Hot August Nights. Christine Flynn

her, drawing her closer. She wasn’t in any hurry to leave, either. “Oh,” she whispered.

      “Yeah.” His breath caressed her cheek. His lips brushed hers, the touch light, incredibly tender and far too brief. “Oh.”

      Lifting his head far enough to see her eyes, he waited to see what she would do.

      When all she did was draw a shivery breath, his head dipped again and he covered her mouth with his.

      Ashley’s first thought was that his lips weren’t anywhere near as hard as they looked. They were soft, warm and, when his tongue touched hers, the shock of that small invasion turned her insides liquid and threatened to turn her legs to mush.

      He kissed her slowly, deeply, his unimaginable gentleness melting her bones by slow degrees. He eased her closer, his touch feeling far more like promise than demand. It occurred to her vaguely that she had never been kissed the way he was kissing her. It was almost as if he could be perfectly content to simply savor the shape of her mouth, her taste, and let her decide just how much more she wanted.

      She sagged toward him, opened to him a little more, wanting more of the promise. Or, maybe, it was the feel of his hand and its gentle pressure at the small of her back that had her flattening herself against him as she had imagined only moments ago. She wasn’t entirely sure. Lost in the sensations, in the haze, she wasn’t even sure it mattered.

      All she knew for certain was that she hadn’t wanted his mouth to leave hers when he trailed a path of moist heat along her jaw to the sensitive shell of her ear.

      “Are you going to tell me what you were thinking?” He whispered the words, his warm breath causing a delicious shiver to race along her sensitized nerves.

      She let her head fall to the side, giving him better access. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

      He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin.

      “Then just tell me if I’m getting hot or cold.” His voice darkened, grew more intimate. “Did it have anything to do with this?”

      His lips trailed down her neck, touched the pulse pounding between her collarbones.

      “Warm,” she murmured.

      “And this?” He lifted his head, brushed his lips over hers, the sensation deliciously teasing.

      “Warmer.”

      His mouth still hovered over hers when he lifted her hand, pressed it to his chest and murmured, “This?”

      Her heart jerked. “Maybe.”

      “Hot or cold?”

      As close as he was, every breath she drew brought his breath into her lungs. “Hot,” she whispered.

      “Do you still want to do something no one would ever expect of you?”

      Slipping her hand over hard muscle, the feel of it drawing her closer still, she smiled. “I’m not going skinny-dipping.”

      “I wasn’t even going to suggest it. The water’s too cold.”

      “What, then?”

      “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