The Bridal Path: Ashley (5 page)

He couldn’t let a moment like this pass. He leaned down. “Dare you.”

Color flamed in her overly powdered cheeks. “Never,” she insisted with a huff.

“Never’s a very long time,” he taunted. “Isn’t it time you did something totally unpredictable?”

“I do not need to take foolish risks. Nor do I need to prove anything to you, young man.”

“It’s perfectly safe,” Ashley chimed in. “Dillon’s a very skilled driver.”

“He’s certainly been at it long enough,” the teacher said. She glared at him. “Isn’t it time you grew up and started driving a real car? Perhaps a nice, safe sedan?”

Dillon thought of the fleet of “real” cars he had in his garage in California, including a stretch limo that was so dull and safe he refused to use it except on those occasions that demanded he make a show of his success. There were people in Los Angeles who wouldn’t hire his security company unless they thought he was their social equal. He had to make it seem that hiring Security-Wise was a status symbol.

“I have a real car,” he conceded. “I save the motorcycle for special occasions back here in Wyoming. I’d hate to disappoint the good folks of Riverton by turning into another average, straight-arrow guy. You all have always counted on me to be the town bad boy. You really would die of boredom if I took that away from you.”

“Some of us had higher expectations for you,” Mrs. Fawcett chided. “The only thing that disappoints me, young man, is when someone fails to live up to his true potential. Perhaps it’s time you thought about that.”

That said, she whirled around and marched out of the store, her back ramrod straight, her shoulders set rigidly.

When she was gone, Dillon faced Ashley and caught her trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.

“I guess she told you,” she said.

“Care to make a wager?” Dillon asked.

“What kind of wager?”

“Five bucks says I get her on the motorcycle before I leave town.”

“No way. You heard her. She will not take foolish risks.”

“Five bucks,” he repeated.

Ashley grinned. “Easy money. You’re on.”

Since he appeared to be on a roll, he decided to up the ante. “Want to make another wager?”

She hesitated and regarded him suspiciously. “On?”

“Whether or not you and I will be able to stay in the same house for the next week or so without making love.”

He saw his mistake the instant the words left his lips. He’d put her on notice about his intentions. Ashley was far too stubborn to let him win that kind of a bet. In fact, she looked mad enough to bop him over the head with that giant zucchini she was holding. At least, they both knew exactly where they stood now.

“That one’s a foregone conclusion,” she snapped. “You can hand over the money now, because the odds of you and me getting involved are about the same as those of Prince Charles and Di reconciling.”

Dillon’s pulse hummed. Let her dig in her heels. He loved a good challenge. That would make his victory all the sweeter.

Already planning for the eventual outcome, he grabbed a bottle of outrageously expensive champagne and tossed it into the cart. The gesture drew a scowl.

“Planning a party?” she inquired testily.

“A celebration.”

It was obvious to him from her chilly expression that she knew exactly what he was saying.

“The only celebrating going on at that cabin will be on the day you leave,” she said.

Dillon heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Sweetheart, you’re breaking my heart.”

“I doubt you have one.”

He reached out and tucked a finger under her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “If that’s true, Ashley Wilde, it’s because you stole it years ago.”

Chapter Four

H
ow could Dillon say something chauvinistically male and outrageous one minute and something so sweet and romantic the next? Ashley wondered during the ride to the cabin. One minute she had wanted to smack him for practically daring her to sleep with him, and the next he’d accused her of stealing his heart years ago.

Which Dillon Ford was she supposed to trust? Probably neither one of them, when it came right down to it. For all she knew Dillon was a master of manipulation who knew exactly what he was doing when he’d melted her heart with that remark about her effect on him. It had probably been the first step in his deliberate campaign to get what he wanted–her in his bed. That wager of his might only be for a few bucks, but he clearly took it seriously.

She spent the rest of the day giving him a wide berth, but there was no way to avoid him over dinner. While she’d been off on a solitary walk, he’d grilled the fish on her father’s gas barbecue, created some sort of vegetable and rice concoction that looked better than anything she knew how to prepare, and warmed a loaf of sourdough bread, which he actually claimed to have baked from scratch. Since no such loaf had been in with their groceries, she had to believe him.

He’d set the table on the deck. “It’s too nice a night to eat indoors,” he said as she approached. “Is this okay?”

“It’s fine with me. It’s cooling off, now that the sun’s going down. Let me get a sweater.”

He gestured toward the back of a chair. “I brought one out for you.”

The thought of Dillon in her room, going through her things, had her swallowing hard. It seemed there were limits to the degree of intimacy she was prepared to accept.

She was about to lambast him for invading her private space when he said mildly, “It was in the living room, in case you’re worrying that I was going through your stuff.”

His ability to see straight through her startled her. She must be far more transparent than she’d been led to believe. All those years of practice at hiding her real emotions in front of a camera hadn’t paid off, after all. Now, when it really counted, she couldn’t seem to mask a thing.

“Thanks,” she said, pulling the warm crewneck sweater on over her T-shirt. She sat gingerly across from him. “Everything smells wonderful. Where’d you learn to cook?”

“You seem to have forgotten my background,” he said.

Ashley immediately recalled the forgotten tales of his childhood–a mother who’d died when he was a boy, a father who traveled on business. More often than not, Dillon had been left to manage for himself and his younger brother and sister. It was no wonder, everyone had said at the time, that he’d run wild. There’d been no discipline or parental supervision at home.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’d forgotten how difficult times must have been for you back then.”

He shrugged. “We got along. I learned my way around a kitchen in a hurry. Actually, I enjoy cooking. It seems to be the only creative task at which I excel. Can’t sing worth a darn. Can’t dance or draw.” He grinned. “Obviously, I couldn’t do algebra. Took me two years to pass the class.”

“Algebra wasn’t creative,” Ashley countered. “It was drudgery.”

“How can you say that? You were in an advanced class and you got an A in that.”

She stared at him in surprise. “You remember all that?”

“When you were as bad as I was in a subject, you knew exactly which students were acing it. Did you know Mrs. Fawcett wanted to arrange for you to tutor me?”

“Really?” she said in amazement. “Why didn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t let her. I couldn’t have afforded to pay you. More than that, though, I didn’t want you to see how lousy I was. I had my tender, male pride at stake. You were two years behind me, after all.”

“I think Mrs. Fawcett is actually very fond of you,” Ashley said.

“Oh, really,” he said doubtfully. “Is that why she looked so horrified when she saw the two of us together today?”

“That was because she now knows the juiciest piece of gossip in all of Wyoming and she can’t share it,” Ashley said. “Thank goodness, she’s always disapproved of spreading rumors.”

“Worried about your reputation?” Dillon asked with a faint note of defensiveness.

“Of course not,” Ashley said without the slightest hesitation. “I came here to do some thinking. If my sisters hear that I’m at Daddy’s cabin, they’ll be up here pestering me to know why I’m hiding out.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said something about needing solitude to think. Are you sure you don’t want to talk with an objective observer about whatever’s on your mind? I’m not sure I’d recommend listening to any advice I dole out, but I can be a decent sounding board.”

Ashley shook her head. “Thanks, but I have to work this through on my own. Now let’s get back to you. What other subjects did you struggle with in high school?”

The past struck her as safer ground than the present, perhaps for both of them. She had no idea what Dillon’s life was like these days, and for the moment it seemed like a very good idea to keep it that way. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to handle the news that he was one step away from being carted off to jail.

“All of them,” he said, apparently accepting her reluctance to talk about her own problems. “I wasn’t much of a student. I was too easily distracted, especially in high school.” He sighed dramatically. “All those girls and so little time.”

“Exactly how many did you make a pass at?”

His expression sobered. “All of them except you, I suppose.”

Ashley couldn’t decide whether to be hurt by the admission or incensed by it, even though she’d guessed as much long ago. “Why’d you leave me out?”

To her surprise he looked as if the question made him uncomfortable. “Dillon?” she prodded.

“You were different.”

“A snob?” she asked, thinking of a remark he’d made the night before. It had brought back similar accusations from the other boys she’d kept at arm’s distance then.

None of them had understood that staying focused on her goal of getting away from Riverton had been paramount. She’d refused to let her feelings for anyone interfere with that. She could see, now, how that might have been misinterpreted by fragile young male egos. Dillon’s ego, however, had hardly been fragile.

“No,” he said at once, confirming that his ego had never been shattered. Nor had he feared rejection, apparently. His warm gaze met hers and held. “You were special, too good for the likes of me.”

“Oh.” It was the last thing she had expected him to say.

He grinned. “You sound surprised. Surely I’m not the first man ever to tell you how special you are.”

“Maybe you’re just the first one who ever sounded like he really meant it,” she said candidly.

“I do mean it,” he said emphatically. Then, his expression thoughtful, he added, “I suppose you’ve met some creeps and jerks in your business, though.”

“More than a few.”

She toyed with her rice, trying to figure out how to explain so that he would understand. Linc had been a perfect example of the problem. She used him to characterize the type of man she tended to meet.

“The problem with most of them isn’t that they’re awful people,” she explained. “It’s just that they never really see
me.
They see the face or the figure and never look any deeper than that. Sometimes I wonder…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she was opening the very topic she had just moments earlier sworn to avoid.

“Wonder what?”

Because he sounded genuinely interested and because deep down she did need someone to really listen, she tried to explain at least some of what she was feeling.

“Sometimes I wonder if even I know who I am anymore,” she admitted with a trace of wistfulness in her voice.

He didn’t laugh at the statement or remind her that she was Trent Wilde’s daughter and a famous model. Instead, he simply asked, “How so?”

He sounded so eager to understand that she told him.

“The modeling business demands that you project an image, that you represent glamour and beauty. It doesn’t demand that you have an idea in your head or care whether you woke up with the flu. Pretty soon you learn to shut all those other things out so you can do the job. Then one day you wake up and worry that maybe there’s nothing left inside anymore.”

He nodded his understanding. “So, is that why you’re here?”

“Part of it.”

“And the other part?”

As kind as Dillon was being, Ashley wasn’t about to tell him she’d been bounced from her job because she was too fat. No one who wasn’t as obsessed with looks as a model could possibly understand why a few pounds mattered so desperately. Nor did she want to change the way he looked at her by planting the idea in his head that she considered herself to be too heavy.

Right now, when Dillon looked at her, she didn’t feel fat, anyway. She felt desirable.

And maybe because he’d known her before she’d become famous, she felt as if his wanting her mattered somehow, as if he truly wanted Ashley Wilde, not the cover girl.

Recognizing the unique power he held over her, she realized that that made her vulnerable to him. And with his promise to seduce her lingering in the air between them, every moment they spent together spelled danger.

Oddly enough, though, with the night air cool and whisper soft with just a hint of rain, she found she didn’t care so much about the danger. In fact, she was beginning to wonder if being here with Dillon wasn’t the first risk she’d faced worth taking in a very long time.

* * *

Long after Ashley had gone off to bed, Dillon lingered on the deck. The temperature had indeed dropped after sunset, but he didn’t mind the sharp bite to the air. He zipped up his leather jacket, propped his feet on the railing and stared into the clear night sky, trying to recall the last time he’d ever felt so much at peace.

The truth of it was, though, he couldn’t think of a single moment. The day he’d opened his security agency came close. Seeing his name on the door of that first tiny office had brought him an astonishing sense of satisfaction. Signing his first big client later that same day had proved that Trent Wilde’s faith in him hadn’t been misplaced.

He wondered what Ashley would think if she knew just exactly how big a role her father had played in his life. It was Trent who’d bailed him out of the Riverton jail years ago. And it was Trent who’d had a quiet word with the judge and seen to it that the flimsy case against him for a robbery he hadn’t committed was dropped.