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“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.
Curious, taunted by a vulnerability he never would have expected, he heard himself ask, “Like what?”
“Well for one thing,” she said, looking as if she might be struggling to admit it, “I’ve discovered that I lack…guts.”
“Guts?”
“You know. Nerve.”
Fascinated by the admission, he watched her frown.
“Anything in particular you want this nerve for?”
“To do something freeing.”
“Freeing?”
The pinch of her delicate forehead deepened, her pensive expression making him wonder if the wine might be making her a little more thoughtful, or more candid, than she might have otherwise been.
“Make that something…outrageous.”
“For instance?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Looking very much as if she were only now considering it, she moved to the railing and lifted the goblet toward the dark water. “Maybe taking that boat and heading off where no one could find me.”
“You sail?”
She shook her head, turned her glance back to the water. A faint breeze tugged at her hair, loosening a few of the shorter strands around her face. “Not without a crew. And that would defeat the whole purpose.”
“That’s not outrageous. That’s just escape.” He recognized that need easily enough. He’d just never expected that she would feel it. “Next choice?”
“How about throwing my dinner at the next waiter who interrupts eight times to ask if everything is prepared to my liking?”
“A food fight at Four Seasons. Yeah,” he muttered, nodding as he considered. “That might be a little shocking.” He smiled. “What else?”
She pondered for a moment, clearly searching for what, for her, would be scandalous behavior. “Skinny-dipping.”
His glance cut to where she stood at the rail. He didn’t know how tall she was. Five-five maybe, without the heels that brought her to his chin. But he had no trouble estimating the size and proportion of the rest of her slender, supple-looking body.
He’d been conscious of her since the moment he’d opened the front door. He had not, however, been prepared for the jolt of pure physical awareness he’d felt when he’d caught her by the arms moments ago. He’d barely had his hands on her, barely breathed in her subtle, faintly erotic scent and every nerve in his body had gone on alert. Then, she’d looked up at him and his glance had settled on the gentle part of her lips. Her lush mouth had looked soft, moist and as ripe as a peach. And the prospect of tasting her had turned certain parts of his anatomy as hard as stone.
“You think you’d do that?” he asked casually.
“No.” She sounded disappointed. “But it sounds like something that would take nerve.”
“For some people.”
“Have you done it?”
He lifted one shoulder in an offhanded shrug. “The water’s warm in Tahiti.”
Ashley’s glance moved from his broad shoulders to his narrows hips, then jerked back to where the low security lights made shadows on the boat in the distance. She had a profound appreciation for art in all its forms and his body, magnificently, gloriously naked would definitely be a work of art. As for experiencing the freedom of being naked in the water herself, she couldn’t imagine the sheer lack of inhibition doing something like that would take.
At the moment, growing more relaxed by the wine, protected by the darkness, she realized she truly hated being inhibited.
“What does it feel like? Being that…free.”
