The Rich Girl Goes Wild

Chapter Three

Mac rounded yet another corner in the U-shaped mansion and decided that sometimes no sleep was better than just a little. While about half the size of MacDougal House, with a pretty simple layout, the long hallways of the Rivers’s home had him sufficiently lost on his way to the pool.

He shoved his long bangs away from his face, only to have them spring forward into his eyes again. He shouldn’t have gone to bed for what turned out to be a five-hour nap with his hair wet, but he’d been so dog-tired that he’d barely dried off from his shower before he’d hit the sack. He usually kept his hair shorter so he never had to think about it, let alone mess with it. But barbers had been in short supply on his last scuba diving trip, and when he returned, those in Stephanie’s camp had started hounding him about marrying her to the point that he hadn’t wanted to take the time to have his hair cut. He’d avoided sitting still in one place long enough to give any of them an opportunity to harangue him about settling down.

Mac rolled his bare shoulders beneath the towel he’d slung around his neck, fighting the tension he’d thought he’d outrun on the cross-country flight last night. Needing more than ever to dunk his head and burn off some steam swimming laps, he lengthened his stride until his black, slip-on soccer slides slapped against his bare heels, certain he’d find the back staircase at the end of the hall that one of the maids had told him about. Supposedly it would dump him right by the door to the heated outdoor pool.

An odd tapping sound snagged his attention and he glanced into the open doorway on his right as he walked past. He jammed it into Reverse, nearly stepping out of his loosely velcroed single strap slides, until he was standing in the doorway of a room awash in muted pinks and smelling of rose potpourri. Ashley Rivers, hair still perfectly repressed and cream suit still buttoned up tight, sat at a delicate and feminine Queen Ann desk in what should have been the sitting room area of her bedroom suite.

He could see the four-poster bed, buried beneath mounds of white lace and pillows, through an open door to her right. His blood automatically started pumping in preparation. Man, this woman main-lined his libido.

She was typing away on a keyboard as she stared intently at a computer’s flat-screen monitor. Sitting next to the monitor was the biggest Rolodex he’d ever seen in his life. The room even sported a file cabinet. The fact that she’d turned part of her private quarters into an office didn’t surprise Mac. From the short time he’d known Ashley, he figured her the all business, no fun type.

Knowing full well Ashley Rivers was trouble and that he should just keep on going, he instead grabbed the ends of the towel around his neck and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb all casual-like. A perverse, hitherto unexplored aspect of his personality wanted to get back at all the Stephanies in the world, even in such a small way as, say, being an annoyance.

In his best come-here-often voice he said, “Well, hello, sunshine.”

She started and glanced up. Her brow-marring expression of concentration changed into a pretty flush. He felt a jolt of satisfaction when her gaze traveled over him from head to foot and her eyes widened at the sight of him clad only in loose black swim trunks and black, foot massaging soccer slides. He indulged himself by pulling down on the towel to flex his biceps and pecs. Her flush turned into a raging blush.

Goooaaal!

Then it occurred to him that maybe she just found his epic case of bed-head offensive. Naa, it was the pecs. Clearly Miss Ashley needed to get out more.

He gestured toward the computer with an end of the towel. “What’cha doing?”

She looked back at the computer screen and blinked rapidly a few times. “I’m working,” she said as if reminding herself.

“You work in your bedroom?”

“This isn’t my bedroom. This is my office. My bedroom is through there.” She tilted her head toward the door on her right, making her tiny, gold hoop earrings sway.

Practically salivating with the opportunities she seemed in the habit of handing him, he grinned and rumbled, “Oh, really.”

The way she fought to deny the suggestiveness of his tone by primly folding her hands in her lap made him decide that goading her would also be an excellent way to keep his mind off his situation and make his time here at least a little entertaining.

She cleared her throat and returned her fingers to the keyboard with a determination that made him smile genuinely.

Without looking at him she said, “Yes. And I’m quite busy, so if you’ll—”

“What exactly do you do?”

She spared him a glance that said she didn’t think much of his intelligence. But when that glance became a perusal of his bare chest he made sure she noticed by spreading the towel a little wider than necessary, she kind of glazed over. “I…I—”

“You…what?”

She snapped her gaze back to her desk and made a grab for her day planner. She unfastened the flap with a yank and opened it, then flipped through the pages way too fast to be able to see what was on them. “Right now I’m planning the menu for the dinner following Nathan’s christening ceremony.”

“Ah. And when there aren’t babies to be christened…?”

“I coordinate everyone’s schedules, plan social functions and put together fund-raisers for the various charities we support.”

“So basically you’re the Rivers family social secretary.”

She straightened in her seat, visibly bristling. “I keep my family from floundering beneath their many and varied obligations, Mr. Wild. Just as my mother did.”

“Mac,” he insisted, his attention sliding to her Rolodex. “You must have the name and number of the entire free world in that thing.” Including a MacDougal and Thorton-Stuart or two, he thought sourly.

She looked at the monstrous cylindrical file of alphabetized name cards and one side of her pretty mouth curled upward. “I do my best.”

He glanced at his dive watch and decided to get her mind on something besides social connections. “Yeah, well, it’s quitting time in the rest of the working world, so why don’t you go pull on your swimsuit and come have a splash with me.” He forced himself not to consider what that body of hers would look like in even the most modest of swimsuits.

“I have too much to do, Mr.—Mac. Which is one of the reasons my office is located where it is. For expediency’s sake.”

Mac was struck by how sad it was that she’d put expediency over a place to have private time in comfort. “Well, for fun’s sake, I say you go get your suit on.”

“I’m sorry, but—”

“Okay. At least say you’ll go out to dinner with me later. Maybe we can even catch a movie. I’m pretty sure I saw a multiplex theater on my way through town.” He surprised both of them by pressing, but her state of perpetual work was a sorry thing.

She stared at him for a moment, her eyes wide as if he’d asked her to stuff his sporran for him while he had it on. Then she pulled her elegantly winged, blond eyebrows together the slightest bit. “Like a…date?”

He shrugged. “Whatever. Mostly we’d just be having a little fun. I promise we’ll keep it casual.” Casual and physical. Like the way he’d kept all his relationships since Kate.

Because a MacDougal only loved once.

It was ancient family lore, but the generations of long, successful marriages had firmly established it as fact in Mac’s mind. The ache he still felt for the woman he’d committed his heart to provided further proof of the truth of the saying.

She shook her head with center-court-ref firmness. “I’m sorry, Mac, but to me, there is no such thing as a casual relationship. People deserve more from those in their lives. I believe that if you can’t commit—” her voice hitched slightly and she shifted her gaze to her day planner “—the most of yourself, then you shouldn’t enter into a relationship in the first place.”

She ran a manicured fingernail down a page in the planner. “And right now, I don’t have the time—” she looked up, this time meeting his gaze, her blue-green eyes glowing with conviction “—nor the inclination to enter into any new relationships.” She rose smoothly from her embroidered upholstered chair and walked toward him, her suit looking unaccountably fresh, the gentle sway of her hips shouting confidence and emotional strength.

He figured he knew the answer, but to be safe he asked, “So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“No. I’m not seeing anyone. Nor do I intend to start. If you’ll excuse me…” She grabbed the edge of her door, her finely shaped chin held high. “I have a lot of work to do.”

Then she closed the door, forcing him to take a step back to keep from getting hit in the nose.

Mac stood staring at the gleaming dark wood, not used to being told no by anyone, especially a woman. Miss Ashley was going to be a tough nut to crack, but he was now more determined than ever to rise to the challenge. His pride demanded it.

He spun on his soccer slide’s heel and continued on his way down the hall, telling himself it wasn’t real disappointment he felt because Ashley Rivers wouldn’t come out and play with him, only annoyance that she’d cut short his bid to be an annoyance. She clearly needed to get a life. And he was just the guy to show her what she was missing.

ASHLEY SLUMPED AGAINST the door, finally able to say what she’d wanted to say from the second she’d looked up and seen Mac standing in her doorway wearing nothing but a swimsuit and a smile. “Oh. My.”

He was just too, too perfect. She pushed away from the door, peeling off her summer-weight suit jacket in an attempt to lower her temperature. No. Mac wasn’t perfect, with his too long hair and too casual attitude about propriety. That wasn’t what had her feeling like she’d stepped into a Swedish sauna every time he came anywhere near her.

If he wasn’t perfect, what was it about him?

The image of Mac leaning against her door frame, à la James Dean sans clothes clear in her mind, she haphazardly tossed her jacket at a white file cabinet where an overstuffed chair and ottoman had once sat. Then the answer came to her. She was simply having a base reaction to his overabundance of masculinity.

Yes, that was it, she thought as she shimmied out of her skirt, still too warm. Down to her slip, she kicked off her sling-back pumps and paced in front of her desk. While she had never been bothered before by a physical attraction—no, make that a simple reaction—to a handsome and, er, well-developed man, for some reason Harrison’s friend had such an effect on her.

She couldn’t exactly blame it on being too long in seclusion since breaking up with Roger. She had, after all, just contributed a healthy sum to one of her favorite children’s charities by “purchasing” a bachelor the weekend before last. The attractive and engaging gentleman had treated her to a delightful evening in Portland that had included dinner at one of the city’s finest restaurants and box seats at the opera.

Though she would have rather caught the professional basketball game that had been playing that night, she still had a pleasant enough time. At no point during the entire evening, however, had she perspired in the slightest. She had actually been quite chilled and had required her wrap.

Unfortunately Travis Norton IV hadn’t affected her the way Mac did. Neither had Roger despite his intense pursuit of her and her lonely heart’s response to it. No man ever had.

She put a hand to her forehead. Perhaps she was coming down with something. Was there such a thing as studitis? She rolled her eyes at her own silliness. She simply needed to strengthen her resistance to men like Mac so she wouldn’t be so affected by his magnetism during his stay at the estate.

She wasn’t worried about his charm. Her heart was locked up too tight to be in any peril.

She hurried to her desk and opened her day planner. In the 6:00 p.m. space she wrote:

Rent Indiana Jones series and Brendan Fraser’s George of the Jungle.

She closed her day planner with a decisive snap. If a hearty dose of handsome, unrestrained movie men didn’t do the trick, then she would go back to her original plan of keeping as far away from Mac Wild as politely possible.

THE NEXT NIGHT, ASHLEY headed toward the dining room, pleased with how well her plans regarding a certain houseguest were going. She’d managed to avoid him the remainder of the night before and hadn’t encountered him once today. She’d found that taking note of an odd prickling at the base of her neck allowed her to leave a room bare moments before Mac entered it. That and keeping an ear out for the odd way he tended to whistle softly through his teeth as he made his way through the halls kept her one step ahead of him and let her know which knocks on the door to her rooms to ignore.

Having spent the majority of the night before overloading on cinematic stud-muffins, she felt she was suitably immune to Mac’s animal magnetism and could dine with him tonight. Thankfully her grandmother would be there as a buffer.

Stopping right before she reached the open double doors to the dining room, she smoothed the front of her pink satin, sleeveless shell and checked the fall of the matching chiffon palazzo pants. She stopped herself and let out a disgusted sigh. She did not care what Mac Wild thought of the way she looked, so there was no point in fussing. She didn’t even know for sure if he’d be eating with them. She’d had a plate sent up to his room the night before, and he might prefer to dine that way again.

Determined to put an end to her foolishness once and for all, Ashley stepped into the doorway of the dining room muttering The Three P’s. She forced herself not to pause for more than the barest of seconds at the sight of Mac. He stood facing her on the other side of the long table that ran parallel to the doors, his big, tanned hands resting casually on the back of one of the Chippendale side chairs. His hair looked as if he’d finger combed it back from his face, which added to the casual, and disturbingly appealing, style set by his white cotton shirt, the long sleeves of which he’d shoved up on his muscular forearms.

Reminding herself that she’d effectively squashed any and all physical effect he had on her, she stopped on the opposite side of the table and smiled genuinely. “Good evening, Mac.”

His brows went up. Then his gaze traveled over her. “Whoa, look at you. Going out to some charity function?”

“No. I—” Dressed up to impress you. She struggled not to frown at the impertinent voice in her head. She had not dressed to impress him. “I prefer to adhere to tradition and dress for dinner.” She inwardly cringed. Her reasoning sounded lame even to her own ears, but she refused to admit that she had tried to look her best for this, this guy.

“Boy, did I miss that memo. Though I can’t say that I’m surprised.” He glanced down at himself. “I hope zip-off pants won’t get me tossed out on my ear. Like I told Harrison, I kind of packed light for this trip.”

She thought of the surprise she had for him and a spurt of satisfaction pushed aside the fear that she had craved his admiration. “I believe I can help you with that. But first, please, do sit down.”

“Ladies first.” He pulled out the chair in front of him. “The little name thingys really help a guy out when there are so many chairs.”

He had indeed pulled out the chair at the place setting bearing her name placard. His sarcasm was unmistakable. What had possessed her to have Donavon lay out a formal table?

Raising her chin as if everything was as it should be, Ashley rounded the table and took her seat. She was careful not to look at Mac, keeping her focus on the fine bone china set atop a brass charger in front of her. But she could do nothing about the goose pimples that erupted on every inch of her when he bent low, his breath minty smelling and warm on her neck, to push her chair forward.

He had to be doing it on purpose. He just had to be. There was no way a man like him didn’t know exactly how he affected women.

The thought gave her the bravado she needed to look over her shoulder and give him a raised brow.

Obviously getting her step back, please message loud and clear, he straightened away, though his smile was smug.

He made a grand show of perusing the remaining placards, which was silly since there were only two others. His had been set directly across from her, with her grandmother at her side.

He went around to his place, but eyed the one next to her. “Hmm. Well, I guess this is okay. Though I have to admit, the thought of rubbing elbows—among other things—with you does appeal. I’m a lefty, you know.”

Ashley swallowed as delicately as possible, unable to pull her gaze from his. “No, I didn’t, actually. But now that I do, I’ll be sure to seat you at the end next time.” She pointed to the distant end of the table, her smile masterfully sweet.

He raised a brow of his own, and she knew he realized she meant far away from me. Any retort he might have made was withheld when Donavon, in his standard white dress shirt and black slacks, came in through the butler’s pantry from the kitchen carrying appetizer plates of arugula and shrimp. Thank goodness he hadn’t dressed more formally. Then their guest would have reason to think she had a need to impress him.

She much preferred being in control of the situation with Mac, and smiled broadly at Donavon when he set their plates in front of them. “Donavon, since Grandmother appears to be running late—” darn her anyway “—would you please bring me the package that arrived this afternoon?”

“Of course,” Donavon replied.

She watched the tall, slender man who’d been their houseman for as long as she could remember, yet never seemed to change, leave the room before she looked back at Mac. The expression on his face oozed suspicion. What did he have to be suspicious of?

Before she had a chance to consider the question, Donavon returned with the large, rectangle box. She’d already inspected its contents when it arrived via overnight delivery service and made sure nothing was missing or could garner complaint from its recipient.

She stood, bringing Mac out of his seat, and accepted the box from Donavon so he could get back to helping Marie in the kitchen. She rounded the table to Mac’s side and set the box on his chair, her heart pounding with excitement over giving him a gift. No, she was excited about fulfilling her brother’s wishes, that was all.

She avoided Mac’s gaze nonetheless. “Now, before he left, my brother expressed his desire to have you attend what will be a very special event for our family, Nathan’s christening. With the goal of fulfilling my brother’s wishes in mind, I ordered you a suit from the tailor we use exclusively.” She lifted the darkbrown, summer-weight wool suit jacket from the box and held it up to him. “Granted, it’s off the rack, but it’s from an excellent designer and I think the tailor was able to alter it to fit you based on my estimates of your measurements.”

Mac looked from the jacket to her. “My measurements? As in my inseam?” He took a step forward until her knuckles were touching his hard chest as she held the jacket up for him, his topaz eyes lit with sensual mischief. “Tell me, Miss Ashley, exactly when did you take an estimate of my inseam?”

Ashley’s face caught fire with the knowledge that she had indeed looked enough at his body to feel quite comfortable guessing at his measurements. She became extremely aware of the heat seeping up her arms from where her knuckles touched his chest.

She stammered, “I…you…you’re similar in height and build to my brother, and having ordered clothing made for him on more than one occasion…I…well, it’s just something I’m good at.”

“Ah. But next time, promise me you’ll take the measurements the old-fashioned way. One inch at a time.”

The image of running a measuring tape up the inside of Mac’s naked leg flashed vividly in Ashley’s brain. She draped the jacket across his broad chest and took a desperate step back. So much for taking control of the situation.

Mac grabbed the jacket to keep it from falling to the ground, his initial annoyance at her pulling an end run to get him to go to the christening giving way to amusement. She was fun to fluster. And she was smart. She’d outmaneuvered him big time. Granted, he was sure he’d be able to come up with another reason to skip out on the ceremony. Avoiding occasions that made him yearn for what might have been was something he’d become good at. But he still admired her cleverness.

He was beginning to like the uptight Miss Ashley.

Pushing aside the unwelcome thought, he put one arm in the jacket. “Help me on with this, will you?”

He turned his back to her and bent his knees so she could reach to guide his other arm into the jacket and pull it up onto his shoulders. He adjusted it until it settled perfectly on his frame. It fit. Not that he was surprised.

He shook his head and turned back to face her, watching her intently as she fussed with the lay of his lapels. Damn, but she was pretty. Pretty, sexy, clever. And for the strangest reason, it struck him that she was nothing like the ruthlessly ambitious Stephanie after all.

Whoa. Time to back off, Wild Man.

She glanced up and met his gaze for a second and awareness crackled between them before she dropped her attention back to his lapels. She could sure rev his engine. All he had to do was pop the clutch.

While he had every intention of keeping his foot down firm on the clutch pedal, the stupid devil inside that made him hang from cliffs without a lifeline made him lean toward her sweet-smelling hair. “I can’t help but wonder what else you’re good at, sunshine.”

Her lush, pink lips moved, but nothing came out. He had just decided to momentarily suspend his decision to back off and put her out of her misery with a big, fat kiss when a feminine voice sounded from the doorway.

“Children, so sorry to make you wait.”

Mac jerked his head up and Ashley took a hasty step back as an older woman who had to be Dorothy Rivers swept into the dining room wearing deck shoes, white Capri pants, and a nautical-looking sweatshirt. Harrison had talked a lot about his diminutive grandmother and all the activities she still engaged in, but Mac wasn’t prepared for the whirlwind the Grand Dame of the Rivers clan turned out to be. And the sharpness in her dark-green eyes as she settled her gaze on him had him furthering the distance between him and her granddaughter.

Ashley recovered first. “That’s all right, Grandmother. As you can see, we weren’t ready to eat quite yet.”

Dorothy’s gaze went from Ashley to Mac knowingly. “Oh, yes, I see.”

Ashley gestured to Mac. “Grandmother, this is Mac Wild. He’s a friend of Harrison’s. They met at Harvard. Mac, I’d like you to meet my grandmother, Dorothy Rivers.”