Hot August Nights. Christine Flynn

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      “Ever make love in a sailboat?”

      She didn’t know what she said. She didn’t know if she said anything at all. As she raised up on tiptoe and lifted her lips to his, she just knew that while she didn’t have the nerve to seduce him, she had no problem at all with him seducing her.

      Chapter Two

      Ashley should have known something would go wrong. When it came to something she needed to have go well, it almost always did. That was why she drove herself nuts trying to imagine every possible disaster and come up with a plan to cope with it. Especially when there were cameras around.

      She stared across the ballroom of the Richmond Bay Yacht Club, her heart beating in her throat and her grip tight on the podium. Even with her totally obsessive attention to detail, she hadn’t considered this particular possibility. Since she’d slipped from her brother’s house last Wednesday morning, not an hour had gone by that she hadn’t felt shocked to the core by what she had allowed to happen with Matt Callaway—or prayed that it would be at least another ten years before their paths crossed again.

      She’d made it three days. He’d just risen from one of the tables at the back of the room.

      She had just auctioned off the last item of the night—a weekend in Aspen that had gone for eight thousand dollars. It had been the highest bid of the evening, the frosting on the proverbial cake for the gala dinner and auction to benefit the East Coast Shelter Project. Enthusiastic applause rang through the crowded and glittering room of beautifully gowned and tuxedoed guests.

      She barely heard it.

      Looking totally at ease in black tie and cummerbund, Matt moved toward the middle of the tables. He drew the eye of every female he passed. The men noticed him, too. The aura of quiet power surrounding him had them all sitting taller, straightening their shoulders as males who competed for money or power often did when faced with a prime example of their own.

      With an easy smile, he motioned to the assistant handling the portable microphone.

      Ashley had long ago learned to cover nerves with grace, disappointment with a smile, challenge with composure. Now was definitely not the time to forget what she’d been taught. Not with the society editor of the Richmond Times-Dispatch and five hundred of the wealthiest and most influential citizens in Virginia as witnesses.

      Applause was still ringing when other guests began to turn in the direction of her frozen stare.

      “Before you conclude the auction, Miss Kendrick. I’d like to bid on one last item.”

      Matt’s rich, deep voice filled the ballroom. Applause quieted. Conversations died.

      Ashley made herself smile as her own microphone carried her voice back to him. “I’m afraid those were all the donations we had. There isn’t anything left.”

      “Sure there is.” His tone was deceptively, good-natured. Almost dangerously so. “There’s you.”

      She could swear her heart stopped. Sheer will kept her tone unremarkable. “I beg your pardon?”

      “You,” he repeated easily. “I’ll bid fifty thousand dollars for you to actually help build a Shelter Project house yourself.”

      Murmurs rolled through the crowd as the cream of Virginia society looked from the undeniably attractive man casually holding the mike to where she stood on the dais in her strapless pink gown.

      Over the years, Ashley had learned to pretend an ease that was never truly present in public. She madly pretended that ease now as the low rumble of speculation and approval faded to expectant silence.

      With a thousand eyes on her, aware mostly of the steel-gray pair locked hard on hers, two thoughts collided in her mind. Under no circumstances did she want to do anything to embarrass herself or her family. And she would give half of her sizable trust fund to have never behaved so irresponsibly with a man who obviously still behaved irresponsibly himself.

      “Mr. Callaway,” she said, feeling frantic, feigning calm. “Your bid is most generous.” Pride and duty nudged hard. So did a rather desperate need to get him away from that microphone. “I would be more than happy to work on a Shelter Project house.”

      “Start to finish,” he qualified. “You have to stick around to see it through. You can’t just show up, then disappear.”

      He was too far away for her to see the challenge she felt certain must be glinting in his compelling eyes. But she didn’t doubt it was there. She could practically feel it radiating toward her. She could hear it, too. An edge had slipped into his tone that indicated far more meaning in his last words than what anyone else was likely to hear.

      You can’t just show up, then disappear.

      He was angry. At the very least, it seemed he’d been offended by what she had done. Or, more likely, what she hadn’t. She hadn’t wakened him before she’d left. She hadn’t left a note. She hadn’t done anything but hurry away before he could wake up and see that she was not at all like the woman who had eventually pulled off his sweater, unzipped his jeans and played out her little fantasy of feeling totally unrestrained.

      Embarrassed to death by what had happened, she hadn’t returned the call he’d made to her office the next day, either.

      “Tell you what,” he said, “you see it through and I’ll make it a hundred thousand.”

      Low gasps went up around the room. Regatta Week in Richmond drew the movers and shakers, old money and new, and anyone who was anybody spent with abandon. Yet, even that rather exclusive crowd seemed impressed by the sum. Or, maybe, what impressed them was Matt’s nerve.

      Determined not to lose hers, she glanced around the room. Her expression as good-natured as her tone, her stomach in knots, she asked, “Are there any other bids?”

      A smattering of laughter drifted through the room as guests craned their necks to see who might want to top him.

      It seemed no one wanted to steal his thunder. Either that, or they’d maxed out on their charitable spending for the night.

      With all the other items, she had rapped her small gavel against its block when the item had been won. It was a fair sign of how rattled Matt had her that she forgot the gavel now. “Then, one hundred thousand it is.”

      Matt’s golden head dipped in a deferential nod.

      The flash of a camera caught her as the crowd burst into enthusiastic applause for the unprecedented bid. The goal of raising a quarter of a million dollars to build adequate housing for the working poor had not only been met. It had just been quite handsomely exceeded.

      Ashley barely heard the ovation that was for her as much as the man someone had just handed a glass of champagne. She was far more aware of Matt as he lifted the glass to her in a subtle but clearly triumphant toast.

      Conscious of the press, her peers and her parents, she nodded back, smiling when smiling was the last thing she felt like doing. She didn’t trust what Matt had just done.

      She wasn’t even sure why he was there. His name hadn’t appeared on the guest list.

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