After Dark. Wendy Etherington

“And wouldn’t it be nice to hold a fund-raiser out there when everything’s finished? Sort of an elegant wine-and-cheese party?”

      “Or a tea,” Courtney suggested. “With those sweet little biscuits Mabel makes.”

      Sloan frowned. “That’s going to be tricky. I specifically told him we were neither using him for a fund-raiser nor after his money.”

      “We’re not using him,” Helen insisted. “We’re using the house.”

      “Though if he wanted to make a sizable donation,” Courtney added, “we certainly wouldn’t say no.”

      “But isn’t one of our goals more media exposure?” Penelope asked, as always, wise beyond her years. “If we call attention to Batherton Mansion, it will naturally call attention to the owner. I don’t think Mr. Kendrick is interested in any more TV or newspaper coverage.”

      “Perhaps after we get to know Mr. Kendrick a bit better,” Sister Mary Katherine offered, “we’ll feel more comfortable asking for his help in raising our profile in the area.”

      Sloan didn’t think it was appropriate to share with the nun just how well she wanted to get to know Aidan Kendrick, so she remained silent and let the discussion buzz around her.

      She couldn’t imagine losing her father so tragically, then having her life and business practices scrutinized on a daily basis. Maybe Aidan Kendrick could have handled things better—a few well-timed, but brief statements.

      Instead, he’d tried to hide, and that only made the reporters more determined to uncover the dirt he was concealing. Did reckless playboy Aidan Kendrick owe money to the mob? Were his parents’ supposed mugging and murders really pay-back? Was he into drugs and had crossed the wrong dealer? Had he dated a woman with a jealous boyfriend—or even a husband?

      The police had discounted all these wild theories and called the case a simple mugging, but Kendrick had kept quiet, so they persisted. He’d sold his successful company, disappeared for a month, then, a couple of weeks ago, wound up on tiny Palmer’s Island.

      She didn’t want to cause the man more problems, but if the committee didn’t do something quickly, if they couldn’t attract more members and their funds, they’d likely lose the historical properties they owned and maintained.

      Though they’d had a lucrative budget to buy the first church established on the island and a historical home once owned by a pirate, several of their benefactors had passed away in the last few years. Those properties needed constant maintenance, payment of water and power bills and a staff of tour guides.

      To keep the revenue coming in for those expenses, they had to attract new tourists to their area and sign up a whole bunch of new, dues-paying members. A really rich benefactor would be a dream come true, hence the interest in both Aidan’s property and Aidan himself.

      “I think we should call for a vote,” Sloan said after a few minutes.

      She, Helen and Courtney carried the motion three to two. “So, we plan to use Batherton Mansion in our next publicity campaign. And, ladies, let’s keep this between us for now. We’re going to need to approach Mr. Kendrick slowly and carefully.”

      “And make sure we can protect his identity,” Penelope said, with concern.

      “Naturally,” Sloan said easily.

      Approaching Aidan with this idea now would never work. In his present state, there was no way he would be open to photographers and historians tramping through his precious halls.

      The ways she might soften him up flitted through her mind, heating her blood, sending anticipation soaring.

      She cleared her throat and forced her attention back to business. “Now, what do all of you think of the plans?”

      They discussed the various materials and styles Aidan was using and all agreed they were aesthetically superior, as well as historically accurate. The fact that this house would soon be returned to its glory, and on their little island, was exciting and encouraging.

      When the meeting broke up, Penelope and Sister Mary Katherine walked out the door together and Helen took the opportunity to grab Sloan’s arm and hold her back. “So, how hot is he?”

      Courtney, brown eyes sparkling with interest, leaned in to hear all the good stuff.

      Remembering the wicked heat that flared intermittently in Aidan’s silver eyes, the silky-looking texture of his inky hair and his long, lean body, Sloan barely suppressed a shudder of longing. And since both women were always on top of the latest island gossip, she didn’t see any point in lying. “Off the scale.”

      They groaned simultaneously.

      Sloan could hardly argue that reaction.

      “Since you got there first, I guess this means he’s off-limits to the rest of us,” Helen said.

      “You are the mankiller in this town,” Courtney added, then grinned.

      Sloan stared at her. “I am not.” Well, maybe lately she had been dating quite a bit. When a girl was unceremoniously dumped, she was entitled.

      Courtney’s gaze turned speculative. “Your ego and heart aren’t still bruised over Davis, are they?”

      Knowing she definitely didn’t want that nugget dropping around town, Sloan crossed her arms over her chest and made an effort to look bored. “Please.”

      Helen leaned her shoulder against the door frame. “Oh, so you’re not upset he’s back in town?”

      Sloan swallowed hard. Her susceptible, traitorous heart thumped with almost painful intensity. “He’s back?” she managed to ask, suddenly realizing Helen had been dying to share this information for the last half hour.

      “Definitely,” Helen replied.

      Courtney shrugged. “He worked for Kendrick Communications, which has now been sold. There was bound to be some fallout with the employees.”

      Again, Sloan couldn’t help but think Aidan and Davis in the same town wasn’t a coincidence. Were the two men friends? Davis, for all his faults, had been an islander his whole life. She supposed he’d mentioned his hometown to his boss at some point.

      “I’m sure Davis will come looking for you,” Helen said, her smile sly. “You’ll give us all the details when he does, won’t you?”

      “Sure. You bet,” Sloan agreed absently, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea that Davis was on Palmer’s Island.

      What was he doing here?

      There was no doubt he could land a job with another big-time company in Atlanta. Returning to his roots was a step backward.

      Not to mention her daddy still had vague ideas about reinstituting the firing squad for the sin of Davis hurting and humiliating his precious daughter.

      She said good-bye to Helen and Courtney, then headed to the main desk to actually start doing her job. She reorganized the entire medieval research area, dusted seventeenth-century fiction and helped two students find the history of bacteria and antibiotics for the science fair.

      But the whole time, she thought of Helen’s news.

      Davis is here.

      He could be standing on the front steps even now. He might have left her a message—she checked her cell phone six times. He could drop by her condo at any moment.

      Davis, with his charming smile, sandy-blond hair and cheerful elegance was a polar opposite to dark and brooding Aidan Kendrick. Was that why she was so attracted to Aidan? Was she subconsciously leaning toward a man totally unlike the one who’d broken her heart and left her beloved island for more excitement and another woman?

      At eleven-thirty, one of the Junior League volunteers arrived, so Sloan quickly made copies of Aidan’s plans, then headed toward the café. There, she took Mabel’s advice