Microsoft Word - catherine mann - landis brothers 4 - rich man's fake fiancee.docx (3 page)

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.

RICH MAN’S FAKE FIANCEE

6

CATHERINE MANN

SILHOUETTE DESIRE 1878

THE LANDIS BROTHERS

“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?

Matthew shifted from the chair to sit beside her on the bed and pulled her close before she could think to protest. His fingers tunneling under her damp hair, he patted between her shoulder blades. Slowly, she relaxed against his chest, drawn by the now-familiar scent of his aftershave, the steady thud of his heart beneath his starched shirt. After a hellish day such as the one she’d been through, who could fault her for stealing a moment’s comfort?

“It’ll be okay,” he chanted, his husky Southern drawl stroking her tattered nerves as surely as his hands skimmed over her back. “You’ve got plenty of people to help.”

His jacket rasped against her cheek and she couldn’t resist tracing the palmetto tree tie tack. Being in his arms felt every bit as wonderful as she remembered. And here they were again.

Could she have misread his early departure this morning? “Thank you for stopping by to check on me.”

“Of course. And I was careful not to be seen.”

Her heart stuttered and it had nothing to do with the whiff of his aftershave. “What?”

He smoothed her hair from her face, his strong hands gentle along her cheeks. “I was able to dodge the media on my way inside the hospital.”

She thought back to the barrage of questions shouted their way as she’d been loaded into the ambulance. Uneasily, she inched out of his arms. “I imagine there will be plenty of coverage of your heroic save.”

Matthew scrubbed a hand along his jaw. “That’s not exactly the angle the media’s working.”

Apprehension prickled along her spine nearly managing to nudge aside the awareness of his touch still humming through her veins. “Is there a problem?”

“Don’t worry.” His smile almost reassured her. Almost. “I’ll take care of everything with the press and the photos that are popping up on the Internet. Once my campaign manager works his magic with a new spin, nobody will think for even a second that we’re a couple.”

Three

N ot a couple? Wow, he sure could use some lessons on how to let a girl down easy.

Ashley shoved her palms against his chest. His big arrogant chest. So much for assuming he’d been attracted to her after all. It would be a cold day in hell before she fell into those mesmerizing eyes again. “Glad to hear you’ve got everything under control.”

Matthew eased to his feet, confidence and that damned air of sincerity mucking up the air around him. “My campaign manager, Brent Davis, is top—”

Ashley raised a hand to stop him. “Great. I’m not surprised. You can handle anything.”

He searched her with his gaze. “Is there something wrong? I thought you would be pleased to know about the damage control.”

Damage control? Her experience with him fell under the header of freaking damage control? Her anger burned hotter than any fire.

But the last thing she needed was for him to get a perceptive peek into her emotions. She scrambled for a plausible excuse in case he picked up on her feelings. “I’m dreading going over to the store tomorrow, but at the same time can’t wait to set things in order. It’s a relief to know I don’t have anything to worry about with the press.” Damn it all, she was babbling now, but anything was better than an awkward silence during which she might do something rash—like punch him. “So that’s that then.”

He didn’t leave, just stood, his brows knitting together. Her heart tapped an unsteady beat in spite of herself.

Okay, so he was hot and confident and sincere looking. And he didn’t want her. She shouldn’t be this pissed off. It was just an impulsive one-night stand. People did that sort of thing.

She just never had. But she wasn’t totally inexperienced. Why then did a single lapse against his chest plummet her into a world of sensation that a bolt of silk couldn’t hope to rival?

She wanted, needed, him gone now. “Thanks again for visiting, but I have to dry my hair.”

Oh great. Really original brush-off line.

RICH MAN’S FAKE FIANCEE

7

CATHERINE MANN

SILHOUETTE DESIRE 1878

THE LANDIS BROTHERS

He massaged his temple beside the bandage. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t rush into Beachcombers until you get official notice that it’s safe.”

“I pinky swear. Now you really can go.” Why wouldn’t he leave the hospital? Better yet, return to Hilton Head altogether.

“About this morning…Ah, hell.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You’re still okay with everything. Right?”

Full-scale alert. The man was rolling out the pity party. How mortifying.

If he said anything more, she might well slug him after all, which would rumple his perfectly tailored suit and show far more than she wanted him to see concerning his effect over her. “I have bigger concerns in my life right now than thinking about bed partners.”

“Fair enough.”

“I have to deal with the shop, my sisters, insurance claims.” She was a competent businesswoman and he should respect her for that. No pity.

“I’ve got it.” He held up his hands, a one-sided smile crooking up. “You’re ready for me to leave.”

Sheesh. How had he managed to turn the tables so fast until she felt guilty? Blast his politician skills that made her feel suddenly witchy.

She softened her stance and allowed herself to smile benignly back. “Last night was…nice. But it’s back to real life now.”

He arched one aristocratic brow. “Nice? You think the time we spent naked together was nice?”

Uh-oh. She’d thrown down a proverbial gauntlet to a man who made a profession out of competition. A chill tightened her scalp.

She shuffled to the window, offering him her back until she could stare away the need to explore the heat in his eyes again.

Her poise threatened to snap. Matthew’s return had already left her raw, and today she had little control to spare.

“Matthew, I need for you to go now.” She toyed with the satin bow in a potted fern, the ribbon’s texture reminding her of the gown she’d foolishly donned earlier.

“Of course.” His voice rumbled, smoother than the ribbon in her hand or the fabric along her body.

Two echoing footsteps brought him closer. His breath heated through her hair. “I’m sorry about the media mess and for not keeping my distance when I should have. But there’s not a chance in hell I would call last night something so bland as ‘nice.’”

If he touched her again, she’d snap, or worse yet, kiss him.

Ashley spun to face him, the window ledge biting into her back. His gaze intense, glowing, he stared down at her. The bow crumbled in her clenched hand.

Forget courtesy. “My sister is on her way with a blow-dryer. She forgot to bring one when she brought by my other things.”

He nodded simply. “Call me if you have any unexpected troubles with the press or the insurance company.”

The door hissed closed behind him. Snatching up the rose he’d held, Ashley congratulated herself on not sprinting after him. Especially since her lips felt swollen and hungry. She’d always been attracted to him. What woman wouldn’t be?

Her body wanted him. Her mind knew better—when she bothered to listen. She’d vowed she wouldn’t be one of those females who lost twenty IQ points when a charming guy smiled.