. Actually, I can’t until the insurance company completes its assessment. I just wanted to look. It shouldn’t take long.”
He stepped aside. She gasped.
The whole room loomed like a black hole, void of color. Boards over the window even kept out much of the streetlights from lending any relief to the drab grays. Maybe she should have waited until morning after all and seen the place in the light of day.
Surely the dark made everything seem worse than it was.
But probably not.
She’d hosted so many beautiful pre-wedding events here in the past, imagining celebrating her own engagement someday.
What a crummy, crummy way to get her wish.
Matthew wondered how Ashley could stand so stoically still in the face of such a damn mess.
The second she’d told him she planned to come here, he’d known he would have to be there with her. For safety’s sake and for support.
Her chin quivered. Totally understandable. He’d expected just such a reaction. He hadn’t anticipated how her sadness would sucker punch him.
Matthew crossed his arms, trapping his hands so he wouldn’t reach for her. She eased past him, the sweep of her peasant top brushing against his arm. What did she have on underneath? His throbbing body begged him to discover the answer.
Odd how he’d never considered that practical Ashley might wear her merchandise. Her merchandise. How could he have been so focused on thoughts of getting Ashley nak*d that he momentarily forgot about the mess around them?
Clothing racks lay on their sides, having been tipped by the force of spraying water. Curled wisps of melted fabrics stuck to the floor and hangers. That same material could have melted to her skin.
Matthew heard a bell chime behind him, followed by Ashley’s chuckle. Her laugh rippled over his taut nerves, just as enticing as any slip. Damn. He was in trouble. “What did you find?”
Ashley reached inside the antique gilded cash register and pulled out a soggy stack of bills. “A few blasts with the blow-dryer and I’ll be solvent.”
Only Ashley could stand in the middle of a charred-out room, holding what probably amounted to a couple of hundred bucks and still manage a laugh.
He stepped deeper into the room. “So supper’s on you tonight.”
“Sure. I could probably afford to spring for burgers, if you don’t mind splitting the Coke?”
“How about I give you some money, just to tide you over?”
Her pride blazed brighter than their two flashlights combined. “I’ll be fine once the insurance check arrives. I don’t mind working off my deductible with sweat equity.”
“It’s a standing offer.”
“Thanks, but no.”
Matthew bit short a rebuttal. He could see she wouldn’t be budged. He would just find other ways around her counterproductive need for independence. “All right then.”
He followed her back down the hall, her gathered long hair swaying with each step baring a patch of her neck, and just that fast he started forgetting about the charred mess around them.
Until they reached her open bedroom door.
What if she’d been asleep in her bed when the fire started and he hadn’t returned? Being inside the dressing room could very well have saved her life.
His chest tightened, his breathing ragged. He braced a forearm against the fire-split molding. His arms trembled with the tension of bunched muscles as he fought the image of Ashley dead.
She made a slow spin around to face him again. “Well, you were right, Matthew. There’s not much I can do here for now. I feel better, though. Knowing the worst somehow makes it easier to go forward.”
“Right.” He only half registered her words, still caught in the hellish scenario of her stuck in this place while it burned.
Thank God she wasn’t his fiancée, someone like Dana who could wreck his world in a stopped heartbeat.
“I accept.”
Ashley’s words snapped him back to the present.
“Accept the money?” He was surprised, but damn glad. “Of course. How much do you need?” His eyes swept over her, unable to read her body language but sensing the tension coiling through her.
“Not that. I accept your, uh—” she chewed her lip “—your proposal. If you still think it will help your campaign, I’ll be your fiancée.”
Five
H e was engaged. Hell.
Matthew creaked back in the chair at his bustling campaign headquarters in Hilton Head. Even four hours after Ashley’s official acceptance, he still couldn’t believe she had actually agreed. He’d gotten his way, but still the whole notion had him itching with the same sensation that had urged him to get out of her place as quickly as he could after their night together.
He stared at the computer screen full of briefing notes in front of him, but it registered as vaguely as the ringing of telephones and hum of the copy machine outside his office.
Thumbing the edge of a shiny red and blue stack of “Landis for Senate” bumper stickers, Matthew wondered why the thought of even a fake engagement floored him so much. After all, he’d gotten exactly what he wanted from her. It wasn’t real like with Dana.
He just hadn’t expected Ashley to be so damn reluctant in her agreement. Okay, so yeah maybe his ego smarted a little. He was the one who wanted to keep his bachelor life.
Wouldn’t his brothers enjoy yucking it up over this mess?
A light tap sounded on his open door. He glanced up to find his campaign manager—Brent Davis—filling the opening.
“Are you getting enough sleep?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Matthew waved Brent to take the chair in front of the mahogany desk.
Older than Matthew by twenty years, the wiry manager had been an energetic force behind Matthew’s mother’s campaign and had acted as a consultant when Matthew ran for the House of Representatives. Brent had been the natural choice to head the campaign when Matthew made his decision to seek his mother’s vacated senatorial seat.
For the first time, Matthew wondered if he’d decided to push too hard, too fast, politically. He could have hung out in the House for another ten years or so and still been on track to run for the senate by the time he was forty. But he’d been so hell-bent on not letting go of the seat that started with his father before shifting to his mom. He’d worried that someone else might get a lock on the spot that couldn’t be broken.
Had his ambition pushed him to sacrifice anything—including an innocent person like Ashley?
Damn it all, he was doing this to help preserve her reputation. He’d made his decision and he wouldn’t hurt her worse by changing his mind and offering her a trip to the Bahamas to hide out until the frenzy died out. While yes, he could have handled the scandal, it would have been a hell of a lot more taxing on everyone in his campaign who had worked so hard to get him here.
Time to step up to the plate and be a man. He leaned forward on his arms, shirtsleeves rolled up, and looked Brent Davis square in the eye. “Ashley Carson and I are engaged.”
His campaign manager froze—no expression, no movement, not so much as a blink to betray his thoughts. Matthew knew from experience the guy only did that when he’d been tossed a curve ball that whacked him upside the skull. The last time had seen that look on Brent’s face, he’d gotten the news flash that Ginger Landis had decided to elope with her longtime friend General Hank Renshaw during a goodwill tour across Europe.
Finally, Brent templed his pointer fingers and tapped them against his nose. “You’re joking.”
“I’m serious.” Matthew straightened, unflinching.
One blink from Brent. Just one, but a fast flick of irritation. “You’re engaged to the mouse of a girl in the compromising photos.”
Anger blazed hot and fast. “Watch how you talk about Ashley.”
Brent’s eyes went wide. “Whoa, okay, take it down a notch there, big fella. I hear you loud and clear. You’re totally in lust with this female.”
“Davis…” Matthew growled his final warning.
Besides, the last thing he needed right now was to dwell on that night with Ashley, a train of thoughts guaranteed to steal what cool he had left at the moment. “She’s my fiancée, my choice, deal with it. That’s your job.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were dating her when those damning photos hit the news?” Brent flattened his palms on the desk. “You left me to spin one helluva nightmare with incomplete informati—Wait.” He leaned back with narrowed laser eyes. “This is one of those fake deals, isn’t it? The two of you are making this up to get the heat off.”
“I never said that,” he hedged, unwilling to expose Ashley to any more embarrassment.
“You need to be honest with me if I’m going to help you make it through the November elections on top.” Brent tapped the stack of bumper stickers with his pointer finger repeatedly for emphasis. “In fact, you should have told me before you proposed to her in the first place.”
On the one hand, Matthew could see his point. On the other, it seemed damned ridiculous—not to mention unromantic—to clear his bridal choice with his campaign manager first.
If he were really getting married. Which he wasn’t. But that was beside the point.
He wouldn’t sacrifice Ashley to the media hyenas just to win an election. In spite of all his competitive urges that totally agreed with Brent, Matthew couldn’t bring himself to say anything that might bring Ashley further embarrassment.
Something deep inside him insisted if he was the kind of man to abandon her, then he didn’t deserve to win. “Ashley and I were work acquaintances who were surprised to find there was something more. Call it a whirlwind romance in your press release.”