Читать книгу: «Hot August Nights»

THE CAMELOT CRIER

ABOUT TOWN: Richmond, Virginia

A proposition to remember!

It seems that the prim-and-proper princess of Camelot, Ashley Kendrick, has been snagged by rugged contractor Matt Calloway. But it’s not what you think! Ashley, who was running a gala dinner to benefit the East Coast Shelter Project, was well and truly mystified when Matt unexpectedly put another item on the docket: Miss Ashley Kendrick herself! Sources who attended the event state that Matt offered up one hundred thousand dollars for Ashley to actually help build a Shelter Project house. And Ashley has risen to the challenge. She is scheduled to work in Gray Lakes, Florida, in August. It’s also been confirmed that the handsome bachelor Matt will be joining her there. Clearly, their days will be spent on the construction site, but just how will these two be spending those hot August nights?

Dear Reader,

Well, June may be the traditional month for weddings, but we here at Silhouette find June is busting out all over—with babies! We begin with Christine Rimmer’s Fifty Ways To Say I’m Pregnant. When bound-for-the-big-city Starr Bravo shares a night of passion with the rancher she’s always loved, she finds herself in the family way. But how to tell him? Fifty Ways is a continuation of Christine’s Bravo Family saga, so look for the BRAVO FAMILY TIES flash. And for those of you who remember Christine’s JONES GANG series, you’ll be delighted with the cameo appearance of an old friend….

Next, Joan Elliott Pickart continues her miniseries THE BABY BET: MACALLISTER’S GIFTS with Accidental Family, the story of a day-care center worker and a single dad with amnesia who find themselves falling for each other as she cares for their children together. And there’s another CAVANAUGH JUSTICE offering in Special Edition from Marie Ferrarella: in Cavanaugh’s Woman, an actress researching a film role needs a top cop—and Shaw Cavanaugh fits the bill nicely. Hot August Nights by Christine Flynn continues THE KENDRICKS OF CAMELOT miniseries, in which the reserved, poised Kendrick daughter finds her one-night stand with the town playboy coming back to haunt her in a big way. Janis Reams Hudson begins MEN OF CHEROKEE ROSE with The Daddy Survey, in which two little girls go all out to get their mother a new husband. And don’t miss One Perfect Man, in which almost-new author Lynda Sandoval tells the story of a career-minded events planner who has never had time for romance until she gets roped into planning a party for the daughter of a devastatingly handsome single father. So enjoy the rising temperatures, all six of these wonderful romances…and don’t forget to come back next month for six more, in Silhouette Special Edition.

Happy Reading!

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Hot August Nights
Christine Flynn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Pam Wede, a wonderful friend whose strength and easy charm I admire so very much.

CHRISTINE FLYNN

admits to being interested in just about everything, which is why she considers herself fortunate to have turned her interest in writing into a career. She feels that a writer gets to explore it all and, to her, exploring relationships—especially the intense, bittersweet or even lighthearted relationships between men and women—is fascinating.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter One

Ashley Kendrick’s day had started out badly and gone downhill from there. She’d thought the worst was the snag she’d hit at noon when a paparazzo had followed her into a deli and drawn so much attention to her that she’d left without her lunch. She figured it had actually hit rock bottom about twenty minutes ago.

She had learned to live with people who unsettled her. Strangers on the street routinely pointed or stared. Paparazzi and reporters emerged from nowhere, startling her with the flash of their cameras, assaulting her with questions inevitably designed to expose something—anything—personal or sensational about any member of the Kendrick family.

She was accustomed to the attention. She wasn’t always comfortable with it, but she had come to accept the near constant publicity that came with being a Kendrick. Her baby pictures had appeared in the national press, as had those of her siblings each time her wealthy, now-retired senator father and her mother, a princess who had given up an entire kingdom to marry him, had produced more progeny. America had watched her grow up, and over those years she had learned to handle the disconcerting situations that occurred with astounding regularity.

She pretended she could handle them, anyway, which was the best she could hope for considering how unsure of herself she often tended to be. But when Matt Callaway had answered her knock on her brother’s door, she had been forced to admit that no one had ever unsettled her more than her brother Cord’s best friend.

She hadn’t seen Matt in ten years, but he still disturbed her. Not the way strangers did when they encroached upon her privacy. But in a far more fundamental and primitive way. The man was six feet, two inches of sandy-haired, carved and sculpted muscle, tension and testosterone. His steel-gray eyes had a way of looking at her that made her feel totally exposed, totally vulnerable. And she had never once been in his presence without feeling she would be totally susceptible to him if she didn’t keep her guard in place.

He had also just become the only man who’d ever driven her to drink.

Granted, the drink was a rather excellent California chardonnay that she’d found in her brother’s wine cellar. And having a glass gave her something to do while she waited on Cord’s deck for him to get home. But discovering that Matt Callaway could still make her uneasy enough to seek the first available excuse to avoid his company had her frowning at the nearly empty crystal goblet. That, and the fact that she didn’t want to be where she was to begin with.

She had planned to work tonight. As far behind as she was, she desperately needed those uninterrupted hours. But her father had insisted her work could wait. He considered it far more important that she used her time to track down her brother and have Cord sign a trust amendment he had forgotten to sign when he’d been in Richmond last week. Her dad, who ruled the Kendricks’ multimillion-dollar empire from a suite of offices ten stories above her decidedly more modest one, had informed her she could work late tomorrow night.

Having to make a two-hour drive from Richmond to Newport News frustrated her enough. In the time she spent on that round-trip alone, she could have done serious damage to the piles on her desk. But her mother had started exerting her considerable influence on her time, too. Just that morning, her mom had informed Ashley that she would have to give up her position as director of the scholarship program she helped administer if she intended to assist with fund-raisers like the gala charity auction she was currently working on twelve hours a day to have ready for next week.

It hadn’t mattered that the auction was for the East Coast Shelter Project, her mom’s new favorite charity. Or that Ashley had insisted that she truly could handle both. Her mother had said there was absolutely no need for her to work that hard.

What Ashley did had nothing to do with need as her mother had meant it. It had to do with feeling that she was earning her own way.

Smoothing the hem of her short red jacket over her white slacks, she settled back in the deck chair. Not liking her mood, hoping to change it, she told herself she might as well enjoy the break.

The effort lasted long enough for her to cross one knee over the other. One low-heeled sandal dangling from her French-manicured toes, she restively swayed her foot and glanced past the wide, tiered deck and her brother’s sailboat moored fifty feet beyond the cedar railing.

She knew that working for her family must be like working for any other employer. Suspected it was, anyway, as she watched the sun set on the sailboats in the long inlet on Chesapeake Bay. She’d never worked for anyone else to know for certain. She loved her family. She truly did. But she was twenty-eight years old, had never in her life done anything that wasn’t by the book, and she was getting really tired of being told what to do and when she could do it.

Ten feet away, the glass deck door rumbled open in its track.

“Do me a favor, will you?”

The sound of Matt’s deep voice had her foot going still an instant before she carefully uncrossed her legs. Knees together, she automatically crossed her ankles, abandoned her mental mutiny and set her wine on the glass-topped table beside her. As she did, she glanced toward the blond jock filling the doorway.

Matt was still dressed as he had been when he’d answered the front door. His loose gray tank top exposed enough of his beautifully cut arms, shoulders and pectorals to leave no doubt about what had to be an impressive six-pack of abdominal muscle. Below the baggy hem of his navy gym shorts, his powerful thighs glistened with sweat.

The front of his shirt was stained with it, too.

He’d obviously finished the workout she’d interrupted when she’d arrived.

“If I can,” she said, hurriedly dragging her eyes from his chest.

“I just need you to listen for the phone.” His glance slid over her, bold and assessing, much as it had when he’d opened the front door. He’d seemed as surprised to find her there as she’d been to find herself faced with his decidedly large and impressive body. Within seconds of her unconsciously stepping back, he’d also seemed just as edgy with her as he’d always been. “I’m getting in the shower and won’t be able to hear it. Cord said he’d call if he got held up.”

Without looking up, swearing she could feel that edginess radiating toward her, she nodded. “Sure.”

“If he does call, tell him he doesn’t need to stop by the construction site. I have the reports he left there.”

The construction site. That would be the major mall Matt’s company was building outside Newport News for Kendrick Investments. Apparently, he’d come down from Baltimore to check on its progress and was staying with Cord while he was here.

She might not have seen Matt in years, but that didn’t mean she didn’t occasionally hear about him through the somewhat tangled family grapevine.

“I’ll do that,” she quietly assured him.

Restively pushing his fingers through his hair, he turned away. A heartbeat later, he turned back. “And tell him that if he wants me to help him with his boat, he’s going to have to pick up some graphite. His ignition switch is jammed.”

“You’re working on his boat?”

“I’m helping him get the winter kinks out of it as long as I’m here. He just had it brought from dry dock yesterday.”

She gave him another nod, tried not to stare at his thighs. At least now she knew why he was here.

“I’ll pass that on, too.”

She thought he would leave then, go inside and leave her to stew in the lovely late-June evening. She hoped he would, anyway, since she couldn’t think of anything else to say with him watching her so closely. She could practically feel his quiet scrutiny move from her low ponytail to where her bare toes were now tucked, ladylike, beneath her chair.

He was about to say something else. She felt certain of it.

Or, so she was thinking when she saw him slowly shake his head and the door finally rumbled closed.

Her breath escaped in a long, low rush.

All Matt had said when she’d asked if Cord was home was that he expected her brother in about an hour. He’d then stepped back, more to allow her her space than to get out of her way, told her she might as well come on in and disappeared in the direction of the weight room.

With him going one way, she had immediately decided to wait for her brother in the other—which had put her out on the deck.

She picked up her wine again, took a healthy sip.

In the space of seconds, he’d thrown her back ten years. She hated that he still made her nervous, but she’d at least grown up enough to carry on a relatively normal conversation with him. When she’d first met him at the tender age of fourteen—a full year before her parents had banned him from the house because he’d turned out to be such a bad influence on her brother—he’d intimidated the daylights out of her.

He’d been big even back then. Tall, broad-shouldered and filled out more like a man than a prep-school senior. The years had carved an appealing maturity into his beachboy good looks, and his effect on her now was actually rather intriguing considering how much time had passed. Yet every time she’d seen him back then, her teenage heart had done a pirouette in her chest. The way he would narrow his beautiful steel-gray eyes and tell her she could at least say hello had tied her tongue, literally stolen any clever thing she might have said right from her head.

Then, she had begun to overhear the concerns her parents had expressed about him. About how Matt had been suspended from school for fighting. About how he’d stolen liquor from another friend’s home. About how they could no longer trust their son in his company because Cord had picked up his unruly behavior and Cord had already been difficult enough as it was.

Had she been the rebellious type herself, she supposed she would have found Matt’s defiance of authority terribly attractive. And she had—in a safe, James Dean teenage-fantasy sort of way. But her parents pampered and protected their children. Their girls, especially. She had been sheltered all her life from people who lacked manners and breeding and, being a good and dutiful daughter, she had avoided him like the proverbial plague long before he had been declared persona non grata at the Kendrick estate. Even after Matt and Cord had hooked up again in college, she had found herself avoiding him.

Not that their paths had crossed often. Until she had arrived at her brother’s that evening, she hadn’t seen Matt since his and Cord’s college graduation. And then, only at a distance. The most exposure she’d had to him was to hear his name in connection with the astonishing growth of his company and, occasionally, to hear her mother complain that Cord had taken off with him yet again to risk his neck in pursuit of an adrenaline high.

She crossed her legs once more, her foot slowly swaying as she nursed her chardonnay. She had the distinct feeling that Matt’s and her brother’s mutual love of adventure was why they had remained such good friends despite the temporary ban from each other in their youth. Cord climbed mountains simply because they were there. He sailed, scuba dived and flew his own plane. If there was a force to be conquered, he met the challenge head-on. More often than not, according to her mom, Matt was the one who introduced the challenge in the first place.

Still stewing about her day, she rather wished she had that sort of nerve herself. Make that guts, she thought, unladylike as the word sounded. She rather wished she had such guts herself.

She would never admit such a thing aloud, of course. It wouldn’t be dignified and heaven knew she needed to be that. At that moment, though, feeling constrained by her parents, her life and her own inability to buck the tide, she couldn’t help thinking that she would love to abandon the conventions she lived with and lose herself in something that made her feel truly…free.

She finished the last of her wine. Vaguely aware of its effects draining the tension from her muscles, she also decided it was time she stopped letting Matt Callaway get to her. Years had passed. People changed. As she had already reminded herself, she was twenty-eight, not an impressionable eighteen. More importantly, not letting him intimidate her would at least return some control to her day.

By the time she decided she wouldn’t be able to work on her little self-improvement project without seeking Matt out, something she hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to do, she had retrieved the bottle of wine from the refrigerator. Twilight had settled deeply over the tranquil view and she had polished off a second glass. Feeling quite relaxed, and certain she would soon feel brave enough to venture inside, she poured another splash simply because sitting there sipping it was the most pleasant thing she’d done all day.

She sank back in her chair.

Across the wide inlet, the trees had turned black against the last light of day. An occasional pinpoint of white indicated a house as isolated as the one her brother had chosen for his escape. Water lapped against the dock. Her brother’s sailboat, its sails furled and masts bare, rocked gently with the incoming tide.

It was peaceful here. Something that surprised her. She wouldn’t have thought Cord could stand all this lovely quiet.

Ten minutes and another splash of wine later, the rumble of the door put an end to tranquility.

Her strappy red sandal slipped from her toes. It hit the deck as she glanced up hoping to see her brother standing there.

Matt leaned against the doorjamb.

He didn’t bother to turn on the porch light, but even in the low glow of the lamps coming from farther inside, she could easily see that he had showered and changed. He’d combed his damp hair straight back from the angular lines of his face. A loose V-neck sweater hung casually over comfortably worn jeans. She couldn’t tell the sweater’s color. She could tell only that it was pale and that it clung rather impressively to his broad shoulders.

The clothing covered him commendably. It didn’t do a thing, however, to disguise the power in his big body. Or, maybe, she thought as he crossed his arms, that power was just the latent tension that surrounded him like a force field.

“Cord just called.”

Reminding herself that she wasn’t going to react to him any differently than she would any other guy, she toed at her shoe. She succeeded only in pushing it farther away. “I didn’t hear the phone.”

“You probably couldn’t hear it through the door,” he replied, his face shadowed in the deep dusk. “He won’t be back until tomorrow.”

Ashley glanced up. “What time is it now?”

“About seven-thirty.”

She’d been there since six-fifteen.

“He knew I was coming. I left a message on his cell phone.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Did he say why he wouldn’t be here?”

“I think her name is Sheryl.”

Give Cord a choice between a good time and responsibility and responsibility lost nearly every time.

“Great,” she muttered, and set her goblet down with a clink beside her purse and the manila envelope beneath it.

She didn’t feel relaxed anymore. The drive had been a total waste.

“Tell me,” she said, leaning forward again to see if she could see her sandal, “is he really playing tonight, or is he just doing what he tends to do when it comes to his family and avoiding me?”

“He didn’t say what he was doing.”

Liar, she thought. He and Cord were as thick as thieves.

“Tell me where he is and I’ll take the papers to him. All I need is two minutes.”

“He didn’t say where he’d be.”

Exasperation threatened to surface. Years of biting back anything that might sound less than agreeable kept it from her tone. “You don’t have to protect him from me,” she assured him, drawn by his loyalty as much as she was annoyed by it. As a Kendrick, it wasn’t easy knowing who to trust. Cord could obviously trust Matt, though. “I’m not asking him to donate an organ. I just want his signature.”

“He’d probably give you the organ.”

“Then, tell him I need a lung and that I’m on my way.”

The corner of his mouth crooked, the expression dangerously close to a smile. “For some reason, I think he might not believe that.” With lazy masculine grace, he pushed himself away from the door. “Leave me the papers. I’ll see that he gets them.”

“I can’t leave them with you.” Still probing for her shoe, she barely noticed the way Matt came to a halt at her flat refusal. “I know my brother. He’ll let them sit around until I have to come back for them. Or he’ll lose them,” she decided, hearing boards creak as Matt resumed his stride. “Then the lawyers will have to redraw them and I’ll have to waste hours chasing him down again. He could have signed these two days ago, but he was in such a hurry to get out of his meeting and up to New York for some concert that he totally spaced it.”

“Maybe he spaced it on purpose.”

“I can’t imagine why. It’s not as if he’s getting cut out of anything. It’s just an administrative formality that Dad wants taken care of this week.”

She nudged her chair back farther, pine legs scraping against cedar.

“Would you turn on the light, please? I can’t see.”

There were times she would like to take a hike from responsibility, too, she thought. At the very least, she would love, for once, to know what it felt like to do what she wanted to do, the way her brother did, instead of what was expected of her. There were times she felt so stifled she could scream.

But that wouldn’t be dignified, either.

A while ago, she’d only felt frustrated by her parents and her life in general. Now, she felt frustrated by a brother who obviously had never learned the value of other people’s time. It didn’t help that she couldn’t find her shoe.

The clean scent of soap and something hinting of citrus, musk and warm male filled her lungs an instant before she glanced up. Matt crouched in front of her. With one hand braced on the arm of her chair, he reached under the table. His arm brushed her leg as he did, the feel of it as solid as granite against her calf.

He picked up what was little more than a dainty heel and a few intersecting ribbons of leather. In the dark, the crimson leather was practically invisible.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

Ashley’s glance slid from the breadth of his shoulders to the dainty shoe he held in his big hand. With it extended toward her, he openly studied her face and waited for her to take what he offered.

From the unblinking way he watched her, it was almost as if he were daring her not to.

She had no idea where the odd thought had come from. “Thank you,” she murmured, taking the shoe from his hand.

Without a word, he rose, dwarfing her, and stepped back so she could slip the little straps over her foot.

Dismayed by how quickly her heart was beating, she glanced up to see him hold out his hand.

Refusing to let him rattle her was her goal for the day. Utterly determined to have at least that much go her way, she curved her palm over his, willed herself to ignore the heat seeping into her skin and rose from the chair before she could spend any time thinking about the flutter the contact put in her stomach.

She stood too fast. Suddenly light-headed, wanting to ignore that, too, she turned to pick up her purse, keys and the envelope beneath them.

The quick lack of equilibrium wouldn’t be overlooked. Swaying just enough for her to consider that the last splash of wine might not have been the best idea, she steadied herself against the first thing she could reach—which happened to be Matt’s chest and a forearm that felt like hammered steel.

The man wasn’t just solid. His body felt as hard as concrete. Even his fingers felt as if they had no give at all when they automatically locked around her upper arms to keep her upright.

Beneath her hand, she felt the steady beat of his heart.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m…fine.” She was aware of the scowl in his voice, more aware of the heat wherever her body touched his. Each little point of contact seemed to physically burn—her palm where it had flattened against his chest, her arm where it lay against his. “I just got up too quickly.”

She shifted, getting her footing, trying to ease back.

Still holding her by one arm, he picked up the bottle of wine and tipped it. The scowl deepened. “Was this full?”

“It was when I opened it.”

“You sat out here and drank half a bottle by yourself?”

She was tempted to point out that he could have joined her. He just didn’t give her a chance. His frown had settled hard on her mouth. The displeasure carved in his face seemed to be slowly fading, though. It turned to something that looked far more like curiosity. And heat.

The air in her lungs went thin. She wasn’t sure she was even breathing when his eyes finally locked on hers once more.

“Give me your keys.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your keys,” he repeated, finally deliberately letting her go. “You’re not driving anywhere.”

She had already realized that she’d had more wine than could be considered wise. She’d realized, too, that his power to rattle her went a tad beyond anything she might be able to physically control. Yet, all she truly cared about at the moment was that he was the third person that day to tell her what she couldn’t do.

Curling her fingers around her key ring, she tipped her chin, reminded herself not to be intimidated and politely said, “No.”

The sound he made leaned heavily toward exasperation. “Don’t do this.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she replied ever so reasonably. “You asked for my keys. I said no. End of discussion.”

“It might be the end of the discussion, but it’s not the end of the issue.” The determination in his eyes met the uncharacteristic stubbornness in hers. “Don’t make me have to take them.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to,” she informed him.

Her tone mild, her expression faintly mutinous, she slipped her hand under her jacket, beneath her blouse and tucked them into her bra. She was perfectly capable of keeping her keys in her possession while she figured out how to get home without driving there herself. She wasn’t drunk, but she doubted she could walk a perfectly straight line, either. The last thing she wanted was to be stopped for driving under the influence. Worse, harm someone in an accident she caused. The press would have a field day with that one.

Remembering that the press was always out there, lying in wait for some mistake in judgement or unguarded comment to exploit, did nothing but add another layer to the sense of frustration she was beginning to feel with her life. Or, so she was thinking when Matt’s glance slipped to the V of flesh between the lapels of her jacket.

Seconds ago, he had sounded considerably less than pleased with the position he found himself in. Now, with her keys nestled between her breast and her bra, he simply seemed intrigued by it.

“Now, that’s a move I never would have expected of you.”

“Maybe I’m tired of doing what’s expected,” she murmured, a little surprised by it herself. “Chalk it up to a bad day.”

“All the more reason for you to not get behind a wheel. And by the way,” he said, his voice surprisingly patient, “I wasn’t implying that you had to stay here. If you give me your keys, I’ll drive you.”

There was a deep cleft in his upper lip. Realizing she was staring at it, hoping he didn’t, she jerked her glance up. “All the way to Richmond?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a hotel. There’s a Hyatt right down the road.”

“It wouldn’t look right to check into a hotel without luggage.”

Especially if someone recognized me, she thought.

Having encountered yet another thing she couldn’t do, she picked up the goblet. Since she wasn’t driving, there was no reason not to finish what was in it. It was far too good a vintage to let it go to waste.

Watching her, looking unwillingly intrigued, Matt narrowed his eyes. “Why was it such a bad day?”

“It wasn’t really that bad. Not in the overall scheme of things,” she qualified. It really hadn’t been any worse than any other. Except for running into him, it hadn’t even been unlike any other.

She glanced toward the sky, wondering if she’d find a full moon. That might help explain the odd sense of dissatisfaction that had sunk its claws into her.

She didn’t see the moon at all.

“It was just…frustrating.”

“Because your brother didn’t show?”

That sounded so petty. And it was. But it wasn’t any one thing getting to her. It was the accumulation.

“Among other things,” she murmured.

There was a time when Matt would have told himself to let it go. To pack her into a cab and get her out of there. This was the woman who had backed away from him every time he’d come within ten feet of her, who had barely said a word to him even when he’d gone out of his way to get her to speak. From the time he’d first laid eyes on her, when she’d been all legs and long hair and all of fourteen, she’d done everything but twitch her nose to disappear in order to avoid him.

He could have sworn she had intended to continue to treat him like one of the great unwashed when she’d first arrived. Yet, it seemed that he had misread her. She didn’t seem at all intent on avoiding him now.

He watched her swirl the pale liquid. Her expression pensive, her thoughts clearly troubled, she seemed far different from the untouchable little princess he’d last seen nearly ten years ago. There was no mistaking her polish or refinement. There was a grace about her that went beyond the impeccable clothes and flawless skin. Yet, even looking as privileged as she truly was, she seemed softer to him, more…touchable.

In the muted light spilling through the windows, her hair looked like pale silk. The way she had it caught at the back of her head fairly taunted a man to undo the intricate clasp restraining it, free it to tumble over her shoulders. And her skin. In the shadows it looked as smooth and perfect as marble. Her eyes were what drew him, though, the gentleness he saw there.