Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Zachary
There’s no one else in the room so long as she’s standing there in that dress, some sparkly kind of bluish fabric clinging to every curve of that body like a second skin. A body I remember in vivid detail. A body, a woman, a beauty, a magnetism, that has been hard to forget.
It’s been three years, but she’s got me in the same grip, like I’m back in that dive bar with her voice calling over my shoulder. Like no time has passed at all.
Except she wasn’t glaring at me then, blue eyes blazing as if she hopes the scorch of them might inflict some actual pain.
I deserve that.
“Should we open the bidding at $250?” the mayor says, and I swallow a snort at the sheer insult of it.
Summer stops glaring at me for half a second to cast a glance at the mayor, her nerves showing through the cracks of that beautiful face, so poised in that infuriating dress. The way it moves with her, each sparkle flashing, is calling me like a magpie to silver.
My hands curl against my thighs, suppressing an all too familiar itch to peel that dress off her and pretend it is three years ago, up in my hotel room, before I got the call that made me leave her there, tangled up in my sheets.
A regret that’s taunted me more times than I’ll admit.
One single night that has made it impossible to be with another woman without thinking about her.
“$300? Do I hear $400? Now, $500?” The mayor rattles through the bids at a breakneck pace.
I don’t look for the bidders in the crowd, barely hear the numbers as they rise; I just look at her, savoring every second of her standing there where there’s no chance of us speaking. A safe distance, even if she’s much closer in my head.
The bids rocket upward, other men jostling each other, elbowing, calling out their competing offers as if they’re waving dollars at a strip joint. My lip curls and I tilt my head slowly from side to side to ease the growing tension in my neck.
“I got $2000!”
“He doesn’t have two dimes to rub together!” someone else shouts. “I’ve got $2500!”
On and on it rises, to the excited babble of the crowd, and it’s not just men bidding either. The ladies from the book club are just as swept up in it, offering up their monthly retirement payments for the chance to get Summer alone.
Then, to my equal relief and irritation, the bidding slows.
“Any advance on $4500? Do I hear $4750?” the mayor asks hopefully, searching the room with strained hope in his eyes. “$4600?”
It’s not enough for the hospital, and it’s damn sure not enough for Summer. She’s worth more than any of these folks have in their pockets, and more than I have in mine.
“Going once,” the mayor says, frowning.
I wasn’t planning to bid at all tonight, figuring I’d make an anonymous donation instead.
“Going twice.” The mayor is hesitant, searching the crowd more fervently.
But I suppose I could bid a fraction of what three dates with Summer is worth. It’s for a good cause, after all.
“Going—”
“$100,000,” I say, my hand up.
The town hall falls silent. I can feel those further back craning their necks to try and figure out who made the bid, while my crew turn and stare directly at me.
I don’t much care; my focus fixed on the woman who has made dating impossible, so why not have three with her?
Who knows, it might be exactly what I need to break the hold that night has on me.
The mayor coughs and sips from a bottle of water, his eyes bugging out of his head. For a moment, I brace to run up in case he passes out.
But he recovers quickly, dabbing at his sweaty brow with his sleeve. “Now, Mr. Murphy, this is no time for jokes. I wasn’t aware that our firefighters had so much money to burn!”
An awkward chuckle ripples around the room, the shocked tension easing a little.
“Helps when your dead father defended the mafia,” Levi mutters, eyebrow raised as if he can’t believe I’ve just outed myself as wealthy in such a public place.
As if the Crown Hill rumor mill wasn’t already plainly aware.
There’s a reason that moms and grandmas have been shoving their daughters and granddaughters at me these past three years, and it has nothing to do with my promotion to squad boss.
Of course, no one mentions it out loud, in case it lessens their chances of getting one of their own married to my fortune.
My father’s fortune.
“It does,” I reply to Levi with a humorless laugh, before raising my voice so the mayor can hear. “There’s no joke. $100,000. Final offer.”
Summer’s glare morphs into a wide-eyed stare, unblinking.
Her lips are parted like she wants to say something, but all I can think is how they parted like that just before I kissed her in the cold outside the dive bar, how she moaned when I pressed her up against the wall, how we didn’t come up for air in the cab to the hotel, steaming up the windows.
How I ruined it.
“Well, this is… this is unprecedented!” the mayor cheers, setting off a round of applause that gives the town permission to celebrate. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy. And this is only the first lot!”
Paige appears on stage, taking control of the microphone, her face flushed with giddiness. “Thank you, Zachary. Thank you!” She exhales. “With this, we’ll not only be able to buy equipment; we’ll be able to hire more staff. Maybe stop overworking the ones we already have, eh?”
There’s laughter and some shouts of “here, here” from some of those overworked, underpaid staff members, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement.
A few folks from the police station and the high school start muttering that they should organize a fundraiser.
So many voices swelling around me, but I’m just waiting for her to speak.
She steps down off the stage, that slinky dress drawing my eye to every dramatic curve, sparking a fresh wave of vivid memories: her blouse and pants on my hotel room floor, her long hair freed from its clip, half covering her perfect breasts as I lower my head, my senses filled up with that damn perfume and the softness of her skin.
I don’t stand, waiting for her to come to me.
The glare is back as she pauses in front of my seat. “Mr. Murphy,” she says tightly, sticking out her hand for me to shake. “How very generous of you. I’m… so very glad I could help the hospital in a… meaningful way.”
I rise slowly from my chair, intensely aware that the rest of the crew are staring at her. Undressing what’s not theirs with their eyes, sucked in by the glitter of her dress and the figure poured into it. If I could order them out of there, I would, but that would only draw attention.
My hand slides underneath hers. Her skin is cold as my fingertips curve in a light grip, and I bring her hand up to my lips.
A soft graze, my eyes locked with hers. There’s that perfume again, hitting me like a freight train as it drifts from her wrist; the same scent that lingered in Roscoe’s, the same scent I remember from that night, three years ago.
She yanks her hand away, her glare heating up. “I’m sure someone will be in touch for the dates.” She clears her throat. “Maybe, they’ll leave you a note.”
My eyebrow raises involuntarily. I probably deserved that, too.
“Now, for the second lot,” the mayor declares, taking the mic back from Paige who flashes an eager thumbs-up to her brother, Levi. “A year’s worth of free cake at Sugarloaf Café.”
A rumble of disappointed murmurs vibrates through the crowd. With it, Summer turns to leave.
I gently grab her arm as the mayor jokes, “I should’ve saved the dates with Miss Turner until last!” to the amusement of the town. Summer’s head whips around, her eyes glinting with an anger I deserve, but it does nothing to make me back off.
I lean in, close to the shell of her ear, and with my thumb resting on her wrist tattoo, I whisper, “Welcome back, little dove.”
She wrenches her arm out of my grip, and with one last narrowing of those blue eyes, she walks away from me into the gloom of the hall. I hear the creaky hinges of the main doors open and close, not a slam, but close enough.