Microsoft Word - catherine mann - landis brothers 4 - rich man's fake fiancee.docx (10 page)

“Then I guess it’s an excellent question.” Her gentle laugh carried on the salty breeze as light as any meringue, simple, but damn fine. “It just struck me over the past couple of days that we really don’t know that much about each other. Those holes in our knowledge could be a real pitfall in an interview. So? What about your childhood holidays?”

He thought back to all those pictures in his mother’s countless family photo albums. “A cop. I trick-or-treated as a cop.”

“And?”

Matthew shook his head, his shoes dangling from his fingers. Water slapped at the dock where the family speedboat bucked with each wave. “Always a policeman for Halloween. Drove my mom nuts. She really got into making us new costumes each year and I kept asking for the same one, just in a bigger size.”

“If you wanted to be a police officer, what made you want to go into politics?”

“Who said I wanted to be a cop as an adult? Just because I dressed up like one as a kid doesn’t mean…” He scratched his head. “Okay, never mind. Fair question. Politics is the family business. It’s only natural I would follow this path.”

“Your father was in the Air Force before becoming a senator.” She scraped her hair back from her face. “And your brothers chose different paths.”

“That they did.” He thought back to their childhood years, putting on costumes in preparation for the day they would be able to play out their dreams for real. “We’re looking for ways to serve our country.”

“You could have done that on the police force.”

“My father died.”

She slowed to fall in pace alongside him. Not touching, just there. More present in the moment than most people who got right up in somebody’s face. “That must have been an awful time for you.”

“He didn’t get to complete his term.” There was something so damn sad about unfinished business—his father’s term, his old fiancée’s diploma never picked up.

An engagement never fulfilled with vows.

“Your mother served out his term, and very well I might add. Life has a way of working things out, even the bad things, given time.”

RICH MAN’S FAKE FIANCEE

21

CATHERINE MANN

SILHOUETTE DESIRE 1878

THE LANDIS BROTHERS

“You’re right.” He needed to remember that more often and concentrate on his own reasons for taking on this office rather than doing it for anyone else. Interesting how Ashley focused him with a few words.

And hell, what was he doing selfishly spilling his guts when he was standing under the stars with a beautiful woman? She turned attention to others so artfully he wondered how many missed the chance to uncover fascinating things about her.

He tipped her chin. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“Your Halloween costumes.” He walked alongside her, smiling down and trying to envision her as a kid, probably skinny with hair that weighed more than she did. And a heart bigger than all of that combined. “What did you pick, and I want a list.”

“A pirate, a zebra, a hobo, a ninja, Cleopatra—the fake snake was tons of fun.” She clicked off the years on her fingers. “A doctor, oh, and once I was a pack of French fries. Starr was a hot dog and Claire insisted she was a gourmet quiche, but we all knew it was a pecan pie with fake bacon bits sewn on.”

“Wow, your foster mom organized that for all her kids?” Did Ashley realize she was walking closer to him?

Her arm skimmed his.

Her leg brushed his with every step.

Was she trying to seduce him, for God’s sake?

“Aunt Libby had this huge box full of old costumes and clothes. She was constantly adding items to it throughout the year—picking up additions on clearance or from yard sales.” She looked up at him, her brown eyes the perfect backdrop to reflect the stars overhead. “Actually, we didn’t only use it for Halloween. We played dress-up year round.”

“I’d enjoy seeing pictures of that.”

Her smile faded. “If they survived the fire.”

He slid an arm around her shoulders and tucked her to his side, holding her closer when she didn’t object. “Tell me more about the dress-up games.”

“We made quite a theatrical troop with our play acting. We could be anything, say anything and leave the world behind once those costumes were in place. Looking back, I can see how she must have been using some play therapy for a group of wounded girls.”

“She sounds like an amazing lady.”

“She was. I miss her a lot.” Ashley stared up at him with far-too-insightful starlit eyes. “The way you must miss your father.”

He tried to clear his throat but the lump swelled to fist-size and wouldn’t dislodge.

Ashley slipped her arm under his jacket and around his waist. “That’s why you’re in politics then, to feel closer to him?”

Her touch seemed to deflate the lump and he found himself able to push words free again. “That’s why I started, yes, and then I found out along the way why it was so important to him. It’s not about power. And sure the chance to make a difference at a grass-roots level is…mind-blowing. But there’s more to it.”

“And that would be?”

“Honestly, this has gotten to be such a dirty business no sane person would even want to enter a race. Between the sound-bite hungry press and cutthroat opponents, no one can possibly lead a life clean or perfect enough to undergo that level of scrutiny.

There will be blood in the water at some point and sharks will circle.”

“Okay, you’re really depressing me here, so how about getting to the point soon.”

He chuckled low, the crash of waves stealing the sand from under his feet. “Right. Gotta work on paring down my stump-speech skills. My point? I can’t let fear keep me out of the race.”

“Good people have to step up to the plate, too.”

“Thanks.” He gave her a one-armed hug.

“For what?”

“For calling me ‘good people.’” And damned if that simple hug hadn’t pressed her breast against his side, which had him thinking decidedly un-good-guy thoughts about seducing her right here. Right now. Behind the nearest sand dune.

She stopped, dropping her shoes onto the sand, then taking his and tossing them aside, as well. She clasped both of his hands in hers. “You’ve been worried about our engagement fib.”

He stayed silent for three swooshes of the waves.

She squeezed his fingers. “Doing the wrong thing for all the right reasons is tough to reconcile. I know. I’ve been wrestling with the same issue.”

“What conclusion did you arrive at?”

“Good people are also fallible humans. Sometimes we deserve a break, even if it’s only a temporary reprieve.”

He skimmed his knuckles over the ivory clear and soft skin of her face, over her chin, down her neck. She gazed up at him, her eyes so deep and darkening as her pupils expanded.

If he let himself, he could fall…right…in.

He kissed her. He had to. The past couple of days they’d been dancing around this moment and he knew the solid reasons why he should wait to pursue the attraction, give her time, romance her more. But here, tonight, under the stars, he wanted her and he could feel that she wanted him, too, from the way she wriggled to get closer. He couldn’t sense even the least bit of hesitation in her response.

Her breathy sigh into his mouth reminded him of other times she’d gasped out her pleasure. This usually shy woman certainly tossed away her inhibitions when it came to the sensual.

She gripped his lapels, her fists tugging tighter, pulling him closer as she pressed herself to him. Her lips parted, her tongue meeting his every bit as aggressively as he sought hers. She tasted of citrus from her lime water earlier, more potent than any alcohol.

Her soft breasts molded temptingly against his chest and his hands itched to stroke her without the barrier of clothes or possible interruption.

As much as he ached to have her here, out in the open with the sky and waves all around them, he knew that wasn’t practical. “We should take this inside before we lose control.”

“And before someone with a telephoto lens gets an up-close and personal of the total you.”

“Not an image I want recorded for posterity.”

RICH MAN’S FAKE FIANCEE

22

CATHERINE MANN

SILHOUETTE DESIRE 1878

THE LANDIS BROTHERS

Laughing, she clasped his hand and dashed toward his white clapboard carriage house. She kept the hem of her dress hitched in one fist, a mesmerizing dichotomy in her formal gown and bare feet.

Matthew tugged at her hand. “Our shoes.”

She smiled back at him, her eyes full of total desire. “To hell with our shoes.”

Staring back at her, he knew he wouldn’t say no to Ashley in full tilt temptress mode. He just wished he could be sure his conscience would fare better against the harsh morning light than their shoes would against the elements.

Eight

A shley gripped Matthew’s hand as he led her past sprawling oak trees to his two-story carriage house. The quaint white home with gray-blue shutters gleamed like a beacon with the security lights strategically placed. Sand clung to her skin, rasping along her hyper-revved nerves as she raced by fragrant azaleas up the stone steps after him.

He swung the gray door wide and hauled her into the pitch dark hallway. Before she could blink, he’d slammed the door closed and pressed her against the wood panel for a kiss that sent her blood crashing through her veins like out-of-control waves during a hurricane. His hands were planted on either side of her head as he seduced her with nothing more than his mouth on hers. The taste of lingering ocean spray mingled with the lemon from his water earlier. Her shawl shimmered down her arms to pool around her feet.

Her foot stroked along the back of his calf, her sandy feet rasping against the fine fabric of his trousers. She grasped at his back, stroking and gripping and stroking more, lower, urging him closer until his body sealed flush against hers. And oh yes, she could feel how much he wanted her, too. She rocked against the hard length of him, searching, aching for release.

Matthew tore his mouth from hers and nipped along her jaw until he reached her ear where he buried his face in her hair, his five-o’clock shadow gently abrading her skin. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, she could see the straining tendons in his neck. His breath flamed over her in hot bursts.

“Ashley, we need to slow this down a notch if I’m going to make it to the bedroom, or at least to the sofa.”

She didn’t want to stop, even for the short stretch of hardwood it would take to reach the leather couch a few feet away in the moonlit living room. “Why move then? As long as you’ve got protection in your pocket, I’m more than happy with right here, right now.”

His low growl of approval sent a shiver of excitement up her spine.

He tugged his wallet free. “I’ve been carrying protection since that first night with you. I knew full well the chemistry between us could combust again without warning.”

Matthew plucked out a condom and pitched his wallet over his shoulder. The thud of leather against wood snapped what little restraint she had left.

In a flurry of motion she barely registered since he’d started kissing her again, she grappled with his belt while he bunched the hem of her clingy cream dress in his fists, higher, higher still until he reached her waist. With one impatient hand he gripped the thin scrap of her satin panties—and how she delighted in the fact that when she’d shopped for underwear, she hadn’t selected so much as a single piece of practical cotton.

She managed to open his fly and encircle him with a languorous glide of her fingers along his hot hard arousal. His jaw flexed. His grip twisted on her panties until they…snapped.

Cool air swooshed along her overheated flesh in an excruciating contrast. “Now,” she gasped against his mouth. “To hell with foreplay.”

“If you insist,” he groaned between gritted teeth.

She couldn’t resist watching every intimate detail as he rolled the sheathe into place. Matthew hitched an arm under her bottom and lifted her against the door until the heat of him nudged perfectly between her legs. Inch by delicious inch, he lowered her as he filled her. She hooked her legs around his waist and pressed him the rest of the way home.

Tremors began quaking through her before he even moved and she realized their every touch in the days prior had been foreplay leading to this. He eased away. Then thrust into her with a thick abandon that sent her over the edge without warning.

Her head flung back against the door as she cried out with each wave cresting through her. Her heels dug deeper into his buttocks. Matthew moved faster, taking the waves higher. His shout of completion spurred a final wash of pleasure, and her body went limp.

They stood locked together silently for…well, she wasn’t sure how long. Then he released her and her feet slid to the floor.

She started to sag, her muscles too weak with satisfaction to hold her, and he scooped her into his arms.

“I’ve got you, Ashley. Just relax.”

She hummed her approval against his chest. She would figure out how to talk again later.

On his way through the small foyer, he paused for her to flick one of the light switches, bathing the room in a low glow. As he strode into the living room, she lounged sated against his chest and took a moment to learn more about Matthew from his surroundings. Deep burgundy leather chairs and a sofa filled the airy room, angled for a perfect view of both the ocean and the widescreened television. Striped wool hooked rugs scattered along tile into an open-area dining room and high-tech kitchen.

And dead center across the room—a narrow hallway that undoubtedly led to the bedrooms.

He stopped beside the sofa. “Do you want to stay here or head back there?”

“There, please.” She wanted to learn more about him beyond his political standings, affinity for leather furniture and childhood love of cop costumes.

“Lucky for me, that’s exactly where I want to be, too. Actually, anywhere you are without your clothes sounds perfect to me.”

Even as she told herself to savor the sensations of the here and now, she couldn’t help fearing the out-of-control waves of emotion Matthew stirred could drown her in the end. If so, tonight would be all she could afford to risk.