The Matchmaker's Plan. Karen Toller Whittenburg

Mother, I did not bring Matthew over here so you could steal him away from me.” Her smile shifted to him and he nearly dropped to his knees under its calculating charm. “Not after he’s just asked me to take a stroll in the garden with him. He insisted I tell you where I’d be.” Her hand slipped up his arm and settled in the crook of his elbow. “So you wouldn’t worry. Isn’t he simply the most thoughtful thing you ever laid eyes on?”

      If she fluttered her eyelashes, he was out of there. But in the brief moment her gaze locked onto his, he saw only a mute appeal for him to play along. And, what the hell. This was better than the way she usually treated him. “I did suggest a moonlight stroll,” he lied, smiling down at her before he turned back to her father, man-to-man being the logical next step in this farce. “I promise I’ll bring your daughter back with roses in her cheeks,” he added, thinking that the autumn air would probably give her goose bumps as well. But then, considering that the pediatric center didn’t actually have a garden yet—it was still under construction—they wouldn’t be strolling in it long enough to feel the nip.

      “See that you do.” Rick O’Reilly had already lost interest, his attention wandering to a waiter who was passing by with a tray of drinks. “You want something else to drink, Mother?”

      Peyton had Matt away and out the front door before he quite knew he was on the move. “Thank you,” she said in a rush when they hit the open air. “I’m so sorry. Really, really sorry. But there wasn’t much time and I couldn’t think of a better idea. And…well, I needed you as a distraction.”

      From hero to distraction in the space of a sentence. “That certainly takes the wind out of my sails,” he said. “I thought you were having a change of heart.”

      “No, you didn’t.” Forehead creased, expression troubled, Peyton paced away from him, her emerald gown sashaying across the curve of her hips, rippling around her ankles. The evening dress was virtually backless, exposing an expanse of sleek, creamy skin to the cool October night, and he wondered if he should offer her his jacket.

      But she seemed oblivious to the cold as she studied the parking lot, turned, and paced back to where he waited. “Where would a lovely young man with more car than sense take a gullible young girl with a propensity for trouble on Halloween night?”

      “Your sister?”

      “She would be the gullible young girl.”

      “And Covington Locke?”

      “He would be the lovely young man.”

      “And you think they’ll get into trouble?”

      She arched an eyebrow. “Even if it wasn’t Halloween.”

      “So why did your parents let her go?”

      The other eyebrow rose. This didn’t require much imagination, really. Parents who equated wealth and privilege with character and who wanted their daughter to be accepted. Two teenagers. A car. Miles of secluded beach. “Maybe they’re in a group,” he suggested, as if that would keep trouble at bay.

      “I’m going after her.” Determination thrummed through the words, her nod was mere confirmation. “Tell me the top ten list of teenage hideouts,” she said. “Starting with the one you think Covington would be most likely to hit first. And then tell me how to get there.”

      “We’d be here all night and halfway into tomorrow. Rhode Island has over four hundred miles of coastline, much of it easily accessible and pretty secluded at night. And that’s not even counting any number of inland places they might have gone.”

      “Well, isn’t there a public curfew or something?”

      This time his eyebrow lifted. “Weren’t you a teenager once?”

      She sighed. “Scarlett was my curfew. She kept me from getting into who knows what kind of trouble. I’m not doing a very good job at returning the favor.”

      “Maybe it’s not your job.”

      “I thought you took care of your younger siblings.”

      “I did. Our parents were away more than they were home.”

      “And if it was your teenage sister out there, what would you do?”

      “Go after her.”

      She stood there, looking out into the dark as if she could will her sister back to the party inside, rubbing her arms against the chill and daring him without words to explain why she should not do what he’d just admitted he would.

      But this was different. Her parents, however foolish they might be, were very much in the picture and bore the responsibility if—and in Matt’s mind that was a fairly big if—Scarlett did choose to get into trouble. This was not Peyton’s battle, although he could tell she was at war over it. “Let’s go back inside,” he suggested because he could see she was cold and because, bottom line, this was none of his business and not his problem. “You’re cold.”

      “You’re wrong, Matt.” And he knew she wasn’t referring to the temperature.

      “I can see you shivering,” he said anyway.

      Her gaze came back to him, calling his bluff. “I have to try. My parents are who they are, but Scarlett shouldn’t have to pay for their mistakes…or mine. She’s only fifteen. He’s twenty. I can see the danger in that equation, even if my mother chooses not to.”

      “I thought he was closer to her age.”

      “Well, he isn’t. And I’m not convinced he’s such a lovely young man, either. Now, if you were Covington, where would you go on a moonlight drive?”

      Matt hated that he allowed Peyton to consistently back him into a corner no gentleman could gracefully get out of. “I’ll take you,” he said. “But you have to get a coat. And I can’t guarantee we’ll find them.”

      She walked up to him, close enough for him to catch the scent of some exotic perfume, close enough for him to see a familiar fire in her eyes. “I wasn’t asking you to take me. All I’m asking for is a general direction.”

      At that moment, he wanted to shake her only slightly less than he wanted to kiss her. He wasn’t stupid enough to do either, so he reached for her arm, felt the chill on her and the rocket flash of heat that sliced under his skin and shot like fire up through his veins. “You’ll be lost before you get anywhere near those kids,” he said a little more roughly than he intended. “I said I’d take you and I will.”

      “Don’t be ridiculous. This is Ainsley’s wedding reception. You can’t go missing. And it’s totally unnecessary. Scarlett is my sister. I’ll find her. I never meant for you to get involved.”

      “Get your coat,” Matt growled, and opening the door, he escorted her—a little forcefully—inside. “And please, don’t make a scene. This is, after all, a happy occasion.”

      She looked up at him and a dual fire of anger and desire burned between them. Passion—that uninvited, unacknowledged guest—danced in the flames. “Thank you,” she replied tightly, “but I don’t need—”

      “—my help,” he finished for her. “I understand. Now, get your coat.”

      She stood her ground for a moment, but then she turned abruptly and walked away, offering him a long view of her bare back and the taut, seductive sway of her hips. He knew, absolutely, there was no seduction in her thoughts—if he was even still in her thoughts—and that she’d be horrified if she could read his. Hell, he felt horrified enough for both of them. And furious that he’d let himself get involved in her problems. He should be out there dancing with one or the other of his sisters…or any number of other beautiful, and agreeable, partners.

      But even as he tried to convince himself he was unhappy at this unexpected turn of events, he knew it was a lie. Peyton had offered him exactly what he wanted—an opportunity to escape the happiness that surrounded and threatened to suffocate him. He adored