* * *
The Wild Rose Press
www.thewildrosepress.com
Copyright ©2002, 2007 by Sherrie Kelley
First published in 2002, Dorchester Lovespell, 2008
* * *
NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.
* * *
Ashley froze, painfully aware that not only was her behind exposed as she bent over the suitcase, she was also topless.
Michael...
She grabbed the first thing her fingers could snag—a slinky red and black nightie—and clutched it to her bare chest.
"You look great, baby."
The low, masculine whistle that followed his observation scalded her from head to toe. She swallowed dry, her voice nothing short of a croak. It's the way she felt—as if she would croak any moment. “Wh-what the hell are you doing here?"
"I should ask you the same thing,” Michael said, leaning against the doorjamb and crossing his arms. “I gather Kim didn't mention to you that I would be on this cruise?"
"Get the hell out of my cabin before I call security."
"It's not like I haven't seen you naked before, Ash,” he said, his voice dipping low. “Besides, this is my—"
"Get out!” She was shaking now as she tried to cover herself with the sheer material of the negligee. Being in the room with a half-naked Michael was paramount to being caged with a randy lion; an irresistible, silver-tongued lion. Unfortunately, she knew the dangers all too well.
"I can't get out."
To her discomfort, he strode past her to the closet on the opposite side of the room.
Ashley looked past him and gasped. There were men's clothes hanging in the closet. Lots of them. “You-you—"
She stopped, swallowed hard, and began again. “What are your clothes doing in my closet?” This was a nightmare, one she'd had many times; of being close to him and unable to control her libido.
"I tried to tell you,” Michael said mildly, slipping the shirt over his broad chest. “That this isn't your cabin—it's mine."
"HOT NUMBER is a fast-moving story with loads of sexual pressure and plenty of hot scenes ... a light and humorous tale.” ~RT BOOKclub
"...An engaging romance ... For a thoroughly entertaining read, I recommend HOT NUMBER.” ~Romance Reviews Today
"HOT NUMBER moves at a fast pace, and gives us lots of chuckles ... a great read that any fan of contemporary romance won't want to miss.” ~A Romance Review
Hot Number
by
Sheridon Smythe
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Hot Number
COPYRIGHT ©
2002, 2007 by Sheridon Smythe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Angela Anderson
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 706
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
Previously Released 2002, Dorchester Lovespell
First Champagne Rose Edition, 2008
PRINT ISBN 1-60154-204-6
Published in the United States of America
CONTENTS
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A word about the author...
* * * *
Dedication
This one's for my niece, Miranda Lee Partee.
You're not only beautiful, you're intelligent, talented,
and sweet. I'm looking forward to watching you turn into the wonderful woman I know you'll become.
Aunt Sherrie loves you!
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter One
"As you can see for yourself, the house is just the right size for a small family."
Ashley Kavanagh moved slowly from room to room as she spoke. From the corner of her eye, she could see that her prospective buyers—a young doctor and his very pregnant wife—looked suitably impressed. Good. Ashley had shown the house a dozen times this month; maybe this would be the last. With her furnace on the blink, she could use the commission. “Upstairs we have four bedrooms and two full baths, with a large linen closet in the hall. One of the bedrooms could easily be converted into an office."
"Hm. You'd like that, wouldn't you hon?” The blonde linked her arm with her husband's and flashed him a teasing, totally devoted grin.
Ashley cleared her throat to get their attention, casting a quick glance at the big window fronting the street. Driven by a wild North wind, sleet and snow pinged against the glass with ever increasing fury. The storm reminded her of her marriage to Michael—something she definitely did not want to think about.
It had just begun to storm when the couple arrived, but from the looks of things it was going to be every bit as bad as the Weather Channel predicted. Great, Ashley thought, gnawing the lipstick from her bottom lip. The snowstorm would go really well with her frigid house, especially if the service men failed to fix her cranky old furnace today.
At least the man they'd sent from the garage had managed to get her car started this morning. First the furnace, then the car. Could the day get any worse?
"Is this a working fireplace?” the young doctor asked, snagging Ashley's attention.
"Yes. The previous owners—” Ashley paused a beat as her cell phone gave a muffled peal from the depths of her coat pocket. She studiously ignored it, making a mental note to remind her new assistant that she didn't like to be interrupted during a showing. “—put a lot of work into the house, and it shows. Don't you agree?"
The cell phone stopped abruptly. A few seconds later her beeper—located in her other pocket—began to emit an urgent sound.
The doctor chuckled at her exasperated frown. “Go ahead, take care of business. I'm surprised my beeper hasn't gone off."
"Not as surprised as I am,” his wife quipped.
Even as Ashley extracted her compact phone from her pocket, she explained, “I'm sorry. I'm breaking in a new assistant. I guess she forgot I was showing the house."
"Take your time. Lori and I will take a look around upstairs."
When they disappeared, Ashley quickly rang her office.
Traci answered on the first ring. She sounded agitated and breathless. A shiver of premonition danced along Ashley's spine. What else could go wrong today?
"Miss Kavanagh! I'm so glad you called—"
"This had better be an emergency,” Ashley broke in cryptically.
"It is, I think. I mean, I guess it could be a prank call, but this lady sounded ancient. I just couldn't picture her as the prank caller type, you know?"
"Get to the point.” She would have to say something about that irritating, gum popping.
"Do you know a Mrs. Abernathy?"
Ashley frowned. “She's my neighbor. Why?"
"Because she called and said your house was on fire."
"Excuse me?"
"Your house ... Mrs. Abernathy said she called the fire department when she saw smoke rolling out your basement—."
Frozen to the spot, Ashley slowly snapped the phone closed, cutting Traci off in mid-sentence. Okay, so she was wrong; the day could get worse.
* * * *
"But I thought you guys replaced that old furnace when you bought the house."
Ashley scraped the bottom of the ice cream carton and shoved a spoonful of Rocky Road into her mouth as she considered Kim Wallace's comment. She stared at the muted television with an intensity that made her eyes water, determined to speak without bitterness.
It wasn't easy. Any time she thought of her ex-husband, she got this harsh, metallic taste in her mouth, not to mention a queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe it was an entire half-gallon of Rocky Road that was making her queasy.
"I was all for replacing it, but Michael was adamant that it had a few good years left,” Ashley said, placing the blame squarely where it belonged. From the moment the fire chief explained that the old furnace had caused the fire, Ashley decided it was Michael's fault. If he had listened to her, she wouldn't be sitting in front of someone else's couch, eating someone else's ice cream, and watching someone else's television.
Not that Kim was bad company. She and Kim had been friends throughout high school and beyond. Unfortunately, Kim was also Michael's half sister, which made their friendship a bit awkward since the divorce.
The subject of Michael always managed to pop up, despite Ashley's blatant hints that she preferred to forget her two-timing, faithless ex. But Kim, it seemed, was a hopeless romantic and just couldn't accept the fact that Ashley and Michael were finished.
Kim suddenly blocked her view of the television. Bracing hands on hips, she faced Ashley. “If you think its Michael's fault, maybe you should call him and suggest he help pay for the damages."
The idea was ludicrous—and obvious. Ashley sighed and set the empty ice cream carton on the coffee table. Gently, she said, “Kim, Michael and I have been divorced for two years. I bought him out, so the house is my responsibility—not his."
"But—"
"No buts. Just a period. End of subject.” She added a warning glare, but wasn't surprised when Kim ignored it. Kim and Michael had disturbing similarities.
"Michael's changed, you know."
"Good for him.” Ashley stubbornly ignored the sharp pain that squeezed her heart.
"I mean, he's changed a lot,” Kim's eyes narrowed slyly. “He's thinking about getting married again."
Ashley managed a delighted smile, crushing Kim's hope that the news would arouse jealousy. “Great! Maybe we can have a double wedding, because Tom and I are thinking about setting a date as well.” She was kidding about the double wedding, but she wasn't kidding about the rest. She and Tom had talked about setting a date.
Kim's face crumbled. “You can't marry Tom!"
"Oh, yes I can, and I'm going to. Tom is definitely Mr. Right.” Ashley's grin became genuine at Kim's disgruntled expression. She waved her hand. “Now, will you please move? They're about to announce the winning lottery numbers."
Her friend obliged and moved aside, her voice taunting, relentless. “If you're truly over Michael, why do you still use those sentimental numbers for the lottery?” When Ashley remained stubbornly silent, Kim continued. “What were they? Let me see ... I believe it was the anniversary of your first date and your wedding date."
"What makes you think I haven't changed them?” Ashley demanded, but then spoiled it by flushing. She never could lie to Kim, dammit! “Tom and I intend to pick new numbers. We've just been ... busy.” Even to her own ears, the explanation sounded a little lame. The truth was, she'd never told Tom the significance of the numbers. To discuss it would be to remember how Michael teased her about her silly belief that she'd one day win.
Bittersweet memories she'd much rather keep buried, thank you very much!
"Hey, aren't those the numbers.... “Kim's voice trailed away as she stared, open-mouthed at the numbers scrolling across the television screen.
Ashley laughed outright. “After the rotten day I've had, it's hardly likely that ... I ... I would—” Her scornful glance landed on the flashing digits.
Familiar numbers—numbers she knew by heart. Numbers she had played faithfully for three years.
The blood drained from her face. Her heart stopped for a scary moment, then lurched against her rib cage. Very slowly, as if she feared the numbers would disappear, she leaned forward.
And gulped loudly.
She'd won the lottery!
* * * *
Normally if the phone rang while Michael Kavanagh was in the shower, he'd let the answering machine do its job. Not tonight. Tonight was the night he was going to pop the question to Candy, and if that was her calling with some excuse not to see him tonight, he wanted the opportunity to change her mind—before he changed his.
Thus, his mad dash out of the shower, clutching a damp towel to his still-dripping body. He snatched the phone from the hook on the third ring. “Hello?"
"Michael, you'll never believe what's happened!"
Not Candy but his little sister, Kim. “Kim. What's up?"
"Ashley's car wouldn't start this morning."
At the mention of his ex, Michael frowned. “So?"
"Then her furnace stopped working."
He winced, remembering their heated argument over getting a new one. Still ... he didn't see what any of it had to do with him now. Someday—please God—Kim would accept it. “I'm sorry to hear that. Listen, Kim, I'm dripping all over the—"
"Michael, her house caught on fire."
Now that was cause for pause. A thrill of fear streaked through him, mocking his outward nonchalance. “Is she all right?” he demanded.
"Yes, she's fine. She wasn't home.” Kim sucked in another breath. “Michael, I'm calling to tell you that Ashley won the lottery!"
Michael held the phone away from his ear as Kim followed her garbled announcement with an excited squeal.
"She what?” he asked, certain he'd heard wrong. He was surprised he could hear anything after that ear-splitting scream.
"She won the lotto! She wouldn't call and tell you herself, stubborn wench, so I had to. She never changed the numbers, you know. Of course, she has to share it with someone—some other lucky stiff who picked the same numbers. Still,” Kim prattled on, “five hundred thousand dollars is a big pile of dough..."
But Michael was no longer listening; he'd just remembered something else. Something momentous. Something wonderful.
Something shocking.
Gently laying the phone on a pillow, he grabbed his jeans from the floor where he'd dropped them and stuck his hand in the right front pocket. He withdrew a crumpled lotto ticket and carefully smoothed it out on the bed. The one and only lottery ticket he'd ever bought, purchased that morning at a convenience store on a silly, nostalgic whim as he considered his relationship with Candy and his past with Ashley.
He could still hear Kim talking as he stared at the familiar numbers on the crumbled paper. Numbers he'd teased Ashley about. Numbers that brought back bittersweet memories of the happiest times of his life. Numbers that reminded him of what he'd lost—what her mist
rust had cost them.
Wouldn't Kim be surprised to know he was the other lucky stiff?
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
"If you need anything, Mrs. Kavanagh, just let me know. The ship's casinos are open from noon till midnight—unless we're in port. Dinner is at seven."
Ashley hid a cynical smile at the young steward's rehearsed speech and handed him a five dollar bill. She didn't bother correcting her marital status. He flashed a toothy grin, set her suitcases on the floor, and left, closing the cabin door with a soft click.
She turned in a slow circle, her gaze moving around the luxury cabin on the cruise ship Funstar. There was a king size bed, a mini bar, a built-in refrigerator, and plenty of closet space. Carved wood accenting lent the room a rich, personal feel, and there was a small table and two chairs positioned in front of the porthole.
It was bigger than she expected, more luxurious than she could have dreamed, and for the next seven days, it was all hers, compliments of her hometown travel agency. In return, she agreed to pose for a publicity picture that would grace their new brochure advertising Funstar cruises.
Winning the lottery certainly had its perks, Ashley mused, testing the bed. And the unexpected cruise couldn't have come at a more convenient time. She literally needed a place to stay while the workers cleared the basement, repaired the damage, and installed her new furnace.
Being temporarily homeless was one of the reasons she agreed to board the ship without Tom. Ashley let out a rueful chuckle as she thought of all the sexy lingerie she'd bought with him in mind, not to mention a daring, slinky black cocktail dress she intended to wear to the farewell party that was rumored to be the highlight of the cruise.
She had decided it was time to take their relationship—so far platonic—one step further. After all, this was the new millennium; time to leave behind her old-fashioned ideas of waiting for marriage. Imagine how disappointed she was to learn from a red-faced Tom that he suffered seasickness so violently that just looking at water made him ill.
Hot Number Page 1