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Then he heard her.

“Help!” A thud sounded against the wall. “Anybody, I’m in here.”

RICH MAN’S FAKE FIANCEE

3

CATHERINE MANN

SILHOUETTE DESIRE 1878

THE LANDIS BROTHERS

Relief made him dizzier than the acrid smoke.

“Hold on, Ashley, I’m coming,” he yelled.

The pounding stopped. “Matthew?”

Her husky drawl of his name blindsided him. A gust of heat at his back snapped him back to the moment. “Keep talking.”

“I’m over here, in the powder room.”

Her hoarse tones drove Matthew the last few feet. The door rattled, then stopped. A handle lay on the ground. “Get as far away from the door as you can. I’m coming in.”

“Okay,” Ashley said, her raspy voice softer. “I’m out of the way.”

Straightening, he slid his body into the suffocating cloud. He didn’t have much time left. If the blaze snaked down the hall, it would tunnel out of control.

Matthew shoved with his shoulder, again, harder, but the door didn’t budge, the old wood apparently sturdier than the handle. He took three steps back for a running start.

And rammed a final time. The force shuddered through him as finally the panel gave way and crashed inward.

He scanned the dim cubicle and found Ashley—thank God—sitting, wedged in a corner by the sink, wrapped in a wet blanket. Smart woman.

Matthew wove around the fallen door toward her. He sidestepped a broken chair, the whole room in shambles. She’d obviously fought to free herself. This subdued woman apparently packed the wallop of a pocket-size warrior.

“Thanks for coming back,” she gasped out, thrusting out a hand with a dripping wet hand towel. “Wrap this around your face.”

Very smart woman. He looped the cloth around his face, scarf style, to filter the air.

Ashley rose to her feet, coughed, gasped. Damn. She needed air, but she wouldn’t be able to walk over the shards of glass and sparking embers with her bare feet.

He hunkered down, dipping his shoulder into her midsection and swooping her up. “Hang on.”

“Just get us out of here.” She hacked through another rasping cough.

Matthew charged through the shop, now more of a kiln. Greedy flames crawled along a counter. Packs of stationery blackened, disintegrated.

Move faster. Don’t stop. Don’t think.

A bookshelf wobbled. Matthew rocked on his heels. Instinctively, he curved himself over Ashley. The towering shelves crashed forward, exploding into a pyre, stinging his face. Blocking his exit.

His fist convulsed around the blanket. A burning wood chip sizzled through his leather shoe.

“The other entrance, through the kitchen,” Ashley hollered through wrenching coughs and her fireproof cocoon. “To the left.”

“Got it.” Backtracking, he rounded the corner into the narrow hall. The smoke thinned enough for light to seep through the glass door.

Ashley jostled against him, a slight weight. Relief slammed him with at least twice the force. Too damn much relief for someone he barely knew.

Suddenly the air outside felt as thick and heavy as the smoldering atmosphere back inside.

Ashley gasped fresh air by the Dumpster behind her store. Hysteria hummed inside her.

At least the humid air out here was fresher than the alternative inside her ruined restaurant. Soon to be her entirely ruined home if firefighters didn’t show up ASAP and knock back the flames spitting through two kitchen windows.

The distant siren brought some relief, which only freed her mind to fill with other concerns. How could the blaze have started? Had one of the candles been to blame? How much damage waited back inside?

Matthew’s shoulder dug into her stomach. Each loping step punched precious gasps from her and brought a painful reminder of her undignified position. “You can put me down now.”

“No need to thank me,” he answered, his drawl raspier. “Save your breath.”

How could he be both a hero and an insensitive jerk in the space of a few hours?

Her teeth chattered. Delayed reaction, no doubt. The fine stitching along the bottom of his Brooks Brothers suit coat bobbed in front of her eyes. The graveled parking lot passed below. Now that the imminent danger of burning to death had ended, she could distract herself with an almost equally daunting problem.

Earlier she’d bemoaned the fact Matthew hadn’t seen her in the pink satin nightgown—and now she wished he could see her in anything but that scrap of lingerie underneath her soggy blanket.

“Matthew,” Ashley squeaked. “I can walk. Let me go, please.”

“Not a chance.” He shifted her more securely in place. The move nudged the blanket aside, baring her shoulder. His feet pounded the narrow strip of pavement at a fast jog. “You’re going straight to the hospital to be checked over.”

“You don’t need to carry me. I’m fine.” She gagged on a dry cough, gripping the edges of the slipping blanket. “Really.”

“And stubborn.”

“Not at all. I just hate for you to wear yourself out.” Except after last night she knew just how much stamina his honed body possessed.

She grappled with the edges of the wet afghan, succeeding only in loosening the folds further and nearly flipping herself sideways off Matthew’s shoulder.

“Quit wiggling, Ashley.” He cupped her bottom.

Oh, my.

His touch tingled clear to the roots of her long red hair swishing as she hung upside down.

Two firefighters rounded the corner, dragging a hose as they sprinted past, reminding her of bigger concerns than the impact of Matthew’s touch and her lack of clothing. Her restaurant was burning down, her business started with her two foster sisters in the only real home she’d ever known. The place had been willed to them by dear “Aunt” Libby who’d taken them in.

Tears clogged her nose until another coughing jag ripped through her. Matthew broke into a run. She gripped the hem of his jacket.

RICH MAN’S FAKE FIANCEE

4

CATHERINE MANN

SILHOUETTE DESIRE 1878

THE LANDIS BROTHERS

A second rig jerked to a halt in front. With unmistakable synergy, the additional firefighters shot into action. Oh God. What if the fire spread? A wasted minute could carry the blaze to the other historic, wooden structures lining the beachfront property. Her foster sister Starr even lived next door with her new husband.

The fire chief shouted clipped orders. A small crowd of neighbors swelled forward, backlit by the ocean sunrise.

“Ashley?”

She heard her name through the mishmash of noises. Turning her head, Ashley peeked through her curtain of hair to find her foster sister Starr pushing forward.

Ashley wanted to warn Starr to get back, but dizziness swirled. From hanging upside down, too much gasping, or too much Matthew, she couldn’t tell. Lights from fire trucks and an EMS vehicle strobed over the crowd, making Ashley queasy. She needed to lie down.

She wanted out of Matthew’s arms before their warmth destroyed more than any fire.

He halted by the gurney, cradling Ashley’s head as he leaned forward. She should look away. And she would, soon. But right now with her head fuzzy from smoke inhalation, she couldn’t help reliving the moment when he’d laid her on her bed. His deep emerald eyes had held her then as firmly as they did now. His lean face ended in a stubborn jaw almost too prominent, but saved from harshness by a dent dimpling the end.

In her world filled with things appealing to the eye, he still took the prize.

“Please, let me go,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from hacking, smoke and emotion.

Matthew finished lowering her to the stretcher. “The EMS folks will take care of you now.”

His hands slid from beneath her, a long, slow caress scorching her skin through the blanket. He stepped back, the vibrant June sunrise shimmering behind his shoulders.

Already edgy, she looked away, needing distance. Her burning business provided ample distraction. Smoke swelled through her shattered front window, belching clouds toward the shoreline. Soot tinged her wooden sign, staining the painstakingly stenciled Beachcombers.

What was left inside their beautiful home inherited from their foster mother? She and her two sisters had invested all their heart and funds to start Beachcombers. She raised herself on her elbows for a better view, sadness and loss weighting her already labored breathing.

“Ashley.” Her sister—Starr—elbowed through to her side. She wrapped her in a hug, an awkward hug Ashley couldn’t quite settle into and suddenly she realized why.

Starr was tugging the wet blanket back up. Damn. The satin nighty. Maybe no one else had seen.

Who was she kidding? She only hoped Matthew had been looking the other way.

Her eyes shot straight to him and…His hot gaze said it all. The jerk who’d walked out on her had suddenly experienced a change of heart because of her lingerie, not because of her.

Damn. She wanted her white cotton back.

“Ashley?” Matthew blinked, half certain smoke inhalation must have messed with his head.

He blinked again to get a better view in the morning sun. Ashley was now covered back up in the blanket. Except one creamy shoulder peeked free with a pink satin strap that told him he’d seen exactly what he thought when the soggy covering slipped.

Ashley Carson had a secret side.

Something he didn’t want anyone else seeing. He angled his body between Ashley and the small gathering behind them.

A burly EMS worker waved him aside. “Back up, please, Congressman. The technician over there will check on you while I see to this lady.” The EMS worker secured an oxygen mask over Ashley’s face, his beefy, scarred hands surprisingly gentle.

“Breathe. That’s right, ma’am. Again. Just relax.”

Vaguely Matthew registered someone taking his vitals, hands cleaning his temple and applying a bandage. He willed his breathing to regulate, as if that could help Ashley. She needed to be in the hospital. He should be thinking of that, not last night.

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?”

RICH MAN’S FAKE FIANCEE

5

CATHERINE MANN

SILHOUETTE DESIRE 1878

THE LANDIS BROTHERS

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.