Главная страница | Современные любовные романы | The Ashtons: Paige, Grant & Trace: The Highest Bidder / Savour the Seduction / Name Your Price

The Ashtons: Paige, Grant & Trace: The Highest Bidder / Savour the Seduction / Name Your Price
Laura Wright

Barbara McCauley

Roxanne St. Claire


Back by popular demand! These great value titles feature stories from Mills & Boon fans' favourite authors. The Ashton Dynasty – Scandalous, passionate and built on lies! Nothing is as it seems. The Highest Bidder Roxanne St Claire Socialite Paige Ashton hadn’t planned on taking part in the charity auction, but suddenly she’d been ‘bought’ by the most handsome man in the room! And Paige found herself wanting to do everything he asked…Savour the Seduction Laura Wright Grant Ashton thought of beautiful single mum Anna Sheridan as forbidden fruit, for she deserved a perfect life…one his family history would never allow him to give her. But would Anna allow him to walk away, to sacrifice their future for his birthright?Name Your Price Barbara McCauley Millionaire Trace Ashton had been cruelly betrayed when his fiancée had accepted a one-hundred-thousand-dollar bribe. Trace was left an angry, vengeful man. So when Becca Marshall dared to return to Napa Valley he planned a seductive revenge.







A family rocked by sinful secrets, broughttogether by untameable passions

THE ASHTONS:PAIGE, GRANT& TRACE

Three of your favourite authors bring

you the final three romances following

the scandalous Ashton dynasty


We’re proud to present

MILLS & BOONSPOTLIGHT™

A chance to buy collections of bestsellingnovels by favourite authors every month—they’re back by popular demand!

June 2010

The Ashtons:Paige, Grant & Trace

Featuring

The Highest Bidder by Roxanne St Claire Savour the Seduction by Laura Wright Name Your Price by Barbara McCauley

The Sheikh’s Dilemma

Featuring

A Bed of Sand by Laura Wright Sheikh Surrender by Jacqueline Diamond The Sheikh Who Loved Me by Loreth Anne White




The Ashtons:

Paige, Grant

& Trace

Roxanne St Claire

Laura Wright

Barbara McCauley











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)





The Highest

Bidder


By



Roxanne St Claire


Roxanne St Claire began writing romance fiction in 1999 after nearly two decades as a public relations and marketing executive. Retiring from business to pursue a lifelong dream of writing romance is one of the most rewarding accomplishments in her life. The others are her happy marriage to a real-life hero and the daily joys of raising two young children. Roxanne writes mainstream romantic suspense, contemporary romance and women’s fiction. Her work has received numerous awards, including the prestigious Heart to Heart Award, the Golden Opportunity Award and the Gateway Award. An active member of the Romance Writers of America, Roxanne lives in Florida and currently writes—and raises children—full time. She loves to hear from readers through e-mail at roxannestc@aol.com and snail mail at PO Box 372909, Satellite Beach, FL 32937, USA. Visit her website at www.roxannestclaire.com.


This one’s for the Space Coast Authors of Romance…the

brightest stars in my writing world!




Prologue


Spencer Ashton studied the inviting sway of the woman’s hips as she sashayed across his spacious office and out the door, ending the interview but starting the mating dance.

His choice was made. This one was young, eager and ambitious enough to request a fancy title—“administrative assistant.” With an amused snort, he spun his chair around to the fog-tipped view of San Francisco eighteen floors below.

A little ambition in a secretary was good, he thought wryly. Then they understand just what they have to give in order to get. Too much ambition, on the other hand, and they cease to be satisfied with promises and pay raises, and the demands get stronger…and turn into ultimatums.

At the thought, the image of his wife appeared in his head. Lilah Jensen had been the perfect secretary—smart and sexy. A breath of fresh air after all those years married to the mouse, Caroline Lattimer. And now, seventeen years and three children later, Lilah was still smart enough to keep her mouth shut and look the other way when she had to. She had the status she craved as Lilah Ashton, and he had the freedom he required. Shrewd woman, Lilah. Always was.

This new secretary would be good. She’d flipped her hair and wet her lips enough times to let him know she’d do whatever he asked. He inhaled a satisfied breath, puffing up his chest with a deep breath and liking the way his still-toned muscles stretched the fabric of his custom-made shirt. She couldn’t be more than twenty-five, about half his age. With a grin, he patted his hard-muscled stomach. Spencer Ashton still had it all. Good looks, a hard body and more money than God.

His quick laugh at that thought was interrupted by a tap on his door.

“What is it?” he called out, gruffly enough to communicate his distaste at any intrusion that he didn’t plan. Whoever it was should be stopped by his secretary and buzzed in through her.

The door inched open and the woman he’d just interviewed gave him a wary look. “Sorry to bother you, Mr. Ashton. Just one more thing.”

Damn, she hadn’t even started yet. He swallowed the reprimand and flashed an easy smile. “You’re no bother…” Donna? Debbie? He couldn’t remember.

“I was just in the reception area and, uh, I noticed your secretary, well, she sort of packed up her bag and left.”

The little bitch. She’d figured out that the string of women he’d been interviewing were her potential replacements, before he had a chance to give her enough severance pay to guarantee silence. He cursed his thoughtless mistake.

His gaze swept over the brunette in front of him, making no effort to hide his admiration. “Then I hope you can start tomorrow.”

She did the hair toss again, and her eyes sparkled. She might as well have rubbed her crotch. The message was the same.

“I can start right now, Mr. Ashton,” she replied in a low voice.

He felt himself respond. “Good.”

“As a matter of fact,” she took a few more steps into the room and held out a thin white envelope. “While I was out there, a messenger delivered this for you. It says personal and confidential, so I didn’t open it.”

He nodded and absently took the envelope, his attention still on the generous rise of her breasts she’d thoughtfully revealed by removing her jacket. “Thank you.”

“I’ll just get settled at the desk,” she added with a smile. “And thank you.”

She turned to leave, offering him that nice backside view again. “Just a second…” Dorie? Damn, what was her name?

“Yes, sir?”

“You may have to work a little late tonight.” He gave her an appropriately innocent look. “Just to learn some of the Ashton-Lattimer policies and procedures.”

“No problem, Mr. Ashton.”

He dropped the letter on the vast, empty surface of his desk and picked up his phone to call Lilah to let her know he’d be staying in his city apartment tonight and not driving home as he’d planned.

As he dialed the private line to his estate winery in Napa, his gaze fell on the envelope. On the front, his name was typed, with no return address.

While the phone rang in his ear, he sliced the envelope with his finger and swore as the paper cut a quarter-inch slash in his skin. He’d have to train…whatever the hell her name was…to open everything for him.

“Ashton Estate.”

He recognized the voice of his housekeeper, Irena, and didn’t bother with pleasantries. “Give me Lilah.”

“Of course, Mr. Ashton. One moment, please.”

As he waited for his wife, he sucked the drop of blood from his finger and pulled out a folded sheet of paper from the envelope. When he opened it, a yellowed newspaper clipping fluttered onto the desk. What the hell was this?

Like the envelope, the note was typed. One paragraph. No date. No signature.

An unholy tendril of apprehension snaked through him as he read the first sentence, the cut finger still in his mouth.

“Bigamy is against the law.”

He swallowed and tasted the bitterness of his own blood as he read:

Enclosed is the obituary of one Sally Barnett Ashton. Unfortunately, this newspaper seems to be in error. In the third paragraph it states that Mrs. Sally Barnett Ashton was divorced from her husband, Spencer Ashton, at the time of her death. In fact, Mrs. Sally Barnett Ashton was never divorced. Careful research reveals no divorce documents to be found in Crawley, Nebraska, or San Francisco, California. According to the laws of both states, that means her husband couldn’t remarry as long as Mrs. Sally Barnett Ashton remained alive. If he did, such a union would be illegal, and any results of that union would be null and void. Wouldn’t the second Mrs. Ashton be interested to learn that her marriage—and the subsequent divorce settlement—was not legal?

The taste in his mouth turned metallic, as white-hot anger shot through his veins.

He picked up the clipping and stared at the obituary of the woman he’d been forced to marry thirty years ago. His gaze dropped to the handwritten note in the newspaper margin.

“It’d be a damn shame for anyone to find out about this.”

His fists balled as tightly as the knot in his gut. No one would blackmail Spencer Ashton. No one would dare. He’d kill them with his bare hands first.

“Hello, darling.” Lilah trilled in his ear. “Sorry to keep you holding. Don’t tell me you’re not coming home.”

Disgust and something frighteningly close to fear strained his chest. “Of course I am.” He glanced at his closed office door and thought of the new secretary. There’d be plenty of time for that. He needed to think tonight. “I’m leaving here around six.”

“Wonderful, darling. Then you haven’t forgotten it’s Paige’s birthday. The party is Saturday, but your baby is ten today.”

“Of course I haven’t forgotten.”

He hung up without another word and grabbed the letter again, watching in horror as a single drop of his blood spread a scarlet stain on the paper. Swearing, he tore the sheet in half again and again until he had dozens of pieces in his hand. Then he stuffed them all into the trash.




Chapter One


“And the lady is…sold! To the gentleman at table four!”

The auctioneer’s gavel smacked the podium and the 450 guests in the Ashton Estate Winery reception hall erupted in a chorus of cheers and boos. The bidding for a date with the blond Napa Valley socialite, also known as bachelorette number seventeen, had been fast and furious.

She had a name—the auctioneer had even said it—but Paige Ashton’s mind worked better with numbers than names. And now that number seventeen was bought and paid for, there were only three women left before dessert and dancing could commence. Then Paige was done.

She hugged her clipboard and beamed from the side of the stage. They were just shy of the magic number of $20,000, to be raised for the Candlelighters of Northern California. God bless the brave ladies willing to parade on that stage, willing to let men shout out dollar amounts they’d pay for a date.

Not only was it a wonderful cause, the annual Candlelighters Bachelorette Auction was a smashing event, and she’d coordinated every detail for the “Take a Walk on the Wild Side” jungle theme right down to rainforest-inspired centerpieces. It had been a breeze after the balancing act she’d been performing with her family the past few months.

Still, she’d been a little nervous about executing this event—her first on her own since she’d returned home to the winery to help her sister handle the massive functions held at the world-famous estate. Megan would be proud, if she weren’t in the throes of morning sickness. Paige planned to debrief her sister on the success the next day, and they’d share a welcome reprieve from discussing their father’s murder and the various leads the police were following to find the person who shot Spencer Ashton.

“Tiffany Valencia is gone.”

The words, whispered to Paige by one of the auction aides, tickled her ear and raised a hair on the back of her neck.

“Gone? Number eighteen is gone?” It didn’t take her lightning-speed brain to solve this problem. “Get nineteen.”

The aide, a young intern for the auction company, shook her head. “No can do. That one just left with Ashley Bleeker for a smoke.”

“Bleeker? That means eighteen, nineteen and twenty are gone?”

“We have to take a break.”

“No break,” Paige insisted. That would ruin the rhythm of the event and, worse, stop the bidding. The event would ultimately be judged by how much money was raised. “Where the heck is eighteen—er, Tiffany?”

“I think she met a guy and took off with him,” the aide said apologetically.

Paige rolled her eyes. “He’s supposed to pay for that privilege.”

The aide shrugged and looked up at the stage where the auctioneer was peering at them. “You better tell George. He’s not good at ad-libbing. He needs someone to auction off.”

Paige didn’t waste a moment thinking about what needed to be done. “Get the band in place, we’re almost done with the auction portion. Let me talk to George and see if he can keep things moving until we find her.” She gave the aide her clipboard and took a deep breath, her palms suddenly too damp to risk smoothing her silk skirt.

How did these girls do it? Just going onstage to chat with the auctioneer raised her heart rate.

The room quieted a little as she stepped into the spotlights that flooded the stage. Someone whistled from the back.

Good heavens. They thought she was the next bachelorette. Paige threw an apologetic smile into the crowd and shook her head, but the lights blinded her. She could only make out a few faces in the very front, one of them her cousin Walker, looking both surprised and amused.

“Well, here’s a shocker!” The auctioneer further hushed the crowd with his booming voice. “Paige Ashton is bachelorette number eighteen.”

Blood drained from her head and rushed to her pounding heart. “No, no, I’m not.” Her denial was too soft to be heard over the rowdy response. She’d done her job and made sure the Ashton wine flowed freely. Now she had a roomful of inebriated men who’d have applauded any female at this point.

“I don’t have a fact sheet on Paige,” the auctioneer admitted, his commanding voice hardly needing a microphone. “But I know firsthand that she’s a delight to work with. She’s—how old, Paige?”

“Twenty-two!” She recognized Walker’s voice, and one more glance at her cousin revealed his fairly evil grin. He leaned over to say something to another man, missing the dirty look Paige directed at their table.

“How much do we hear for this twenty-two-year-old beauty with a well-known last name and an angel’s face?”

Death. Death would be preferable to the lights burning her cheeks—or was that just one massive blush that threatened to explode every blood vessel in her face?

“Five hundred!”

Oh, dear God. They were bidding. She held up a hand to stop them, but the auctioneer grabbed it, spinning her in a Fred Astaire-like move. “Just five hundred? Look at this beautiful young lady. Svelte, sweet and smart as a whip.”

“Six-fifty!”

“I hear six-fifty for the honey with honey hair, do I hear six seventy-five, six seventy-five…”

Paige felt her legs weaken. Please God, make this end. “This is a mistake, George,” she whispered to the auctioneer, her voice hoarse and low. “I’m not number—”

“Seven hundred!”

“That’s more like it,” George bellowed into the microphone. “I hear seven hundred, seven hundred, do I hear seven-fifty?”

He launched into the forced staccato that had enthralled the crowd all night, and someone yelled out a higher amount. The auctioneer’s drone rose in intensity as he dared and defied them to up the ante.

“Eight-fifty!”

“Nine hundred!”

Her legs would never hold. George spun her again. Twirling, Paige caught a glimpse of Walker, still talking to the other man, but the light prevented her from seeing who it was.

“Nine-fifty!” The shout came from the back of the room.

That silenced the crowd for a moment, no doubt because they neared the thousand dollar figure that usually stopped the bidding.

Her cousin laughed at something his companion said, and leaned back, momentarily blocking the blinding light and giving Paige a straight shot at the man sitting next to Walker.

“One thousand dollars!”

She heard the amount called out from the back, but her gaze locked on wolflike gray eyes that devoured her. A spray of goose bumps cascaded down her spine as they stared at each other.

“Fifteen hundred!” The bid was shouted from the far left side of the crowded room, followed immediately by another.

But the lights seemed to fade, the shouting muted, and the merciless bidding drowned out. She simply couldn’t tear her gaze from the handsome stranger who stared right back at her. Who was he? Who had Walker invited to this fund-raiser? Then he lifted his lips in a provocative half smile.

Whoever he was, he was a heartthrob.

“Two thousand!” With the blood rushing through her head, Paige barely heard the crazy bid barked from the far right side of the room.

The auctioneer roared with glee and urged the frenzy onward.

A trickle of perspiration snaked between her shoulder blades and she tried to swallow, still unable to look away from the man’s riveting gaze.

Then he winked. So subtle, so sneaky, no one else could possibly have seen his secret message. But she did. And it sent an involuntary shudder through her body.

“Ten thousand dollars.”

The auctioneer froze and looked toward the front table. “Did I hear…?”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t have said that. The wolf with gray eyes stood to an impressive height. Backlit by a spotlight and looking like a monarch making his pronouncement, his half smile widened to a predatory grin. “Ten thousand dollars for Paige Ashton.”

For a long time the room remained soundless, then the gavel slammed so hard the podium vibrated and Paige’s knees nearly buckled.

“Congratulations, sir, you’ve bought yourself one expensive evening out!”

His gaze never wavered from her. “Worth every penny.”



“What the hell did you do that for?”

Matt Camberlane grinned at Walker Ashton’s question. “I couldn’t stand to see her suffer,” he declared, his gaze skimming the stage for another glimpse of her. That had been true, but Matt knew that his lifelong competitive streak had just seized him. No way that pretty woman was going out with any of the sharks in this room. At least not with any other shark in the room.

Walker burned Matt with a threatening stare. “She’s my cousin. She wasn’t up for bid. I told you, she’s running the event.”

“Precisely why I had to rescue her.”

“She doesn’t need your kind of rescuing.”

Matt attempted a “Who me?” look that he knew didn’t work on his friend. “I just told you, I’ve sworn off the opposite sex. You may have found the holy grail of love with Tamra, but I am not meant to drink from that ultimate cup of happiness.” To underscore his point, he drained his goblet of Ashton pinot noir. As he tilted his head back, he caught a flash of butter-yellow silk behind the temporary stage and curtain. She’d get away for sure, if he didn’t get back there and stake his claim.

He heard Walker snort. “Love? You weren’t looking at her with love in your eyes, Matty boy. That was lust and I repeat—she’s my cousin. We were raised together. Paige is like a little sister to me. Plus, she’s been through hell the last couple of months.”

“Chill, Walker. I’m not interested in her. I’m merely doing a little good deed. Some charity work.” Still, he’d seen the intelligent glint in her almond-shaped eyes, and couldn’t help noticing a few enticing curves on her slender body. He was most definitely interested. “She was seriously uncomfortable, couldn’t you tell?” He stepped away from the table, determined to nab her. “It’s for a good cause, remember?”

Before Walker could respond, the auctioneer started yammering about number nineteen, and a skinny redhead slithered into the spotlights. Matt dashed between the round tables and made his way behind the velvet curtain.

He stood in the back for a moment, searching the darkened area for the woman who’d just caused havoc in his head…and a few other places, too.

“I don’t know who you are, sir, but I guess I owe you ten thousand dollars.”

Matt turned to find Paige behind him, barely reaching his chin, even in the strappy high heels he’d checked out while she’d been up on stage. They’d done very nice things for her legs. She stood with her shoulders locked in defiance, but her wide, sea-green eyes gave her a hint of vulnerability. She clasped a clipboard like a protective shield in front of her chest.

“Perhaps you don’t understand how this works,” he said, letting his gaze roam over her china-doll skin and settle on her slightly glossy, slightly parted lips. “I owe you ten thousand dollars. All you owe me is the pleasure of your company for an evening.”

She shook her head. “No. You’ve made a mistake. A huge mistake. I’m not up—I’m not a bachelorette.”

Disappointment squeezed his chest. “You’re not?”

“I mean, I am technically, a…a—” she stammered, and then broke into a wide smile, holding out her hand. “I’m Paige Ashton. The assistant event coordinator.”

He took the hand she offered and held it a second longer than he would a business associate. “I’m Matt Camberlane. The highest bidder.”

“Matt Camberlane? The computer guy?”

He laughed. “I guess I’ve been called worse. Yeah, I’m the computer guy, and now I’m your next date, Miss Ashton. Where would you like to go for dinner?” And breakfast, he thought with a flash of her writhing naked between the ridiculously expensive sheets of the five-star Napa resort he’d checked in to that afternoon.

“I am so sorry, Mr. Camberlane.” He saw her take a deep breath and could have sworn she shuddered with it. “I can’t.”

“Can’t?” He dipped his head closer to her and lowered his voice. “I don’t know what that word means.”

A slight flush darkened her cheeks. Damn, but she was pretty. Not an over-the-top vixen like most of the women who had been bobbing in the lights to get a better look at him. No, Paige Ashton was like hand-blown glass next to their plastic. Real and delicate and fragile.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “You’ve bid on the wrong girl. I’m the wrong—”

“On the contrary.” He placed a single finger on her lips to quiet her, a tiny bit of gloss sticking to him. “I don’t see anything wrong with you at all.”

She stepped back, out of his touch. “I’m afraid I—”

“Surely you wouldn’t deny those poor families with sick children the benefits of all your hard work for this auction.”

“I said I’ll pay for your mistake.”

He closed the space she’d made but didn’t touch her again. Even though he really wanted to. “And I’m telling you, I didn’t make a mistake.”

“Ten thousand was way, way too much,” she said.

He shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “Hey, it’s a jungle out there. Survival of the biddest.”

She started to laugh, but the voice of the auctioneer screeched from a loudspeaker beside them. “Sold to the gentleman at table eleven! And that brings our auction to a close.” “Are you just about finished here?” he asked, already imagining a moonlit stroll around the vineyard.

The speaker crackled with the next announcement, answering for her. “But the night isn’t over. If you bidders would be kind enough to open your wallets for the cashiers, you can get to know your future dates with some dancing, courtesy of White Lightning.”

The amplifier whined with a second of electronic feedback, then suddenly shut off, leaving them staring at each other in an unexpected silence.

“I have to work,” she finally said. “But, please, let me fix this. Your donation was wonderfully generous and will go a long way to helping the families of children with cancer. One of the ladies didn’t get a chance to go onstage. Number eighteen.” She glanced at her papers and ran a finger over a list along the side. “Tiffany Valencia. Lovely girl.” She looked up at him. “Gorgeous, in fact. I’ll go arrange for you to meet her. You’ll see—”

He took the clipboard from her hands and dropped it square on the wood floor with a resounding slap. “I don’t want Tiffany Valencia,” he said quietly. “I paid ten thousand dollars for Paige Ashton.”

The color drained from her cheeks as she held his gaze. “Do you always get what you want, Mr. Camberlane?”

“Always.” He added another wink to soften the next statement. “And I want you.”

The words, and the sincere, sexy way he said them, sent a crackle of sparks to every nerve ending in Paige’s body.

But something told her that this legendary self-made gazillionaire, whose image graced the San Francisco society columns with supermodels glued to his toned, athletic body, had better things to buy with his money. He’d never be interested in plain-brain Paige, as she believed the rest of her family secretly thought of her.

She moved to retrieve her clipboard, but he was too fast. He scooped it up before she’d bent her decidedly wobbly knees.

“The music is starting,” he said.

“It is?” She tore her attention from him to see the lead singer of White Lightning stepping up to the microphone. Good God, she’s lost all focus on the event. “Yes, well, I have to—I have to—”

“You have to dance with me.”

“I’m working,” she insisted.

“No. You’re dancing.” He set the clipboard on a box next to the stage.

Jeez, the man was single-minded. Could he have wanted her that much? The impossible thought made her dizzy. Or maybe it was the sensation of his powerful hand on her lower back as he guided her around the stage to the dance floor set up in the middle of the room.

Wordlessly they joined the bachelorettes and their “dates” who’d already started swaying to the first ballad. As he pulled her into his chest, she realized with a start that his heart was pounding as steadily as hers. For some reason, that sent a new and wild exhilaration tumbling through her. He tightened his grip so her breasts pressed against the steely muscles of his chest. And that…oh, boy, that sent an even wilder exhilaration through her.

She didn’t dare look up at him as he took her right hand and settled his comfortably around her waist. What did she even know about Matt Camberlane?

She knew that he’d started Symphonics, a successful company that specialized in music-oriented software. She knew he’d broken ground with the recording industry and solved some of the copyright problems that had plagued it, making millions for his efforts.

She knew he’d attended Berkeley with Walker a decade ago, but didn’t realize they were still friends.

As they caught the rhythm of the song, she sneaked a peek over his substantial shoulder to where his dark-brown hair touched the collar of his shirt, a hint of golden chestnut at the tips. Her head brushed the hard angle of his jaw and she closed her eyes for a moment, remembering how his handsome face softened when he smiled.

She also knew that Matt Camberlane was flat-out magnificent. And that Paige Ashton was way out of her league.

Even in heels, he towered over her, fitting her comfortably in the nook of his neck and chest. She had to restrain herself from running her hands along the luxurious linen of his white shirt just to feel the male hardness beneath it.

With a sigh, she realized she should stop swooning and start talking. But small talk had never been her strong suit. She was an observer. And he offered plenty to observe.

“You should be very proud of yourself,” he said into her ear.

Grateful for the chance to make conversation, she leaned back and looked up into his gun-metal-gray eyes. “I think the whole event has gone quite well, thank you.”

“I mean for getting up on that stage and helping out.”

She shook her head. “I can’t take credit for any brilliant idea. I was just trying to tell the auctioneer that one of the girls was missing.”

“Then it was my good luck.” His smile was absolutely immoral.

In fact, everything about him indicated he was not a man to be toyed with. Nor was he the kind that would toy with her. She had never attracted powerful men; perhaps her father had scared them off, or perhaps her introverted personality had bored them.

She tried to lean back, but his hand held her securely against him, somehow managing to maintain blissful contact between their chests, their stomachs, their legs.

She recognized the last verse of the song. The dance was nearly done. Relief warred with disappointment.

“I really have to make sure the dessert table is still stocked. And I have to coordinate the cashiers and I have to—”

Still holding her hand, he reached under her chin and tipped her face toward him. “Are you scared of me, Paige?”

Petrified. “What a silly question. I just feel sorry that you spent—”

“Then why are you shaking?”

She stilled her step, hoping that would help the involuntary quiver that had started in her stomach the moment their bodies touched.

A million phony explanations swirled through her head: she was cold; she was worried about details; she was sorry he’d spent all that money on her.

She certainly wasn’t going to admit that he made her shake. “Do you live in the Bay Area?”

As soon as she said it, she realized that sounded as though she cared where he lived. As though it mattered to her.

“I live in Half Moon Bay, near my office in San Mateo. But I came up to Napa for the weekend. So, we can start our date right now and go straight through until Monday, if you like.”

Heat washed over her at the thought. She liked. Oh, yes, she did.

“Or I’ll settle for dinner tomorrow night,” he said.

Why was he doing this? Men didn’t flirt with Paige Ashton. She was too aloof, too quiet and usually too smart to play this kind of game. A game she’d undoubtedly lose. She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest on his shoulder with a soft sigh.

He nestled her closer. “Is that a yes?”

“No.”

He chuckled in her ear. “Is that a maybe?”

“No.”

He lowered his head and brought his lips so close to her cheek that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “Is that an ‘I’ll think about it and let you know, Matt’?”

The desire to turn toward his mouth, to close that centimeter of space and taste his lips nearly knocked her over.

“I’ll think about it and let you know, Matt.”

“I knew you’d come around.”

He did? The only thing Matt Camberlane exuded more than sex appeal was raw confidence. And that, Paige realized as she inhaled the masculine, musky scent of him, was precisely what made her shake.



Paige Ashton had virtually disappeared from his side when their dance ended. He’d seen her gliding about the massive reception hall, quietly giving instructions, signaling waiters and assistants to change the lighting, adjust the sound system, bus the tables, refresh the glasses. She had effectively managed to stay out of the limelight, and much too far away from him.

He found ways to linger as the event wound down to a conclusion well after midnight. While he waited, he’d plunked down a check for ten grand made out to Candlelighters of Northern California, and had another glass of wine with Walker and his fiancée, Tamra, but neither made any mention of his cousin or the bid for a date with her. When the crowd thinned to almost nothing, the wait staff started yanking tablecloths and stacking chairs.

Still, he waited. Something told him she’d be back. As always, drawn to music, he shot the breeze with the lead singer as the band packed up. Matt purposely didn’t mention his name—any musician would recognize it—but he did find out that the piano belonged to the Ashton Estate and that the band wouldn’t be moving it.

The wait staff seemed preoccupied and unconcerned with what was happening on the stage, so he pulled out the bench and threaded his fingers, bending them back and giving them a shake. He hadn’t played in a few weeks, but the sight of a grand piano usually stirred him. As did the sight of a fine-looking woman whom he wanted.

So, while he waited for her to appear again, he plunked out the first four measures of “Come Fly with Me.” The bass player looked up from the mess of cables he was untangling, surprised.

“Like the old stuff, eh?”

Matt just grinned. Yep, he was Sinatra reborn. Only he couldn’t sing a note. The words played in his head, on key and in Frankie’s voice, while his fingers moved as if they had a mind of their own.

He closed his eyes and saw…yellow silk. Layers of soft, touchable, golden-brown hair. Almond-shaped green eyes…or were they blue? Depended on the light. And the uncertainty in them.

He smiled, thinking of how he’d steamrolled her. But the wisp of a woman had held her own against his will. She held herself pretty nicely against his body, too. The memory of her slender legs brushing against him, of her delicate breasts pressed against his chest forced him to reposition himself on the piano bench.

It had been a good long time since Matt had pursued a woman with any enthusiasm. Before his abomination of a marriage, they pretty much fell at his feet. After Brooke he’d been so cautious he’d avoided women for anything but mindless sex. But it had been two years since his quick and fairly clean divorce from the San Francisco social climber. His bank account had rebounded nicely, but his heart hadn’t.

Not that Brooke Carlysle had broken his heart. No, she just left scars as deep as if she’d scraped it with acrylic nails, ensuring that he’d never again take that risk. He hadn’t really loved her, he thought, as he transitioned effortlessly into an old Cole Porter tune. But he’d trusted Brooke. That was worse.

Plus, she’d represented something a kid from Modesto, with an alcoholic father and a trailer-jumping mother always wanted. Respect. Credibility. Acceptance.

He opened his eyes and let his gaze drift over the elegantly appointed hall. Flanked by French doors with heavy silk draperies and sparkling marble floors, the room could easily have been the formal ballroom at any palace in the world. And this was just another room in Paige Ashton’s home.

His fingers paused momentarily on the keyboard as he finished with a flourish. His eyes still closed, he lifted his hands and let them drop on his thighs, a little disgusted that the music hadn’t soothed him and old thoughts had plagued him.

Matt Camberlane was no longer the poor kid who managed to swing a degree from Berkeley thanks to the largesse of the U.S. Army and its ROTC program. He was no longer a struggling computer nerd who left the military with discipline and muscles but not a whole lot else. His fascination with technology, combined with a bone-deep love of music had translated into wealth beyond his childhood imaginings, and a lifetime of security and comfort. Anyone who didn’t respect or accept him could screw themselves.

He played the opening of “I’ve Got You Under My Skin.”

A sweet, clear voice sang the first line. With a start, he opened his eyes and saw…yellow.

For a moment they just looked at each other. He expected her to sing the next line, but she didn’t and his fingers stilled. The air damn near popped between them.

“The workers are here to break down the stage,” she finally said.

“Then that’ll have to be my last number.” He stood and gathered his jacket from where he’d flung it over the piano. “You have a very pretty voice.”

She smiled but didn’t say anything as she started back down the side stairs of the stage. He followed her until she slowed her step and he nearly bumped into her.

Turning, she shot him a serious look. “The party’s over, Mr. Camberlane.”

Actually, it hadn’t started. “I need to know what time you want me to pick you up tomorrow.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I am so sorry for the misunderstanding. I hope you’ll let me arrange for a refund of your donation.”

It was the little hitch in her voice that got him. He held up a hand in surrender. “I wouldn’t dream of taking a refund,” he said. “It’s a great cause and I’m happy to donate. And the apology is mine to offer.”

He slipped into his jacket, noting the slackness of her jaw and the slight surprise in her expression at his sudden change of heart. Or was that disappointment?

“It was a great party,” he added. “Every detail was—” The flash of insight was so brilliant, it should have blinded him. Why the hell didn’t he think of it sooner? “In fact, I was so impressed, I’d like to reserve the estate for Halloween.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you booked?”

She shook her head slowly and frowned. “Not that I know of—but what’s happening on Halloween?”

“Symphonics has picked the date to launch our new software product, the VoiceBox, that turns any computer into a karaoke machine. I just met with the product-development team last night and the last of the bugs has been worked out. We need a venue for about four hundred computer retailers, media and industry types and at least fifty of my employees for the VoiceBox launch party.” He glanced around the room. “This place would be perfect.”

“Halloween is less than four weeks away.” She folded her arms and pursed her lips in doubt. “We usually plan events that large many, many months in advance.”

“The computer industry moves at lightning speed. I have to get this product out and into stores for Christmas. And before any competitor gets wind of it.”

“I don’t know…”

“My Marketing department is excellent, but I would personally oversee the entire event.” And the event planner. “We could meet, say, tomorrow night? At the French Laundry at seven.”

The hint of a smile danced in those blue…no, no, they were definitely green eyes. “A business meeting at one of the finest restaurants in California?”

“Hey, that’s my style. Bring a contract and ideas.” He buttoned the single button on his jacket and grinned at her. “Strictly business.”

Her defiant shoulders unlocked just enough to tell him he’d won. “Okay. My sister will be doubly pleased that we made the numbers tonight and I nailed a new account.”

“Happy to accommodate your career aspirations. Should I pick you up here?”

She shook her head quickly. “Not for a meeting. I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

Okay, a point to the lady for keeping it businesslike. “See you tomorrow, then.”

He took one step backward, even though everything in him wanted to go in the other direction and plant a victory kiss on her appealing mouth. But that would definitely negate the “strictly business” promise he’d just made.

A promise he had no intention of keeping.




Chapter Two


Matt Camberlane either had to have been planning this dinner for months or his name carried so much weight that he managed to obtain what few mortals can: reservations at the French Laundry.

That thought was momentarily lost as Paige drove up Highway 29 toward the restaurant in Yountville, because she passed the rolling hills of Louret Vineyards. She glanced toward the entrance of the estate that her four half siblings called home. She hadn’t seen any of them since she’d had lunch with Mercedes last month—one of her recent efforts to close the rift that only seemed to grow wider since their father’s horrible murder last May.

Mercedes had been kind but preoccupied. And she hadn’t been able to convince Paige that Mercedes’s brother, Eli, would back off on his quest to have Spencer Ashton’s will reversed.

As always Paige could see both sides of the Ashton family’s ever-complicated story. Her father had basically ensured this kind of turmoil by turning his back on his four children by Caroline Lattimer, and only acknowledging the family he’d created with Paige’s mother. He’d done it in life, by ignoring Cole, Eli, Mercedes and Jillian, and he’d done it in death by leaving them out of his will. But Paige refused to believe her father was the god-awful man everyone made him out to be; as his youngest child, she was determined to see her father in a positive light.

Well, not really his youngest child, she corrected herself. Not since baby Jack had come into the picture, the surprise “love child” of Spencer and his last mistress. She made a mental note to make a visit to Louret next week, both to finally meet little Jack and try another pass at fence mending.

Just outside of town she turned onto Washington Street and saw the rustic two-story stone structure built as a French steam laundry in the late 1800s. But in that unassuming building, and in the lush gardens surrounding it, about sixty people a night were treated to the finest gourmet dinners served anywhere. And no one—well, practically no one—could get reservations without waiting at least two months.

Obviously Matt Camberlane wasn’t “no one.”

That wild, warm feeling she’d experienced last night spread through her again at the thought of him. She smoothed the skirt of the simple blue suit she’d chosen, as if that could wipe away the effect he had on her. On the passenger seat rested a leather binder containing an Ashton Estate Winery event contract, typed and ready for his signature. Strictly business.

But, oh, his attention had been far from professional last night. That man did things to her body and brain that they certainly didn’t teach her in business school. Not that she took him seriously. Not for a minute. He must have some other reason for flirting with her.

She simply wasn’t the kind of woman men played with. She was attractive enough, but Paige knew she lacked the vivaciousness and charm that appealed to most men. When she looked in the mirror, she saw serious hazel eyes that seemed a little too big for her small features, and plain brown hair that had none of the sassiness of the bottle blondes and redheads who’d paraded across that stage seeking a bid.

She shook her head at the thought of the bid that she got from Matt Camberlane. Men like Matt Camberlane—big, gorgeous, successful, self-assured, intriguing men—usually looked right through the Paige Ashtons of the world.

So what was that magic buzzing between them last night?

Pulling into the back parking lot, she found a spot next to a sleek silver sports car, grabbed the binder and a small handbag and climbed out.

Instantly her senses were assaulted by the rich smell of Napa’s earth and the heady scents of fresh rosemary and mint. Herb gardens tumbled around the ancient building, a riot of lavender and green. A cool autumn breeze lifted her hair as she paused to drink in the beauty of the recently harvested hillsides, bathed in streaks of gold and ginger as the sun dipped into the western slopes.

Taking a deep breath for confidence, she rounded the restaurant to a tiny front patio darkened by a vine-covered overhang. There, her senses were assaulted again. By Matt.

And all her determination to treat this meeting as strictly business melted into a pool of liquid heat that spread from her chest, through her tummy and straight down to the most feminine part of her.

He stood facing away from her, his attention focused on the glorious scenery. He wore an off-white shirt that stretched nicely across his broad back, tucked into elegant dark trousers. A sports jacket hung next to him, over the stone wall that enclosed the porch, his expression impassive. The setting sun cast a warm glow on his dark-brown hair that grazed his collar, adding a golden luster to the ends.

Paige’s hands literally itched to touch that hair. To run her fingers through the length of it, then over the solid muscles of his shoulders, his chest. Down, down…

She swallowed against the erotic image that took hold of her brain.

Strictly business, Paige Ashton. She cleared her throat. “Pretty, isn’t it?”

At her question, he turned and flashed that wicked smile as his gaze swept over her appreciatively. “It certainly is.”

Oh, she’d walked right into that one.

He lifted his sports coat without taking his attention from her. “You have a habit of sneaking up on me.” He slipped into the jacket, denying her a view of his broad shoulders but taking on a different, more sophisticated look.

“I’m quiet, in case you haven’t noticed.”

His gaze slid over her face again, dipping down to her throat and chest, making her wonder if she should have worn something buttoned higher instead of a V-neck shell. “I notice everything,” he said softly. “For instance, I notice you came armed with a briefcase.”

She shifted the thin portfolio from one hand to the other. “The contract,” she told him. “I promised my sister Megan I’d nail down the Halloween event.”

He guided her toward the entrance. “Walker tells me Megan is happily married and pregnant, and delighted to let you step into her shoes at the estate.”

“She’s happy and pregnant, yes,” Paige agreed, “but hasn’t exactly handed over the event-planning reins entirely to me. The auction was my first solo act.”

“Really? I’d call it an astounding success.”

She glanced up at him. “Thanks to one especially generous bidder.”

He just winked at her, that secret, sexy wink that curled her toes. Then an older maître d’ greeted Matt with a huge smile and an air of familiarity. “Good evening, Mr. Camberlane. Your table is ready.” Somehow it sounded like it was just that—his table.

In a moment they were seated at an intimate table for two next to a window. “His” table was not exactly the strictly business setting she’d hoped for, leaving her to wonder just how often he dined here with women. One look at him answered that question. Often.

She tamped down the thought and listened to Matt exchange pleasantries with the maître d’ about a new sommelier, a wine expert he’d brought over from France.

As soon as they were alone, he focused on her, the intensity of his silver-gray gaze nearly taking her breath away. “I would have introduced you,” he said. “But I didn’t want to put you in the awkward position of discussing the wine list.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about. “They don’t serve Ashton wine here.”

Ashton wine was good—great in some years, especially under her older brother Trace’s fine management—but the exclusive restaurant leaned more toward the impossibly expensive and elite wines. Like Louret.

“It wouldn’t make me uncomfortable to discuss their cellar,” she assured him. “No doubt it will come up when the new sommelier makes his recommendations.” She gave him a direct, serious look. “Regardless of the less-than-stellar media coverage my family has received, I remain proud of the name.”

He nodded in agreement. “As you should be. You can’t take the blame for the troubles your father inflicted on the family.”

“My father’s murder inflicted the trouble,” she corrected. “My half brothers and sisters have simply fanned the fire and made things worse. Although,” she lifted one shoulder in a shrug, “I understand their position.”

“That’s sisterly of you.”

“Family is…” Taking her napkin and smoothing it on her lap, she met his gaze again, purposely not finishing the thought. “How much has Walker told you?”

“Walker has always been very candid about your family. He told me when we first met as roommates in Berkeley the whole story of how his uncle Spencer arranged to take him and Charlotte and raise them as your siblings.”

“And no doubt he told you that my father told Walker his mother was dead, and not living on a Sioux reservation.”

“Yes,” Matt nodded. “Like I said, he’s never hidden anything from me. But—” he gave a rueful smile “—he’s been a little preoccupied since Tamra came into the picture and they began establishing the Sioux scholarship program. So what I know of the recent drama I’ve read in the papers or heard, if you’ll forgive the awful pun, through the grapevine.”

She laughed softly. “Grapevines are for wine, not gossip.”

The waiter, who also seemed to know Matt well, stopped by to light the candle and exchange pleasantries but didn’t even discuss the menu. Dinner at the Laundry was a lengthy, multicoursed affair dictated by the whims and moods of the world-famous chef.

A long, intimate affair. By candlelight. With wine.

Paige automatically reached for her leather binder when the waiter left. “I haven’t drawn up a specific theme for your event, yet—”

In one smooth move, he flipped the portfolio closed, making the candle flicker with the puff of air from the sudden movement. “That can wait.”

Paige gave him a sharp look. “We have business to discuss.”

“I’m sorry. You’re absolutely right.” He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a silver pen. “Give it to me to sign and then we’ll be done.”

She hesitated and leaned back, the folder against her chest. “You’re too savvy a businessman to sign just anything without reading it first.”

“All that contract should say is that Symphonics, Inc. has reserved the reception hall of Ashton Estate for an event on October 31.”

Paige had to admit it really didn’t contain too much more detail. “There’s a lot of fine print,” she said, knowing by the look in his eyes that didn’t matter. Once they were done discussing business, this dinner went back to date status. For some reason that thought sent a tremor of trepidation straight through her.

She could handle Matt Camberlane on a business level—after all, she’d graduated from business school with honors, the youngest in her class. But as a date?

He reached over and gently wrested the portfolio from her hand. “We’ll go over the fine print and details next week,” he announced. “We can meet in my office on Monday.”

He opened the portfolio, shuffled through the pages and scribbled his name on the last one. With a satisfied smile, he handed the whole package back to her. “Now you can relax.”

Yeah, right. “I am relaxed.” She set the folder against the leg of her chair with an air of resignation. Well, he paid for a date.

He leaned forward, as though he’d like to eliminate the space and table between them. “I would imagine everyone in your family has strong opinions and volatile emotions where your father’s will and death are concerned. I’m intrigued by your levelheaded view of the situation.”

His demeanor said he was intrigued by more than that, but she played along and answered the question. “I believe there are two sides to every story. My half brothers and sisters are understandably crushed that my father had…” She tried to think of a less vicious word than abandoned to describe what her father had done to the four children he had with Caroline Lattimer, but couldn’t. There was no word other for it. “They—especially the oldest, Eli—are simply determined to get what they think is rightfully theirs.” And since the estate had been in the Lattimer family long before Spencer had renamed it Ashton and kept it in his divorce from Caroline, Paige couldn’t help but understand Eli’s position.

“Any progress on the murder investigation? The media seems to be reporting nothing.”

Paige closed her eyes for a moment, then blew out a slow breath as the image of her father, shot point-blank in his own office, darkened her mind. “Not really. At the moment, the police are honing in on some blackmail threats my father had received and a numbered bank account that he’d mysteriously kept well stocked.”

His eyes softened a bit at the crack in her voice. “I got the impression that most of the Ashtons were…” he paused and tilted his head as he obviously searched for his own euphemism. “Not that distraught over your father’s death.”

Most of them weren’t, she silently agreed. “He was my father,” she said simply. “Everyone deserves to be mourned.”

The sommelier approached their table, and the conversation turned to wine, and once again Matt Camberlane impressed her. Not only had he gracefully handled the issue of her last name, he knew an awful lot about wines.

“Not bad, for a computer guy,” she said with a smile once they were alone.

He laughed. “I can thank Walker. A wine expert is a good roommate to have in college. We never got drunk on anything but the good stuff.”

She seized on the chance to turn the conversation toward him. “Did you go to business school at Berkeley, as well?”

“I didn’t go to graduate school,” he said evenly. “I went into the Army.”

It was her turn to be surprised. “You did?”

“Didn’t Walker ever tell you? I was at Berkeley on an Army ROTC scholarship. I had to do my time for Uncle Sam to pay for the privilege.” She heard a note of defensiveness creep into his voice, making her heart clutch a bit.

“Walker’s only bragged that the boy wonder of Symphonics was his old college buddy. Did you like the Army?”

“I liked the discipline, the order of it. I got the opportunity to work on some amazing electronics, really cutting edge stuff. It all led me to where I am today, so I don’t complain.” He gave her a seductive smile. “By the way, I’m a wonder, but no boy.”

“You’re a flirt,” she responded, trying to ignore the tightening low in her tummy at his words and tone. “And I’m not.”

He slid a water glass to the left and closed his hand over hers, never taking his gaze off her. “That’s what I like about you, Paige Ashton.”

It was easy to believe him and very hard to ignore her body’s response.



Several hours passed as they sampled nouvelle servings of foie gras, red pepper crostini and sautéed moulard, complimented by a bottle of extraordinary Louret wine. By the time they’d finished sharing a champagne gellée dessert, Matt knew one thing for sure about Paige Ashton—besides the fact that she wasn’t a flirt:

He wanted her.

He liked her quiet spirit, her keen intelligence and the way her lower lip sort of trembled when he captured, and purposely held, her gaze. He liked her elegant table manners, her smooth ability to keep a conversation going, her enticing little cleavage when she leaned forward.

Yep. He wanted her.

“Let’s go for a ride,” he suggested as they stepped into the moon-washed patio, nearly the last of the customers to leave.

She flattened the portfolio against her chest again like thin leather armor. “Thank you, but I really have to get back to the estate.”

“It’s Saturday night, Paige.” He took her arm possessively and slid it into his elbow. “The stars are out, the moon is—” he squinted into the sky “—half-full and I have less than three thousand miles on a brand new sports car. You could be the first girl to ride in it.”

“But not the last,” she said quickly.

He feigned a wounded look. “You think I’m a cad.”

“A cad? Do people use that word anymore?”

He laughed as they reached his car. “You tell me. You’re a smart girl.”

“Smart enough to say thank you for the lovely dinner and your business. What time is our meeting on Monday?”

He considered how simple it would be to turn her in his arms, ease her against the side door of his Ferrari and pull her delicious little body into his.

The thought had its effect on him, so he did precisely the opposite and stepped away from her. No making out in a parking lot for this lady. Seducing Paige would take longer, and the place had to be perfect.

“I’ll clear my schedule for you on Monday,” he offered politely. “What time can you be in San Mateo?”

“Ten o’clock.”

“Ten it is. We’ll go up to San Francisco and have lunch afterward.”

She laughed softly. “How can you think of lunch after all that fantastic food?”

“You make me hungry,” he admitted with a teasing smile.

Her eyes darkened just enough to communicate that she got his meaning. “Matt…” She stepped back. “I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

“Then tear up that contract,” he joked.

She smiled and clutched the binder. “Not a chance. We’re going to have fun with this event. Everyone in costumes, fantastic music—”

“Costumes?” He choked a little. “I hadn’t thought of costumes.”

“It’s Halloween,” she countered. “Of course there’ll be costumes. I need to know all the details of the new product—the VoiceBox, is it? I’ll need to start thinking of a theme for the event.”

“Music. That’s the only theme I’m interested in.”

“Perfect. Come as your favorite musician. Who’s yours?”

“Sinatra.” He didn’t even hesitate. “I’m his numberone fan.”

That won him the sweetest smile. “Then you’ll come as Old Blue Eyes himself.”

He laughed at the thought. “Just don’t make me sing.”

“But you could play. I heard you last night. You’re very good.”

“Hardly. But I like the idea of musician costumes. The product is a computer karaoke, so we could have a lot of fun with that.”

“Great. I’ll work on it for Monday morning.”

He suddenly hated the idea of Sunday stretching out before him without her. “I’m staying at Auberge du Soleil, in Napa,” he said. “Let’s get together tomorrow and work on it then.”

Her eyes narrowed just enough to let him know she was thinking about it. “Another business meeting?”

“Call it whatever you want, Paige.” He couldn’t resist sliding his hands up her arms, over her narrow shoulders, letting her hair tickle his skin. He held her delicate face between his hands, his focus dropping to that lower lip he wanted so much to taste. “I happen to think business and pleasure is a great mix.”

One kiss. That was all he wanted. One quick, warm, good-night kiss.

As he leaned toward her, he felt her tense up, but as soon as their lips touched, she relaxed. He tilted his head slightly, tasting a whisper of sweet sorbet that clung to her lips.

No. One kiss was not going to be enough.

But it was all he would take now. “Tomorrow?” he asked, keeping his mouth just a breath from hers. “We’ll have a picnic in the olive grove at Auberge.”

Her little sigh of resignation warmed his lips and he fought back a grin. There was nothing Matt loved more than winning. “One stipulation, however,” he added.

She gave him a questioning look.

“Leave that binder at home. This won’t be work, I promise.”



As Paige tiptoed down the main stairs of the estate the next morning, she heard a few familiar family voices in the dining room, and caught a whiff of Irena Hunter’s incomparable eggs Benedict floating from the cavernous kitchen.

She slipped past the butler’s pantry and eyed the pot of fresh-brewed coffee tucked into the corner. After last night’s meal, coffee was all she wanted. And after a sleepless night of reliving one breathless kiss and imagining many more, she needed the caffeine.

“I didn’t hear you come in last night, honey.”

Paige winced at the sound of her mother’s voice coming from the dining room. She almost asked, “Since when did you listen for me?” but swallowed the retort. Lilah Ashton may not have been the model for motherhood, but in her own way she cared about her children.

Filling her cup, Paige simply called out a morning greeting.

“What time did you get in?” Walker’s question was pointed and direct, the way he always was.

Taking a deep breath and a sip of strong, black coffee, she made her way through the hallway into the dining area. As always the table was set with fine china, crystal and snow-white linens. For just a minute Paige longed to curl up at a cozy kitchen table, drink coffee from a chipped mug and skim the Sunday paper like normal people.

But they weren’t normal. They were Ashtons.

The thought made her smile, as she took her usual seat.

“What are you smiling about?” Tamra looked remarkably relaxed for a woman who, just three months earlier, had been rather overwhelmed by all that was Ashton when Walker had brought her home from the reservation. He’d gone to find his long-lost mother and had unexpectedly found the love of his life, as well.

Paige widened her smile for Tamra, happy that she and Walker, having built their own world away from the estate, had decided to stay for the whole weekend after the fund-raiser.

Tamra’s deep-chocolate gaze shifted pointedly to her fiancé, then back to Paige. “What are you smiling about?” she repeated. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Or mine,” Walker added.

Family. They certainly made her life…interesting. “We contracted a Halloween event to launch Symphonics’ new karaoke computer product, the VoiceBox,” she said. “Maybe you two will come back up here for it. A costume party—come as your favorite musician.”

Lilah reacted with a delighted coo. “How creative! Let’s see…” Her blue eyes twinkled as she looked fondly at Tamra. “You could be Cher.”

For a moment, Tamra’s cheeks darkened, then she grinned. “She’s a Cherokee, Lilah. I could never pull off Cher.”

“Plus she must be near sixty by now,” Walker added and held up his cup as Irena entered the room with a pot of coffee.

“I hope you’re not talking about me, Mr. Walker.” The housekeeper spoke quietly, but the comment elicited smiles all around.

“Not a chance,” Walker reassured her with a teasing wink. “You’re nowhere near sixty, Irena.”

“As a matter of fact I am, Mr. Walker,” she said as she poured coffee into his cup. “But you’re sweet to say that.”

Her warm smile was directed to Walker, but a sudden good feeling filled Paige as she watched the exchange. They had their quirks and problems, but this was her family. Extended and otherwise. And so, she remembered, were the virtual strangers at Louret Vineyards. Regardless of their father’s deceptions and dalliances.

Once again she vowed to visit her half siblings in the next few days, but before she could take another sip of coffee, she felt Walker’s intense dark stare return to her. When he wanted to know something, there was very little escaping.

“So,” he said. “I take it your client contact will be the CEO himself.”

She simply nodded and focused on the rim of her coffee cup.

“Be careful, little cousin,” he said. “You can get burned when you play with fire.”

Her head shot up. “I’m not playing with anything.”

Lilah smoothed a strand of Merlot-colored hair and attempted a concerned frown. The Botox made forehead creases a thing of the past for her. “What are you talking about, Walker? What is she playing with?”

Paige felt the blood rise to her cheeks. “Nothing, Mother.” She shot Walker a warning look. “Walker is imagining things.”

He said nothing, but pinned her with that impassive stare, his half-Sioux blood evident in the sheer power of his look. Tamra put a gentle hand on his arm. “We really have to be going if we want to be back in San Francisco before noon,” she said softly.

Walker nodded, his expression automatically softening at Tamra’s touch.

Paige thanked Tamra for the reprieve with a quick look of appreciation. But part of her desperately wanted to know why Walker thought she was playing with fire. She’d ask him…sometime.

In the meantime that “fire” had warmed and attracted her. More than anything—or anyone—she’d ever met. She kept remembering the gentle kiss and how she wanted to open her mouth and take him in. The way her whole body just tingled when he looked into her eyes. The sound of his voice, so deep and low it vibrated her every cell when he said her name. The way he made her laugh and all their verbal volleying. His strong, clever, musician’s hands. What they could do to her…

“Don’t you think, Paige?”

She looked up at her mother’s question and took a cue from her smiling face. Whatever they’d been discussing, it sounded like something she should agree to. She nodded and sipped, blessedly saved by Megan’s familiar voice in the hall, followed by the sound of their brother Trace coming down the main steps and greeting her.

In a moment the Ashton dining room was filled with more family, and Paige quietly watched the interplay between them all. Megan’s green eyes sparkled as she rubbed the rounded swell of her tummy. Walker and Tamra settled in to stay a few minutes longer and, without anyone seeming to intentionally steer the conversation, the talk automatically turned to Spencer Ashton’s will and the investigation of his murder.

“Stephen is confident the discovery of these letters will be a major turning point in the case,” Lilah said, referring to the family attorney who’d spent so much time at the estate lately. “He’s meeting with investigators every day and keeping me informed every step of the way.”

Paige’s brother Trace leaned against the wall, stoic and strong as always, and deeply unhappy about the situation. He ran a hand over his jaw and blew out a frustrated breath. “There’ve been a lot of dead ends.”

“There could be DNA on those letters, regardless of the fact that some are nearly ten years old.” Megan’s husband, Simon, held out a chair for Megan and casually brushed her long blond hair as he offered his opinion. “We need to give them time to run every possible test.”

“It’s taking too long,” Lilah said with such disdain Paige could imagine her making a tsking sound. “I’m going to ask Stephen to pressure the investigators for more attention on the case.”

“We need closure,” Trace agreed, his green eyes—so like Megan’s—narrowing. “Both families do.”

Paige listened, as always, hearing and weighing each opinion. As the youngest and the quietest, her voice was rarely heard, but when she spoke, her siblings and cousin gave her their attention.

“I’m going to Louret on Tuesday,” she announced, surprising herself with her definitive air. “I want to talk to Mercedes again.” And meet my little brother, she added in her head. She didn’t mention her father’s illegitimate child in front of her mother.

Her comment sparked a flurry of discussion, but Paige just stood and took her coffee cup back into the butler’s pantry.

Her mind wasn’t on family issues today, she told herself as the heated voices droned on. Her mind—and her body—were elsewhere.

Maybe Matt was sincere in his attraction, she thought for the fiftieth time that morning. She’d find out today. And if she trusted him, if she believed him, she was more than ready to—

“Why are you grinning?” Megan had come up behind her in the hallway and slid a sisterly hug around Paige’s waist. “These discussions usually get you tearyeyed or passionate about fairness, sweetie. I demand to know what—or who—put a smile on your face.”

Paige turned and gazed at her sister. Pregnancy had only made her prettier, but obviously it hadn’t dampened her controlling nature. “You demand to know?” Paige laughed lightly. “My mood seems to be of interest to everyone this morning.”

Megan leaned against the granite counter of the butler’s pantry and eyed Paige. “How did the meeting go last night?”

The emphasis was not lost on Paige. “Fine. We got the event.”

“You look a little—” Megan’s finger skimmed lightly under one of Paige’s eyes “—tired.”

Paige pulled back. “I’m doing the work of two people, remember? By the way, how’s the morning sickness?”

“Getting better,” Megan admitted, rubbing her tummy again. “I can keep down broth and crackers. Don’t change the subject.”

“I’m not.” Part of her wanted to confide in Megan, to tell her the insane feelings that Matt Camberlane had evoked. But she held back. The rest of her family was twenty feet away, and she just wasn’t ready to share anything. Maybe after this afternoon.

“Simon and I are going to drive up to Calistoga this afternoon and look for baby furniture in the antique stores,” Megan said. “Come with us.”

Paige shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Work,” Paige replied, purposely vague.

“On a Sunday?”

“I’m meeting with the new client.” Paige turned to pour a cup of coffee she no longer wanted. “We’re having lunch at Auberge.”

Megan lifted a lock of Paige’s hair, as though she could whisper better into her sister’s ear. “Sounds serious.”

Paige laughed a little. “Misery loves company, huh?”

“Oooh.” Megan giggled. “Misery, huh? This is serious. You know, I’ve seen Matt Camberlane.”

Paige turned to read the expression that went with Megan’s obvious implication.

“What?” Paige demanded. “What is that look for?”

Megan lifted a wary eyebrow and crossed her arms. “I’ve seen him, that’s all.”

“And…?”

“He’s hot.”

“And I’m not.”

Megan shook her head. “You underestimate yourself, sweetie. You may be smart and have a string of degrees, but you’re young. And inexperienced. Be careful.”

She wasn’t that inexperienced, Paige thought with a flashing memory of her one lover in college. What a disaster. Still, her family’s warnings all pointed to the same truth: they didn’t think that she could attract a man like Matt, that he was just toying with her, that she was out of her league.

Well, maybe they were wrong.

Instead of confiding her thoughts, Paige just tapped the slightly swollen belly between them with a teasing smile. “Yeah. Look what happened when you got too friendly with an event client.”

They both laughed, remembering how Megan had provided the ultimate in event-planning service—pretending to be the bride. But her “marriage” ended up both real and happy.

“What’s so funny back here?” Walker’s booming voice broke their moment.

“Nothing, Walker,” Megan assured him. “Paige and I were just discussing client relations.”

Walker’s eyes flashed for a moment, but Paige managed to slip out of the butler’s pantry before he could say anything.

She’d been warned enough. She knew all about getting burned by fire. She also knew that fire provided heat and pleasure. And right now, she craved a little of both.




Chapter Three


“I’ve never seen anyone nibble an olive with so much precision,” Matt observed, watching the black calamata disappear in tiny increments into Paige’s delicate mouth. Lucky little thing.

“I don’t like to bite the pit,” she told him, leaning back comfortably on the blanket they’d laid out when they began their leisurely picnic more than an hour earlier. “I’m a very careful person.”

“Deliberate,” he corrected, noticing the way the sun dappled through the thick olive tree branches, highlighting the lovely angles of her face. He never knew what “dewy” skin was until he saw hers in the sunlight. Creamy, pure, flawless. “If you were careful, you wouldn’t be here. You’re just deliberate.”

She teethed around the pit some more and locked her gaze on him. Her ever-changing eyes had taken on an emerald hue in the shadows of the olive grove tucked away on a hillside beneath Auberge du Soleil. It matched the dark-green sweater she wore.

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” she said with a slightly uncomfortable laugh. “What do you mean, if I were careful, I wouldn’t be here? Are you dangerous?”

“I could be.” He grinned and inched closer to her, liking the way their lounging positions lined up their bodies. Really liking the way her jeans fit over her narrow hips and slender legs.

He’d picked a very secluded area of the grounds, but knew that hotel guests could still invade their private spot at any moment. So he forced himself to focus on her face and not her sweet little body. But that was just as appealing, he realized.

“Walker thinks you’re dangerous,” she told him. “But I think you’re…”

He looked at her expectantly, loving the way her gaze drank him up. “Yeah?”

“Cute. You’re cute, I’ll give you that.”

He laughed. “Great. A cute computer guy. Don’t you have anything nice to say about me?”

“You’re smart.”

“So are you.”

She shrugged off that compliment. “Tell that to my family. Early college graduation, business school—none of it matters. I’m still the baby.”

He leaned on his elbows and studied her. “Maybe you should strike out on your own. Leave the family business and show them what you’re capable of when you’re not under their watchful eyes.”

“I plan on it.” She plucked another olive from the container the concierge had packed for him. “But not until all of this unpleasant family business is resolved. Megan needs my help, and I have an important job to do with my family.”

“Which is?”

“I keep the peace.” Her straight white teeth closed over the olive, jolting a sudden arousal in him. “I love these,” she said with her eyes half-closed. “Better than grapes, in my opinion.”

He laughed, moving a little closer. “That kind of talk could cause war in the wine-making family you are so determined to keep at peace.”

She smiled and worked on the olive, further torturing him when she sucked a little juice from it. She was so much more relaxed than last night, he thought. As though she’d stopped fighting his attention and decided to enjoy it. And he was just the opposite—not relaxed at all.

The evening with her had left him hard and achy, sweating in the middle of the night and waking up with images of big green eyes. Or were they blue? Either way, his desire hadn’t diminished since their evening together.

He couldn’t pinpoint the precise characteristic of Paige that got to him. There were so many. He found her subtly beautiful, disarmingly intelligent and just hesitant enough to make him want to ease her against the blanket, wrap his legs around her and let her feel what she did to him.

He glanced around the rambling grounds of Auberge, the tips of the French-style rooftop visible over the lush greenery.

His suite was just a two-minute walk from where they were. Could he get her there? Could he seduce this delectable lady and give her the same pleasure he craved?

Of course he could. Seduction was never difficult for him. And he hadn’t wanted a woman like this in so long. Since his divorce from Brooke he’d just gone through the motions, taking the ones who threw themselves at him. Lately not even those women interested him.

He forced his thoughts back to the conversation. “So, what would you do if you didn’t work for Ashton Wineries?” he asked, breaking a piece of crusty bread and holding it out to her.

She shook her head, not quite finished with the calamata. “I’d like to run my own business.”

He took a bite of the bread and brushed away the snowfall of flaky crumbs that fluttered on the blanket. “What kind?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m very good with numbers and accounting,” she looked at him and grinned. “How dull is that?”

“Nothing about you is dull, Paige.” The comment won him a sweet flush on her cheeks and a glint of disbelief in her eyes.

“What’s really important to me,” she continued, dropping her gaze back to the basket between them, “is that I’m on my own. Without the guidance of big brothers and big sisters and big cousins.”

He laughed softly. “Walker is one big cousin to deal with.”

“He means well,” she said defensively. “He feels he owes my father a huge debt of gratitude for taking him and his sister, Charlotte, into our home and raising them as a seamless part of our family.”

“And that means he watches over you.” Like a hawk, no doubt. A sliver of guilt wrapped around his gut for a moment. Maybe he shouldn’t seduce her. Maybe he should…wait.

His body rebelled at the thought.

“I expect and appreciate his watchfulness, don’t get me wrong.” She wiped her hand on a linen napkin and dabbed the corners of her mouth. “And Megan’s, and Trace’s. And I love the family business, but it would be nice to do something away from the Ashtons. To be my own woman.”

“And a fine woman she is,” he said slowly, moving the basket that separated them.

Her eyes flashed in warning. “You’re flirting again.”

“Can’t resist,” he admitted. “You bring out the flirt in me.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t bring out the flirt in anyone.”

“Where do you get this misinformed opinion of yourself?” he asked, surprised by her statement. “Don’t you have any idea how attractive you are?”

“I’m not ugly,” she agreed, but not wholeheartedly. “I’m just not one of those uninhibited, brash, bouncy women who enter duels of witty banter with men.”

“I like that,” he admitted, reaching over to touch the smooth skin of her hand. “I like you.” Her eyes looked doubtful again. “You don’t believe me.”

“I want to believe you. I’m just a little…intimidated by you.” She gestured around the secluded grove. “By this.”

“An Ashton? Intimidated?” He threaded his fingers through hers. “I don’t buy it for a minute.”

She eased herself closer to him. Yes, this was going to be easy. And fun. He leaned toward her, close enough to feel the electrical charges singing in the air between them.

Unwinding his fingers from hers, he trailed a path up her arm, toward the soft flesh of her neck and throat. When he lightly touched the skin just under her ear, her eyelids fluttered. He grazed along the edge of her delicate jaw, then traced the outline of her lips.

He felt her breath catch.

“You like that,” he whispered.

She almost nodded, opening her eyes enough to capture his gaze. “I like you.” The echo of his own admission was difficult for her, he could tell.

“You’re such a flirt, Paige Ashton.”

She started to laugh at that, but he leaned over and covered her mouth with his. As their lips met, her laugh stuttered into a moan that caught in her throat. As she opened to him, he tasted the delicious, tangy flavor of Greek olives on her tongue.

He tunneled his hand into her hair, holding her head with a strong, confident grip. She kissed him back, meeting his mouth with matching passion.

Easing her on to her back, he moved over her, so that they finally touched. Against the concave of her stomach, his arousal was impossible to hide. She sucked in a quick breath, her kiss halted momentarily.

“Just so you know,” he whispered against her mouth. “I like you more.”

She responded by resuming the kiss and lifting herself toward him, a move that sent every drop of blood in his body rushing to one place. He wanted her. His body hurt with swollen desire as he stroked her back, aching to glide his hand around and touch the delicate rise of her breast, itching to grasp her round rear end and bury himself between her legs.

Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to do none of those things. “I think we’re done here,” he said softly.

She lifted her chin and gave him a stunned, hurt look. “We are?”

“Here,” he explained. “In the olive grove. Let’s go up to my suite.”

Her eyes widened, and she tucked the corner of her lip between her teeth as the decision colored her expression. He swallowed every word of persuasion he knew. This was her choice.

“Okay.”



Even to Paige, her simple word sounded raspy, aroused. As it should. She felt raspy and aroused. Her whole being sparked in anticipation, longing for more hot kisses, dying for his hands to engulf her entire body.

“Okay,” he repeated, sounding a teensy bit surprised and a lot delighted. Didn’t he think she wanted to go to his room?

Did he want her to say no?

She crushed the thought, hating her insecurities when everything about him had demonstrated just the opposite.

This wasn’t a tough decision. Matt Camberlane was sexy, gorgeous, smart, and he wanted her. Her gaze dropped to the very obvious tent in his khaki pants, the sight of it both flattering and intoxicating.

As he folded up the blanket in one quick move and scooped up the remnants of their picnic, she made a feeble attempt to help, but he was much faster.

“I got it, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her hand to help her up. “Let’s go.”

Nice to know they were both in a hurry. That this electrifying, crazy, lusty attraction was mutual. The thought sent a little shiver through her, and he pulled her under his arm, holding the blanket and basket easily in his other hand. Instantly she felt safe. Safe and warm and protected by the power that was Matt.

In silence they climbed the stone stairs out of the grove. She barely glanced at the panorama of Rutherford Hills’ rolling vineyards around them, didn’t even notice the sun-and earth-toned cottages that made up the outer buildings of the luxury hotel and spa.

Together, they slipped into a side door, dropped the basket and blanket with the concierge, and headed up a set of back stairs. He must be staying in one of the luxurious upper suites, she thought. She’d been in one when friends from Los Angeles had stayed at the famous inn. The suites were huge. Would they even make it through the spacious living room to the bedroom?

Her heart rattled her whole chest, as he slid the key in the door, his own hands steady. Before he opened it, he froze for a moment, then tipped her face up to him with his other hand.

“You still have plenty of time to change your mind, Paige,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to feel…seduced.”

She blew out a breath and smiled. “You’re the one who should feel seduced, Matt.”

His expression softened with a sexy half grin as he pushed the door open. “I love it when you flirt with me.”

They’d never make it to the bedroom. At least, not dressed. As the door closed behind them, he didn’t give her a second to even scan the glorious decor of the room. He pushed her right up against the door and pinned her there with his whole, heavenly, strong body.

His kiss was demanding and complete, his erection pressing into her stomach, making her want to hoist herself higher to get the hard ridge exactly where she wanted and needed it.

He reached under her sweater, the heat of his hand searing the skin of her waist. He murmured her name as their teeth tapped and their legs entwined. His hand moved higher and he sucked in a ragged breath as he covered the thin material of her bra and cupped her breast.

“You are so sexy, Paige,” he whispered to her.

The words were the sweetest elixir, like the firstpressed wine. She moaned in response, leaning into him, giving him free access to stoke the fires in her body.

His thumb grazed her hardened nipple, swelling it like magic, sending waves of heat from her breasts down to her dampened crotch. All thoughts of decorum, all notions of propriety dissolved in her as his mouth trailed down her throat and their hips began to rock in a natural, marvelous rhythm.

Her hands flattened against his chest, finally able to touch him, hungry to get her fill of his substantial, solid body.

In one quick move he guided her to an oversize chaise longue near an unlit fireplace and lifted her sweater over her head, dropping it on the ground. Easing her back, he opened the front clasp of her bra and pushed it away, over her shoulders, then let it fall to the floor.

For a moment he just looked at her bare breasts, admiration and want turning his eyes slate-gray as he levered himself above her. His lips were parted, releasing tight, quick breaths.

Wordlessly he dropped his head and suckled one breast, the response flashing like a bolt of heat lightning in her body. Shuddering, she burrowed her fingers into his thick hair, as he teased her nipple with his tongue and then took more of her in his mouth.

She moved on instinct, driven by some basic, primal need she barely recognized. When he lifted his head, her hands roamed his chest, yanking at the buttons of his oxford shirt, aching to feel his flesh against hers.

With a gentle chuckle, he helped her remove his shirt, then returned to the delivery of wet, hungry kisses to her face and body. Their rhythm intensified as she rose to meet his hips and slide against his swollen manhood.

Time and space and sanity vanished from her senses, leaving her mind blank and her body in complete control. Deep in the core of her, a knot of desire and want tightened, pulling at her, twisting her low on the inside.

The need to have him inside her nearly made her cry out.

Reaching down, she slid open his belt buckle, tugged at the snap of his pants and grasped the heated skin of his shaft.

He moaned in appreciation of her touch, his eyes squeezed shut as though he simply couldn’t take the pleasure. Her fingers almost encircled him, sliding up the length of him to caress the moistened tip.

Desire coiled through her as she imagined how he would feel inside of her. She had no doubt—none—that she wanted exactly that. In the darkest recess of her mind, she was aware that a lump had formed in her throat, an emotional juggernaut that was rivaled only by the throbbing ache between her legs. An unfamiliar twirling, swirling sensation of need spun through her, dizzying her.

He kissed her mouth again, as his talented fingers played with her nipples, his incredible body smothering hers.

He felt so good. So good she wanted to scream, but that tender pain in her throat grew tighter, and she choked out a desperate breath. But it sounded more like a sob.

Could this be happening? Could she have this kind of power over Matt? Gorgeous, brilliant Matt? She hardly knew him, but she never wanted anything so completely.

Suddenly he stopped moving, his gaze locked on her face.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, his voice strained and rough.

She shook her head. No, don’t stop. Don’t talk. Don’t—Nothing,” she managed.

“You’re crying.” It sounded more like an accusation than an observation.

Slowly she lifted a hand to her face. Her cheeks were wet—soaked, in fact. And the salty taste trickling in her mouth wasn’t sweat.

She was crying.

She tried a quick laugh, but it came out as another sob. She wanted to curse herself, her childish, insecure self. Why was she crying?

“You have quite an effect on me,” she finally said. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

A dark expression colored his face. Gingerly he lifted his hands from her, placing them on the chaise and hoisting himself up.

“I do,” he said simply.

The finality of his tone neutralized all the sensations zinging through her nerve endings. She reached for his arm, but he backed farther away. “C’mere, Matt.”

She sounded desperate. Who cared? She was desperate. For more of his body, his mouth, his—

“No. We have to stop.”

“What?” She pushed herself up on two hands, her jaw opened in shock. “Why?”

“We have to.” In one move he was off her, refastening his pants, refusing her eye contact. Which hurt almost as much as his denial of body contact.

What was going on? “Matt? What are you doing?”

He wet his lips and ran his hand through his hair with a hand that now trembled nearly as much as her whole body, but still he didn’t look at her.

With a deep sigh, he finally perched on the side of the chaise. He lifted her sweater from the ground, turned it right side out and gently laid it on top of her, covering her bare breasts.

All that erotic desire that had delighted her thudded to the bottom of her stomach. Of course. He didn’t want her. She wasn’t attractive. When you got right down to bare skin, she wasn’t enough woman for him.

“I’m really sorry, Paige. I got carried away.”

She just stared at him. “I think the carrying was two sided, Matt.”

He finally looked at her, the discomfort clearly visible on his face. Of course. He didn’t know how to tell her. She just wasn’t for him.

“You deserve better than this,” he said softly.

That was a clever way of saying it.

Without arguing she sat up and pulled the sweater over her head. She had some shreds of pride left, damn it.

With all the regal bearing she could muster, she stood, tugged the sweater over her jeans and smoothed her hair. He watched her, a questioning expression on his face.

“Paige.” He stood next to her but didn’t touch her. He was really over this, she thought bitterly. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Tapping her jeans pocket to be sure her car keys were still there, she looked at the door. How would she get across this endless room without letting yet another sob give away her shame and hurt?

She would. She just would.

“No need to apologize, Matt.” There. Her voice was under her control. “And I really didn’t mean to…” What? Lead him on? Beg for sex? Respond like a woman? “Flirt with you.”

Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the room and opened the door without looking back. She was all the way to her car before she realized she’d left her bra on the floor.

Well, he could burn it for all she cared. Isn’t that what happens when you play with fire?

Sticking her key into the ignition of her car, she took one more look at the sun-drenched stone of Auberge du Soleil. Why had she cried? Was she so uncertain and pathetic that one man’s attention reduced her to a weeping mess?

No more, she swore silently. She’d gotten burned, yes. But she’d be damned if she’d let Walker or Megan or Matt Camberlane know. He could flip her underwear across the conference room table for all she cared.

Because she would most definitely be seeing him at their scheduled meeting tomorrow. She didn’t know what made him suddenly pull back from her, but he couldn’t have faked his response to her.

He wanted her. Whatever changed his mind…could be changed back.

And this time everything would be different. She wanted him just as much, and, damn it, she was going to get him. Or at least make him miserable wondering what he’d missed.



Matt lifted up the whisper of white lace that lay crumpled on the floor, muttering an angry, ugly curse of frustration.

What the hell did he just do?

He closed his eyes and brought the silky thing to his face, torturing himself with a deep breath of lavender or roses or some delicate flower. Paige. She had a floral scent all her own. And a taste and feel and sound all her own.

And tears all her own. Damn it. The tears had annihilated him.

At the sight of them, the realization of what their coupling meant to her kicked him square in the face. What was he thinking, seducing an angel? God, she could be a virgin for all he knew. And he’d treated her like any other girl who succumbed to his charm. Some easy conversation, a few quick kisses, then back to his room like another piece of—

He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn’t even think of the expression in relation to this beautiful, real, precious woman. He let her undergarment fall to the chaise longue and dropped his head into his hands. A pain in his chest was just as uncomfortable as the swollen erection that hadn’t yet gotten the message that playtime had ended. His blood was nowhere near settled. God only knew what was causing the hurt in his chest.

Could that be his heart?

He blew out another disgusted breath and got up to go to the bathroom.

No doubt he could have handled that situation way better. But the tears. The tears just killed him.

The only reason in heaven or hell to have a woman in his life was to have one in his bed. Women were for sexual comfort and gratification. Period. That was the lesson he learned from his miserable marriage to a woman who had used him. He’d vowed he would use them right back.

He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, but only heard the silent promise he’d made two years ago. Never, never again would he lay out his heart like a welcome mat to have high heels dug into it.

He flipped on the cold water tap and stuck his hands under it, hoping it would cool off his heated skin.

Heat caused by Paige’s body and mouth and incredibly sexy desire for him.

He hadn’t been lying, but she didn’t believe him. He meant what he’d said. She deserved better than casual sex.

But casual sex was the only kind he knew.

Surely there was some worthy man, someone who would treat her like the goddess she was. Someone who would wipe her tears and not get freaked out by them. Someone who might even cry with her for how much he loved her.

He splashed a handful of cold water on his face.

Whoa, bud. That someone was not Matt Camberlane.

Tomorrow morning he’d go to his office, fax a copy of the contract cancelation to Ashton Estates, then he’d hand the whole event over to someone in his Marketing Department. And then, he’d forget he’d ever met Paige Ashton. Or kissed her. Or ached for her in the most fundamental, frightening way.

The problem was, he thought, as the water sluiced down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth, he’d never forget her.

But he had to. He just had to.




Chapter Four


She sailed past the security guard with the claim of a meeting with Matt Camberlane. But as soon as a no-nonsense, slightly overweight administrative assistant hustled into the lobby of Symphonics, Inc., Paige knew she was about to get the brush-off.

“I’m Eleanor Bradford, Mr. Camberlane’s assistant.” She held out her hand in greeting but wore a frown and backed it up with a gentle shake of her head. You don’t have an appointment, her body language screamed.

“Paige Ashton.”

Her eyes widened a bit and she leaned back in a not-so-subtle reappraisal. “Are you one of the Ashton Winery family members?”

Fame had its privileges, Paige supposed. “Yes. Mr. Camberlane and I arranged this meeting over the weekend.” She gave Eleanor her very best business-school-confident tilt of her head. “He’s expecting me.”

“He is?” The woman looked unconvinced. No doubt Mr. Camberlane, multizillionaire boy wonder and world-class flirt, had his share of young women with faux appointments. Eleanor was just doing her job as gatekeeper.

Eleanor’s expression changed from confusion to understanding. “Oh, I know what happened. You didn’t receive the fax I sent this morning.”

Oh, yes, she did. “The fax?” Paige worked to sound perplexed.

“I’m afraid Mr. Camberlane had to nullify the contract he’d signed. So that would cancel your meeting today. Why don’t you wait here while I go grab a copy for you?”

Paige never changed the expression on her face as her mind whirled with options. “That’s a pity.” Should she demand to see him? No. She wanted the element of surprise on her side. She wanted to see his face when he wasn’t expecting her. “Do you mind if I come with you and use the ladies’ room, then? It was a long drive from Napa.”

Eleanor hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Of course. There’s one by my desk.” Indicating for Paige to follow her, she leaned closer and added, “I was sorry to hear about your father’s, uh, passing.”

Paige nodded politely. “Thank you.”

“Any progress on the investigation?”

Gossip would buy her access and maybe even time to linger near Matt’s office, but she didn’t relish the idea of using her father’s death and the headlines about the family to get what she wanted. Especially when what she wanted was…a man.

“They’re looking at every possible angle,” she said, coolly enough to stop the casual interrogation.

Eleanor used a key card to open a door that led to a maze of shoulder-high cubicle walls, giving Paige an occasional glimpse at various techie-types at computers or around small tables having meetings. The Symphonics employees were all as young and hip as the music that blared from various computers and sound systems, most of them wearing the standard Silicon Valley uniform of jeans and slogan-covered T-shirts.

Would Matt be dressed like that? Paige tried to swallow at the thought of seeing him again, refusing to fall back into the doubt and introspection that had kept her awake all night.

She’d made up her mind. She’d thought this thing through. She wasn’t backing down. His response to her was real. And her response to him? Oh, that was very, very real.

Real enough for her to want an explanation for his sudden change in behavior. And real enough for her to want more. That’s what she wanted. Him. In the most primal, physical way.

Around a corner and through another set of doors, they approached a spacious sitting area surrounded by offices instead of cubicles. While Eleanor ambled over to her L-shaped desk, Paige was drawn to the velvety voice of Sinatra coming from the corner office.

Adrenaline and anticipation sluiced through her veins. That had to be Matt’s office. But a feminine chortle of laughter coming from the same place caught Paige off guard.

“The ladies’ room is down that hall to your left,” Eleanor instructed as she riffled through papers, evidently unfazed by the sound of a woman laughing and Frank Sinatra singing in the middle of a Monday morning. “I’ll find that contract by the time you get back.”

The hall was in the opposite direction of the office that beckoned her. Ignoring Eleanor’s instructions, Paige moved forward, getting a glimpse of the corner of his desk, a large window that faced a pond and trees, and part of a leather sofa that lined one wall.

And what was on that leather sofa stopped Paige cold. From her vantage point, all she could see were two long, bare, gorgeous legs finished off by a pair of slinky cream pumps.

The legs uncrossed and crossed again, accompanied by another throaty laugh.

“I can handle anything, and you know that.” One leg slid over the other again, very slowly this time. “Better than anyone.”

“I just need you to handle an event, Tessa.” The baritone of his voice easily overpowered the soft music, but not the sudden rush of blood in Paige’s ears.

“It’ll be no problem, Matty.” Matty? “I’m sure your guests will be happy not to have to stay home and hand out candy to brats all night, anyway. I’ll start researching possible venues this morning.”

Eleanor turned from her desk and slid her gaze pointedly toward the hall. “Down there, Miss Ashton. To the left.”

Was that a warning to run or a reminder that the possible venues no longer included Ashton Estate Winery? Either way, Paige was just seconds and inches away from a most embarrassing encounter. Not only had she defied the fax she’d received at eight that morning and ignored the chilly voice mail message Matt had left her, now she was face-to-face with the competition who’d gotten the job. And by the looks of those flip-flopping legs, the competition who’d get Matt, too.

Turning on her heel, Paige headed toward the ladies’ room with enough speed that Eleanor probably thought she was about to have an accident.

Inside, she put both hands on the counter and stared in the mirror. She hadn’t seen the woman’s face, but did she have to? She’d be tall, blond, svelte, perfect. She had a sexy snicker and legs that could stop traffic.

And now she had Paige’s event and a month of attention from “Matty.”

Damn.

No, Paige told herself, shaking her head at her own image as if she could rattle some sense into it. Had she worked all night last night and driven all the way down to San Francisco just to be outmaneuvered by a pair of legs?

She wrinkled her nose at herself, trying to see past her too-small chin, too-nondescript eyes, her too-mouse-brown hair, and way-too-boyish figure.

Megan said her face was delicate. Her mother said a small chin is a sign of good breeding. Her hairstylist did her best to add a few highlights to that brown. And her figure? She ran her hands over the apricot knit dress she’d carefully selected because it was professional but definitely feminine.

Her figure certainly didn’t seem too boyish to Matt Camberlane when he’d explored it yesterday.

“I’m not giving up,” she whispered to her reflection. “I’m not leaving without finding out what spooked him yesterday.” She’d do what she had to do to get the answers she wanted, and if she managed to pull in the contract in the process, wonderful. Megan would be delighted. “Ashtons don’t give up,” she reminded herself.

The door whooshed open and with one glance at the familiar pumps, Paige knew exactly who’d entered. Okay, not blond. Brunette. But tall, svelte and flawless just the same.

The woman’s ebony eyes danced with mirth, and a confident, secret smile played on her lips.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Twenty-two years under the tutelage of Spencer Ashton had at least taught her that much.

“Hello,” Paige said, turning from the sink. “Do you work here?”

The woman paused on her way into a stall, noticing Paige for the first time. “Yes, I do. I’m Tessa Carpenter. I work in Marketing. And you?”

“I’m Paige Ashton,” she said, holding out her hand. “I have a meeting here this morning.”

Tessa raised a striking, sculpted brow, as though no one could actually have a meeting at Symphonics that she didn’t know about. “With…?”

“Matt Camberlane.”

That got her attention. The dark eyes widened and dropped in a quick review. “I just left his office,” she announced, then smiled as she stepped toward a stall door. “I think that put him in a better mood than he was in the morning.”

“Oh?” Paige turned to the mirror and unsnapped her handbag. “That’s funny. He was in a great mood all weekend.”

The door froze as Tessa looked at her. “Really.”

Paige dabbed on some shiny lip gloss. “Really.”

“Where did you see him this weekend?”

“A fund-raiser. Dinner. A picnic.” Paige watched Tessa pale ever so slightly. “In fact, we’re having lunch this afternoon.”

“It’s only ten o’clock.” Tessa said slowly. “You’re kind of early for a lunch meeting.”

Paige checked her lips in the mirror. “Yes. I am.” Then she snapped her bag closed and headed toward the door, feeling wickedly elated.

Tessa Carpenter and her endless legs were not going to get her down. She had a mission, a goal. She had no idea how, but she was going to march right into that office and let that electricity zing between them again. She wanted that thrill, that delicious, addictive sensation that wound through her when he kissed her, touched her, liquified her whole being. She wanted it and she intended to get it.

With a determined push, she yanked open the door and walked right into Matt Camberlane.



“Paige?” Matt had to blink to be sure he wasn’t just conjuring her up as he left the mens’ room.

She lifted her face toward him and gave him a bright smile. “I’m a few minutes early.”

“Early?”

“For our meeting.” She lifted her briefcase an inch. “You’re going to love these ideas.”

He deserved this. He deserved to squirm in front of her. He should have explained things to her, not let her run off making all sorts of wrong assumptions. And then he didn’t call her—unless you count a lousy voice mail message with a mumbled excuse about delays in the product launch. Hell, yeah. He deserved to suffer.

Only, he wasn’t suffering. Because looking at those innocent eyes, standing in the enclosed hallway close enough to almost drop a kiss on her caramel-colored hair was not suffering. In fact, it was a lot closer to heaven than hell.

Indicating the executive suites with one hand, he said, “My office is this way, Paige.”

Even though he wanted to touch her so badly he literally ached, he fought the urge to place a hand on her back as they walked together. He wouldn’t touch her. He would not lay a single finger on her body.

Eleanor looked up from her desk and her jaw slackened.

“Hold my calls, please,” he instructed her, not taking the time to respond to the surprised look on his assistant’s face.

Paige seemed to know exactly where to go, entering his office ahead of him.

“Have a seat.” He pulled out one of the guest chairs in front of his desk, somehow not wanting her to sit on the sofa where Tessa Carpenter had just licked her chops over him. Paige wasn’t a slink-on-the-leather kind of girl. She was a sit-in-the-straight-back-chair kind of girl.

Wasn’t she?

As she sat, the hem of her peachy sweater dress rose just enough to make him question that thought. The silky thigh the move revealed collided with the image of Paige sliding out of her clothes the previous day. His whole lower half threatened to jump up and betray his thoughts. Good God, was he incapable of having a conversation with this woman without getting aroused?

He closed the door and tapped the wall switch that automatically lowered the sound system.

“Don’t turn off Frank on my account,” she said. “I’ve been humming ‘Under My Skin’ for two days.”

His reaction to that was definitely above the waist. “You have?”

She turned in the chair to face him. “Just thinking about the VoiceBox launch party makes me hum some great songs.”

Well, that explained it. She hadn’t received the fax or his message. And even after the way they left things on Sunday afternoon, she showed up for a meeting, all professional and ready to work.

Sitting across from her in the other chair, he took a deep breath. There’d be no hasty, feeble explanations of a product delay now. He had to tell her the truth.

“Paige—”

Before he could speak, she began to spread papers on his desk. “Here’s the room layout I worked out.”

“Paige, wait.”

“No,” she shook her head and held up one finger. “You wait. Wait until you see the idea I had for the centerpieces.”

He opened his mouth to stop her again, but his gaze fell on the picture of a gray felt hat—Sinatra’s trademark—tipped over the corner of a laptop screen. He couldn’t help smiling. “Now would you look at that?”

“Oh, that’s just something I worked up off the Internet,” she assured him. “There’ll be a laptop on each table with a different theme that instantly brings to mind the musician. Lips for Mick Jagger, oversize glasses for Elton John.”

Unable to resist, he lifted another page and scanned it.

“You did a lot of work yesterday,” he said slowly. “I’m impressed.”

She didn’t respond for a moment as the flush deepened in her cheeks. “I didn’t want to just sit around and think.”

About what a jerk he was, no doubt. “Paige.” He put his hand over hers, loving the slender, smooth feel of it. There went the vow not to touch her. “I canceled the contract and this meeting.”

“I know.”

She knew? He just stared at her.

“I got your fax and your message. But I really wanted you to see these ideas, so I decided to bend the rules and muscle my way into your office.” She gave him a saucy grin. “Pretty good muscling, huh?”

He couldn’t fight his own smile as he studied her. “Yeah. Damn good. Muscled your way right past Eleanor, and that’s no easy feat.”

“Eleanor was a breeze. Now, Tessa, in the bathroom. She was a little more protective of you.”

He laughed out loud at that. “She works for me.”

“Yes, in Marketing. I know.”

“She was here to be briefed—”

“On the product announcement and event. I know.”

Still smiling, he leaned back in his chair and let out a little puff of air in defeat. “Is there anything you don’t know?”

“I don’t know why you got so weird on me yesterday afternoon.”

His throat closed up. Not at what she said, but at the brave, straightforward way she said it. He owed this lady an explanation and, more than that, he admired her for seeking it out.

Searching her face, he tried to form the right words. Your tears freaked me out? He’d sound like a basket case. You’re too refined and intelligent for me to seduce? What, he only slept with coarse, classless girls? You want emotion and I want sex?

Bingo.

He looked down for one second, then back into those ever-changing eyes. Forget the color, he could just get lost in the shape and size and patience he saw as she waited for his explanation.

“When you cried, Paige, I realized that a…a physical relationship was more meaningful to you than it…than it usually is to me.” Geez. He sounded like a cad. “I mean, I generally don’t get emotionally involved with the women I…” No better.

He stood suddenly, moving behind his chair to grip the backrest, aware that her gaze never left him. “I…I just sensed that casual sex and you…don’t mix well.”

She didn’t say a word.

He waited a beat, then added, “I respect you.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

A shame? “Pardon me?”

“Because your respect cost me a very important piece of business.”

“A piece of—Do you want to have this event at your winery that much?”

She arched a brow. “I want it very much, yes. Enough to get past the awkwardness of a single, unexpected moment where we…lost control.” She stood and shuffled the papers on his desk. “But not if it’s going to make you so uncomfortable you stutter.”

He was not stuttering. Was he?

He slammed a hand over the papers. “Not so fast, Miss Paige Ashton.”

She looked up questioningly, a teasing smile at the corner of her lips. “Yes, Matt?”

“I like those ideas.”

“I knew you would.” She shrugged. “But they’re mine. They come with the Ashton Estate Winery locale and my event-planning skills.” She tugged at the papers under his hand. “Evidently, you respect me too much to get a chance to see them executed.”

He couldn’t hold back the laugh. “You’re muscling again.”

Her smile widened, but she kept her attention on the papers, trying to sort them neatly.

“I keep forgetting you’re an Ashton.”

That earned him a quick look. “And we’re fairly adept at getting what we want.”

“I see that.” He fluttered the sketch of Frankie’s felt hat. “Now I’m sorry I canceled that contract.”

“I happen to have another one right here.” Without missing a beat, she flipped a piece of paper in front of him and produced a pen. “All you have to do is sign.”

She had no idea what she was asking him to do. Their attraction was palpable, and not acting on it would take every ounce of control he wasn’t sure he had.

“I…I can’t.”

She leaned close enough to tease him with that dainty, flowery scent. The same aroma that lingered on the silk bra that he’d dropped into his suitcase when he left Auberge.

“Can’t?” she asked, holding his gaze with a look so rich with promise and possibilities that it damn near knocked the wind out of him. “I seem to recall you don’t know what that word means.”

Her smile was pure victory as she handed him a pen.

He could do this.



After Matt gave his keys to the Ritz-Carlton valet, he rounded the back end of his Ferrari to meet Paige, as another valet opened her door.

He repeated his silent mantra, the one he’d started during their two-hour morning meeting about the VoiceBox launch event.

He could do this. He could work on a project with a woman he was wildly attracted to and not seduce her. He could get the benefit of her ideas and business acumen—which was formidable—and he could walk away without having to get the view from on top of her.

He wasn’t a teenager crazed by lust-starved hormones.

He made it around the car just in time to see that slinky dress slide up her thighs as she maneuvered out of the low sports car. A demon of an early erection threatened.

Not a teenager? Okay. Then he was an adult crazed by lust-starved hormones. But he was also the born competitor. He’d just think of this as one major competition. The brain vs. the body.

Good money was on the…oh, hell.

She gave him a sunny smile. “The Ritz, eh? You’re not thinking about checking out their function rooms are you?”

“Not a chance. You won me over this morning.” He led her into the lobby toward his favorite luncheon spot, The Terrace. “The event is going to be held on Halloween at Ashton Winery Estate,” he assured her. “Your ideas are too good to pass up.”

At least, that was the reason he gave himself for signing the contract. Flimsy, but he’d hold on to it.

They were seated at his favorite table on the brick courtyard of The Terrace, secluded among the flowers and trees, and serenaded by the cascade of a giant fountain.

“Walker introduced me to this place,” Matt told her after they’d listened to the waiter describe an array of Mediterranean-themed specials. “We used to come here for Sunday brunch when we were in college.”

Her eyebrow shot up in disbelief. “Pretty swanky place for a couple of Berkeley students.”

“Trust me, we hit the not-so-swanky places the night before.” He dropped a linen napkin on his lap. “That was the great thing about Walker. You’d never know his background. He was always really down to earth. But after a week of midterms and all-nighters, he was the first to pull out his wallet and say, ‘Matty boy, we need some decent chow.’”

She laughed at his dead-on impression of the serious Walker Ashton.

“And we’d come here and eat like, well, like starving Berkeley students on a trust fund. And he’d always pay.” He shook his head in amazement. “Before Walker, I’d never even heard of the Ritz-Carlton.”

Paige took a sip of water and regarded him closely. “You didn’t talk much about your childhood the other night. Where are your parents?”

Good question, he thought wryly. Where are my parents? “My dad is MIA and has been for as long as I can remember.”

She frowned at the idea or the acronym, he didn’t know which.

“He left when I was a child and never made too much of an effort to keep in touch.” He took a sip of water, making a conscious decision to barrel on with information he shared with few people. “And my mom…well, she’s finally settled into a real home for the first time in her life and she seems to be getting her act together.” Seems being the operative word. “I help her out a lot. She’s better when she doesn’t have to hold down a job.”

This was business, he reminded himself. No need to delve into the gross dysfunctionality of his tiny family. But he could tell by her interested look the subject wasn’t going to die.

“What do you mean ‘settled into a real home’?”

“One without wheels.”

Her frown deepened with genuine confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Of course not. She’d probably never seen a doublewide trailer park home in her whole life. “Forget about it,” he said, sweeping open his menu. “I recommend the monkfish. The seafood is unmatched here.”

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, another question poised on her pretty lips, but then her attention shifted over his shoulder and her expression changed to one of surprise.

He turned to see Walker Ashton headed directly toward them.

“Well, speak of the devil.” Matt stood and set his napkin on the table to shake Walker’s hand. “I say your name and you appear.” Matt frowned. “Or you’re following us.”

“Hey, Matt.” Walker returned the shake, then his dark gaze moved to his cousin. He leaned over and kissed Paige on the cheek. “Seems impossible to pry you two apart lately.”

Was that disapproval or accusation in Walker’s voice? Matt pointed to one of the empty chairs at the table. “Grab a seat. We haven’t even ordered yet.”

“For a minute.” The chair scraped over the brick floor as Walker pulled it out. “I have a lunch meeting with a new client and then I’m picking up Tamra at two to fly back to South Dakota.” He turned to face Paige. “How’s the event planning going?”

The pointed question elicited the slightest flush on her cheeks. “Great. We’ve got a theme, decor, entertainment, a guest list and an invitation design all completed this morning.”

“So,” Walker looked from one to the other. “Why are you still meeting?”

“Budget,” Matt said without thinking.

“Time line,” Paige said at the same time, then cleared her throat and ignored Walker’s snort of laughter at the contradiction. “Matt was just telling me how you two used to frequent the brunches here in college.”

Walker’s grin was slow as his gaze slid to Matt. “Then I guess I should be glad he’s bringing you here instead of some of our less respectable hangouts in Oakland.”

“Maybe you’ll take me to one of those, too, Matt.” Her smile was anything but innocent. “I’m always interested in seeing what less than respectable looks like.”

Her meaning was not lost on him and by the burn in Walker’s stare, it wasn’t lost on him, either.

She wasn’t doing such a bang-up job of keeping this pure business, he thought. The morning meeting had been filled with longer-than-businesslike glances and a definite sense of play and not work in her quick comebacks.

And she’d looked damn near triumphant when he called the Marketing Department to tell Tessa he’d hired an outside consultant to do the event.

Suddenly Paige pushed her chair back and stood. “Excuse me for a moment, please.”

They both stood up as she left the table, their similar heights bringing the two men face-to-face.

“I thought you were doing a good deed.” Walker’s voice had no humor.

Matt rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he considered a response. “I’m taking a business associate to lunch to discuss an event we’re planning. I fail to see how that’s a bad deed.”

Walker’s thick native-American brows knotted and his dark eyes narrowed. “When you bid on her, Matt, you said, ‘I’m only doing a good deed.’ You felt sorry for her or something.”

“That’s true.” He felt…something. Not sorry, but this wasn’t the right time to explain that. “Then I hired her to manage an event. Something she happens to be very good at. Is that a problem?”

“It could be.” Walker was far too familiar with Matt’s track record for him to easily buy that excuse. Matt had even confided that he had no intention of ever getting serious with a woman again after his divorce; he’d been very clear about his “sex without strings” personal philosophy.

“I don’t intend for it to go beyond the boardroom, Walker,” he added, lowering his voice and holding his friend’s slightly hostile gaze. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m not in the least bit worried about you.” Walker glanced in the direction where Paige had gone. “I’m worried about my little cousin. She does her best to be tough but…”

“But what?”

“She’s got a soft heart.”

And soft lips. And soft hair. “I can tell,” Matt admitted.

“And she’s shy.”

Shy? Could Walker—or the other Ashtons—not know the same Paige he did? She was definitely not shy. Quiet, thoughtful and intelligent, but not shy. “She’s not timid, Walker. She knows how to get what she wants.”

“That’s just a front,” Walker insisted. “She tries to be as in control as her sister Megan, and as shrewd as their mother. But she’s tender, not tough. She’s…she’s not…”

“She’s not what?”

“She’s not your type.”

Now that was debatable. “I know what you’re trying to say,” Matt assured his friend. “You can trust me.”

Walker put his hand on Matt’s shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze. They went too far back, had too much history and friendship, for either one to doubt the truth of Matt’s promise.

“I know that, Matty boy. I know that.” Walker cocked his head toward Paige’s empty chair. “Tell her I had to run.”

When Walker disappeared into the dining room of The Terrace, Matt caught a glimpse of Paige approaching the table. Her slender hips swayed a bit with each step, her breasts moved just enough to make his mouth water.

She moistened her lips ever so slightly and kept her gaze locked on him.

Matt knew women. And he knew for a fact that this one most definitely had something on her mind other than a time line or a budget.

But he’d made his promise. To himself. And, more important, to his friend.




Chapter Five


Paige had to give him credit. Matt was doing everything humanly possible to keep their interaction strictly business. Or at least not personal.

And hadn’t she planned to do the same thing on their first date just a few nights ago? She’d failed miserably…and he would, too.

For one thing, their “meeting” had started at ten, then continued on through a two-hour lunch, and showed no sign of ending now that they were strolling through Ghirardelli Square like a couple of tourists.

Like a couple. Period.

It was unspoken that they didn’t want the “meeting” to end. He’d suggested they drive over to the square after lunch to soak in the incredible autumn California day, and she hadn’t argued. The sun warmed the golden brick pavement of the sprawling park, and their easy conversation and comfortable silences warmed her heart. Nothing intimate, nothing personal. But not exactly business, either.

“I haven’t been here for years,” Paige said as they passed the historic chocolate factory. “I forgot how quaint and inviting this place is.”

“It’s touristy,” he noted. “But there’s a reason the tourists like it.”

They entered a tree-lined plaza, pausing at a storefront to admire the hand-blown glass in the window.

“We can’t leave the square without making a wish,” Matt said suddenly, taking her hand. “Let’s visit Andrea.”

Her fingers curled around his much stronger ones. Oh, yes. This was feeling more like a date and less like a meeting every minute. “Andrea?”

“The mermaid of the fountain.” He tugged her toward the massive sculpture of two mermaids nursing their babies and surrounded by a pool of sun-drenched water. “Gotta make a wish.”

He dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a handful of change. “Pick a lucky one,” he told her.

She plucked a shiny penny from the group, and he took another. As they approached the gray slate steps that surrounded the pool, he dipped his head close to her.

“Andrea listens, you know. So be sure you wish for something good.”

She grinned and flipped the penny toward the water. “I know what I want.” I wish Matt would kiss me. It hit with a tiny splash.

“Wow. You sure do know what you want,” Matt noted. “I generally have to think about it for a minute.”

“This wish didn’t take any thought at all,” she said, squinting in the sun as she looked up at him. “I know exactly what I want.”

“You know what they say.”

“What do they say?”

“Be careful what you wish for.” With that, he arced his penny in a perfect curve shot.

The water rippled as his coin drifted to meet the coppery cluster at the bottom.

“What did you wish for?” she asked.

He gave her a lopsided grin that made her insides ripple just like the pool. “You tell me first,” he said.

“Doesn’t that mean my wish won’t come true?”

He considered that as they found an empty bench tucked under the branches of a gnarly shade tree, the leaves already beginning to take on the golden hue of October. “I’m not sure how strict Andrea is about revealing your wishes,” he said as they sat.

“Then I don’t want to risk it,” Paige laughed. “I really want this wish to come true.”

He crossed his long legs and draped an arm across the back of the bench. Not exactly touching her but not strictly professional, either.

“Why don’t I guess?” he suggested. “Then technically you really haven’t told me.”

She smiled, feeling coy and flirtatious. Not a sensation Paige Ashton was used to, but one that sure sent a few lovely tingles through her. “Okay. You get three guesses.”

He laughed. “Oh, there are rules, now. Hmm. Okay. Let me guess.” He studied the fountain in front of them, then said, “You wished for a flawlessly executed, well-attended, completely successful launch party for VoiceBox.”

She just stared at him. Was he that unromantic? “I don’t have to wish for that. I’ll make that happen without the help of any mermaids or wishes.”

“Touché.” He thought for a moment. “I know. You covered all your bases. You wished for happiness and a lifetime of contentment.”

She shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to strain Andrea’s powers with anything that monumental. My wish was simple. And it was nothing I could control. Someone else has to make it happen.”

“You want all your family problems to go away.”

Oh, God. That’s what she should have wished for, she thought guiltily. He wasn’t even thinking about a kiss, and she shouldn’t have wasted her penny on something so frivolous when there were real problems in her life.

She managed to nod. “Yes, that’s it. My family.”

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

That he could do? “Not unless you want to step into a beehive of distrust, accusation, blackmail and infidelity.”

“That sounds like my family,” he said with a quick laugh. “On a much smaller scale and without the blackmail, of course.”

Something twisted in her heart at the lack of judgment in his tone. “I guess everyone has their skeletons,” she admitted.

“Yeah, in the closet. Your family has them on the front page of the business section and weekly tabloids.”

Wasn’t that the ugly truth? “Are you sure you still want to hold your event at the Winery?”

“I most certainly do,” he assured her. “And my offer of help stands. Not that I can do anything to relieve the situation other than listen and offer sympathy.”

A sigh escaped her lips when he said that. “You better watch it, Matt,” she warned. “That’s pretty sensitive talk for a tough, competitive entrepreneur like you.”

He winked at her. “Just trying to make your wish come true.”

Then kiss me.

For a dizzying second, he looked as though he might. His lips were parted, the pupils dilated against his steel-gray eyes. Then he looked back at the fountain.

“I don’t think there’s much you can do as far as my family is concerned,” she said quickly. “I’m planning to go up to Louret Vineyards tomorrow. It’s time for another visit with my half sisters and another attempt at fence mending.”

“Want some company?”

She leaned back and gave him a surprised look. “You want to go up to Louret? With me?”

“Sure. I can take a day off tomorrow, and I’d love to take a drive up there. I’ve heard Louret’s a magnificent vineyard.”

“The vineyard is breathtaking, but the family…”

“Not so breathtaking?”

She smiled at the way he tried to make her comfortable with a decidedly uncomfortable subject. “My half siblings are very, very angry at my father, as you can imagine, and, by association, at my brother and sister and cousins and me. My father virtually abandoned those children when he married my mother.”

“I’d heard that from Walker.”

“They think I’m taking his side.”

“Are you?”

She shook her head vehemently. “I told you the other night, I don’t take sides. I walk a tightrope right down the middle.”

“That’s a dangerous place, Paige,” he said, his fingers grazing her shoulders. “If you fall, you can get hurt.”

Her lips curled in a rueful smile. “I have great balance.”

“What do you hope to accomplish tomorrow?”

She shrugged, liking that his fingers had settled on her shoulder. Wanting to fold into his substantial body for a reassuring hug. “I just want to visit. To show them that, well, we’re family. We have our differences, but we should stick together.”

“What kind of differences?”

“My father’s will, for one thing.”

“Walker told me they are contesting it.”

“They might.” She picked up a leaf that had fallen on the bench and studied it. “And they have a fairly compelling reason to do that. As you’ve no doubt read in those papers and tabloids, my father’s marriage to their mother was…not legal. He never divorced his first wife.”

“Yes, I read about that.”

“We’re a mess,” she said with an apologetic laugh, flicking the leaf into the air. “Look up dysfunctional and you’ll see the Ashton Family Album in the dictionary.”

He shook his head. “Like I said, no different from other families, just on a grander scale. Maybe your visit would be more comfortable—and effective—if you have company. Less like an investigation and more like a social call. I’d love to go with you.”

“Why would you do that?”

He leaned closer. “So I can get my wish.”

Her heart tumbled right off that tightrope she’d just mentioned and splattered in her tummy. “Okay, tell me. What did you wish for?”

He dipped his head so close to hers that she could feel the warmth of his skin. “I can’t tell you. Then it might not come true.”

“Can’t again, huh?” She pulled back enough to give him a teasing grin. “You’re starting to sound like a broken record.”

Megan looked up from her desk with a mock scowl, held her wrist in the air, and tapped one manicured fingernail on the face of her watch.

“The meeting at Symphonics ran late,” Paige explained as she breezed in. “Anything earth-shattering happen while I was gone?”

“You tell me,” Megan said pointedly. “You’re the one who spent, oh, eight hours with one client.”

Eight lovely hours. Paige dropped into the chair across from Megan’s desk and managed not to purr with sheer delight. “We had a lot to cover.”

“Such as?”

“Seating arrangements, invitations, decorations, audio-visual, guest list.” And some wish making.

“Uh-huh.” Megan flipped her long blond hair over her shoulder and leaned her elbows on the desk. “And what else?”

“Time line, budget, music—”

“Did he kiss you?”

Paige let her jaw drop in an effort to look suitably indignant. “Of course not.”

“Did you kiss him?”

“Megan! I don’t make a habit of kissing clients.”

“I did.” Megan winked. “Just once, though.”

Hopefully, that signaled a change in subject. “Did you and Simon find the perfect crib in Calistoga yesterday?”

“He’s really gorgeous.”

The statement threw her. “Your husband? Yes, he’s a god.”

“No, I mean, yes, he is a god. But I’m not talking about Simon, sweetie, and you know it.” Megan leaned back and rubbed her belly as she regarded her sister. “Matt Camberlane qualifies as irresistible.”

“I can resist.” Yeah, right. She’d really resisted him in his room at Auberge. She practically stripped before he’d gotten the door closed. And left half her underwear as a souvenir.

“I’ve heard he’s a real player, too, since his divorce.”

“His divorce?” Her heart plummeted in disappointment. A player? She could believe that. But he’d never mentioned a previous marriage. “He didn’t tell me he was divorced.”

“Why would he? I thought you were just doing budgets, invitations and seating arrangements.” Megan’s voice held just enough of a tease to take the sting out of the accusation.

“We were. And I swear there was no lip contact today.” True enough. Today there hadn’t been. “Just a handshake as we made plans for tomorrow.”

Megan’s eyebrows shot up. “Another meeting?”

“Can you spare me?” Paige asked. “I really want to go up to Louret.”

“So you said at breakfast yesterday. And do your plans include taking Matt Camberlane to Louret?”

Paige nodded, moving her gaze to the bay window behind Megan’s desk and making a point of studying the late afternoon shadows on the estate grounds.

“Why?” Without looking, she could feel Megan’s stare burning her. “What does that have to do with the Halloween product launch party we’re doing for Symphonics?”

“Well…” Paige plucked at an imaginary thread on her dress. “Nothing.”

Their gazes finally met as Megan waited for an explanation.

“He offered to come with me. To make it comfortable, more social and less like a showdown. I can take him to the tasting room and just chat with Jillian.”

“No, you can’t.”

More disappointment. “Megan, we don’t have any events scheduled for tomorrow. I don’t need to be here.”

“Louret’s tasting room is closed on Tuesdays.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay. Jillian usually spends her days off at The Vines, so I’ll just visit with her and Mercedes, if she’s around.”

“Anna Sheridan is staying there,” Megan said, referring to the woman who’d assumed custody of baby Jack, the result of their father’s last fling.

Jack’s mother had died shortly after giving birth, but her sister, Anna, had been welcomed into the home of Caroline and Lucas Sheppard. That act alone proved to Paige that Caroline, Spencer Ashton’s second wife, had plenty of class.

“I’d really like to meet the little guy,” Paige admitted. “Jillian told me he’s cute as a button.”

Megan rubbed her tummy. “I saw a picture of him. He’s divine. Makes me want a boy.”

“As if it matters. With you and Simon as parents, he or she will be dazzling, smart and the control freak from hell.”

Megan laughed. “I’ve been better lately, don’t you think?”

“Yep. Raging morning sickness is the first thing to slow you down in your life.”

“It’s not just that. I want to concentrate on Simon. I’m letting you manage the whole Symphonics thing, aren’t I?”

“Well, Matt has his hands all over it, too.”

“Just so he doesn’t have his hands all over you, little sister.”

Heat coursed through her at the thought.

“Or has he already?” There was no tease in Megan’s accusation this time.

Paige said nothing, avoiding her sister’s probing gaze.

“You slept with him?” Megan asked, shocked.

“No!” That, at least was the truth. The hands-all-over-her part, well. He had done that. And would again, if Paige had her way. “I did not sleep with him.”

The only sound was the ticking brass clock on Megan’s desk.

“Yet,” Paige added quietly.

Megan searched her face with a plea in her eyes. “Paige, don’t do anything stupid.”

A burst of anger propelled her from the chair. “Why is it when anyone else in this family falls into lust, it’s fine. With baby Paige, it’s stupid. I’m twenty-two, Meg. I’m not a virgin.” Paige folded her arms and looked down at Megan. “The guy melts my bones. I want him.”

Megan sighed as the echoes of Paige’s admission hung in the room. “I’d be a hypocrite if I told you I don’t know how good it feels to want someone who melts your bones. I still feel it every time Simon looks at me.”

“I can feel it when the two of you are in the same room.”

“Yeah,” she said wistfully. “It’s nice, this love stuff. But, Paige, I don’t think Matt Camberlane has ‘love stuff’ in mind. Walker told me he was burned by his wife and is definitely committed to not being committed, if you get my drift.”

Great. Now Megan and Walker were discussing her love life. Or sex life, as the case may be. “Listen, I don’t want love, or even a commitment, Meg.” A sly smile lifted Paige’s lips. “I just want that bone-melting business again.”

“Again?”

“Well, things got a little heated on Sunday. But…we stopped.” He stopped. But some things couldn’t be shared. Even with a sister.

“Just be careful, sweetie. I don’t want you to end up with a broken heart.”

With a sudden rush of affection, Paige came around the desk, dipping down to hug Megan. “I won’t,” she promised. “And you know what? This ‘love stuff’ sure agrees with you.”

“Nah.” Megan smiled ruefully. “I’m still a control freak, Paige. And if anybody hurts my little sister, I’ll…I’ll—”

“Sic Simon on him?”

“And Walker and Trace,” she promised.

“I’ll be fine,” Paige assured her. “And you’re okay with my being gone tomorrow?”

Megan nodded. “Things are under control in the Event Planning Department. You see what you can do with the family problems.”

“I will.”

“And don’t let your bones melt too easily, Paige.”

Paige just laughed. Too late for that. She was a puddle.




Chapter Six


In the late-morning light, the twenty-something-thousand-square-foot mansion of Ashton Estate Wineries looked gilded by the sun. The dark cream-colored stone took on a tawny, golden tinge that reminded Matt of the honey-toned streaks in Paige Ashton’s hair.

With a quick shake of his head, Matt erased the thought and parked in the circular drive.

He’d done a magnificent job of staying on the phone for the whole hour and fifteen minutes it took him to drive up from San Mateo. He’d participated in a product development conference call, listened to his CFO wax eloquent about VoiceBox preorders, and convinced the president of one of the world’s largest retailers to rearrange four thousand stores to prominently feature the product before Christmas.

He’d worked. He refused to buckle under the temptation to slide Ol’ Blue Eyes into the CD player and let his mind wander…and reconsider just why he’d made this unorthodox offer in the first place.

He’d already decided, and there was nothing he hated more than second guessing a decision.

He’d decided to accompany Paige to visit her half siblings for one simple reason: to up the ante. To raise the stakes. What good was a little body vs. brain challenge if it was too easy? If he was really going to win a battle with his libido, then he had to immerse himself in her world and torture his senses with proximity.

Then he could walk away after the VoiceBox launch party, shake her hand and say, “Great working with you, Paige.” And wouldn’t that be something?

Yeah. Something stupid.

But it wasn’t stupid to prove to himself that he could indeed have a platonic relationship with a woman who charged him sexually. Especially when he sensed the same electrical impulses arced through her body, too.

He could do it. He’d promised Walker, and he’d promised himself. He could work with her and even develop a friendship with her, but he wouldn’t risk seeing those tears again. Regardless of how she managed to lean a little too close, and hold their eye contact a little too long.

Before he could open the driver’s door, Paige emerged from the shadow of the overhang that ran along the east wing of the estate. As she stepped into the sunshine, he just gave in and admired her. She wore pale yellow from top to toe—reminding him of sweet creamery butter that could, with one warm touch, melt in his hands.

A line from one of his favorite songs flashed in Matt’s head. Something about only you beneath the moon…and under the sun.

With a quick wave she indicated for him to stay in the car as she approached, but he climbed out and took another appreciative glance at the way her silk trousers hugged her narrow hips, and still another glimpse at the tempting curves under the designer sweater.

“Morning, sunshine.” He dug his hands into his pockets to keep from embracing her.

“Hi, Matt.” Her smile was as blinding as the California rays that warmed them. “All ready to do your good deed for the day?”

He slipped his arm around her shoulder. He couldn’t help it. It was natural. Casual. Impossible. “If that’s how you want to classify this trip. I’ve never been to Louret Vineyards, so I’m looking forward to the tour and tasting.”

She dipped out of his grasp gracefully and let him open the passenger door for her. “But you won’t today, I’m afraid.”

“No?”

“The tasting room’s closed on Tuesdays, so the visit is purely social.” She slid into the car and gave him another radiant smile. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Not if she beamed at him like that all day. “No problem. I’m looking forward to meeting this side of the family.”

“I just hope everyone behaves.”

He picked up that thread of conversation as he climbed in and started the car. “They are expecting you, correct?”

“I spoke with Jillian, my half sister, last night. She runs the tasting room—she’s a wine genius. But today is like a Sunday to her, when the tasting room is closed. However, she promised she’d be spending the day with her stepdaughter, Rachel, at The Vines and welcomed the visit.”

“The Vines. That’s the house, correct?”

“Yes. It’s a short drive from the winery. We’ll just stay at the house, if you don’t mind. If we go over to the winery, we’re sure to run into Cole. He manages the vineyard. And Eli would be there—he’s head winemaker.”

“Not willing to face them yet?”

A whisper of a sigh escaped her lips. “Jillian has been the most levelheaded during all of this, the one, I think, who shares my goal to somehow bring this horrible chapter in our lives to a close. So I’d rather meet with a like mind.”

“And what about Mercedes, her older sister?” He’d read enough in the papers to know the recently wed and newly pregnant Mercedes harbored no deep love for the father who abandoned her.

“Well, it’s hard to say.” She placed her handbag on the floor of the car and repositioned herself in the deep bucket seat. “We might see Mercedes. And Caroline Sheppard, their mother. But I can’t make any promises about how warmly they will treat us.”

“Will Jillian tell them you’re coming up?”

She nodded. “Yes, she said she’d grease the skids.”

“Surely none of them hold you accountable for what your father did while he was alive.” He glanced at the endless rolling hills of the Ashton Estate, over the acres of recently harvested vineyards famous for producing a fortune in sparkling wines. Spencer Ashton had built a magnificent showpiece out of the Lattimer property he’d won in his divorce from Caroline, and Matt had no doubt her children were bitter about that especially when the vineyard and estate had been given back to him by Caroline’s grandfather. But could they blame the offspring from his next marriage?

“Not accountable, no,” she agreed. “But the rivalry they feel is real, and, as I told you, not entirely unjustified. And they are furious—especially Eli and Cole—that my father left them out of his will. And, of course, once they learned that their parents’ marriage was not really legal, since my father hadn’t divorced his first wife in Nebraska, then the very future of the Ashton Estate became part of the issue.”

“Are they pursuing the legality of the ownership of the estate, too?”

“Not at the moment. They are concentrating on the will. But if it can’t be overturned, then who knows what could happen?” She shook her head with a rueful smile. “Like I said, dysfunctional is our middle name. Don’t forget we’re in the middle of a murder investigation, too.”

“Any news? Real news, I mean, not what they repeat in the local media every chance they get.”

She looked skyward in mock disgust of the media. “As far as suspects, no. Grant, another of my half siblings, was held for questioning, but he had an alibi.”

Walker had told him very little about Grant. “He’s from your father’s first marriage, in Nebraska?”

“Yes, Grant and Grace are Dad’s twins by Sally Barnett, who died before my parents were married. I don’t have a clue where Grace is, but Grant arrived in California almost a year ago, in January, after he’d discovered that his father was Spencer Ashton.”

“According to the papers, he was cleared by Anna…Sheridan, is it? Who is somehow related to your father’s…latest child?” A wry smile tipped Matt’s lips as he glanced across the console at Paige. “You better fill me in so I don’t accidentally offend anyone.”

She laughed. “I doubt they offend easily, but of course I’ll tell you. Anna Sheridan is the sister of Alyssa Sheridan, who was my father’s last, uh, mistress. Alyssa died shortly after their baby was born, about two years ago. Anna is raising Jack and is staying at The Vines to escape the media glare.”

“And she was Grant’s alibi?”

“Yes, Anna was with Grant the night of the murder, so he was cleared by the police. And now, as you know, they are focusing on the blackmail leads.” Her voice dropped a bit. “But getting nowhere.”

“Do you have any personal theories about what happened?”

She shook her head. “You know, a lot of people hated my father. Within my family and outside of it. I mean, I loved him and tried to see him in the best possible light, but even that wasn’t easy at times.”

He heard the pain that caught in her throat. “You’re doing the right thing to try and mend the fences, Paige. There’s nothing you can do about the past, but plenty you can do about the future.”

She smiled gratefully at the words. “I’m just one voice. And the youngest, at that,” she laughed quickly. “Unless you count little Jack. I doubt he gets a vote.”

“Will Jack be at the house today?”

She shrugged. “I hope so. I’ve wanted to meet him for a long time. Of course, I’m not sure how I’ll feel about a child who is…my brother.”

He gave her a surprised look. “Why’s that? I’m sure you’d be a terrific big sister.”

She didn’t answer for a moment as she gazed out the window. “I don’t know. He’ll be…a constant reminder of my father’s inability to…”

Matt’s chest tightened at her words. Spencer Ashton was another man who couldn’t win the body vs. brain challenge. “To control himself?” he finished for her.

“That’s one diplomatic way of putting it.”

“What matters, Paige, is how you handle the situation,” he told her, placing a comforting hand over hers. “You can’t control how the other members of your family think and act—but you can control how you respond to them. And by going there to extend the proverbial olive branch, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

He took his eyes off the road just long enough to see the warmth back in her gaze. “Thanks, Matt. Spoken like a real friend.”

A friend. Exactly what he wanted to be. “Hey, I’m happy to help you out by coming with you on the mission.”

She narrowed her eyes teasingly. “I thought this had something do with getting your wish.”

“That, too,” he assured her. And just to up the ante a little bit more, he weaved his fingers through hers and held her hand until he had to shift gears.



When Jillian Ashton-Benedict descended the winding staircase into the foyer of The Vines to greet them, Paige was struck once again by how lovely her half sister was. Tall, slender and as graceful as her mother, Caroline, Jillian gave Paige a sense of reassurance and alliance that she’d never felt in the presence of her other half siblings.

Perhaps it was because Paige was the youngest in her family and Jillian was the youngest in hers. As the “babies” they tried harder.

“Hello, Paige. It’s so good to see you.” Jillian reached out to take both of Paige’s hands, erasing the awkward question of whether they would hug like sisters or shake hands like casual acquaintances.

“This is Matt Camberlane,” Paige said quickly. She’d mentioned that Matt would be with her when she’d chatted with Jillian last night. If her half sister recognized the entrepreneur’s well-known name, or if she was intrigued by the relationship between them, she was far too ladylike to let on. This was due, no doubt, to the fine influence of Caroline Sheppard, who, Paige sadly had to admit, landed a few steps higher on the class ladder than her own mother, Lilah.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Matt,” Jillian said warmly, shaking his hand. “I’m so glad you could come.” She guided them past the stairs into the formal living room, an oversize room filled with antiques but just as cheerful and welcoming as the whole French country-style home.

“I hope you’ll have the opportunity to meet my stepdaughter, Rachel,” Jillian said. “My mother has taken her down to the stables to ride this morning, but they’ll be back for lunch. Can you join us?”

Did Caroline want her to? Certainly Paige’s mother would never have extended an invitation to a member of her husband’s “other family” for lunch. The memory of how Lilah practically threw Mercedes and Jillian out of their house when they’d made a sympathy call after her father had died still burned in Paige’s mind. At the time Paige had been so upset over the murder and loss of her father, that she hadn’t done anything to stop her mother’s over-the-top reaction.

But the scene remained vivid in her memory, and inwardly Paige cringed with embarrassment. Yet here was Jillian, five months later, graciously inviting her to lunch.

“We can do that,” Matt offered, taking the responsibility from Paige’s shoulders. As they sat on a pale celery-green silk sofa, she flashed him a grateful look for the support.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Paige agreed. “We don’t want to be a bother.”

Jillian waved a hand and took a seat in a chair directly across from Paige. “Not at all. It’s a gorgeous day. We’ll have lunch on the lanai. Mercedes isn’t here today, but I’m sure Anna can join us after she gets Jack down for a nap. Grant usually stops in the house midday.”

“And Cole and Eli?” Paige’s stomach tightened at the possibility of having lunch with the half brothers who hated her.

“They are busy at the winery,” Jillian said quickly.

“Have they changed their minds about contesting the will?” Paige asked, deciding it was better to have the issue in the open, rather than dancing around what they were all thinking.

Jillian shrugged a narrow shoulder, and a burst of hope spurted through Paige. “Everything is in limbo, as you know, while the police try to solve this murder. Until they do, the will is in probate and contesting it is a moot point.”

Paige nodded slowly. Did that mean they might not contest the will? She wasn’t sure how far to push the point. “So, otherwise, how are your brothers doing?”

“This is a difficult time for everyone,” Jillian said. “Eli and Cole have both found love and a sense of peace in their lives, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

“But they aren’t at peace where their father is concerned,” Paige suggested.

“Lucas Sheppard is our father,” Jillian responded, the first hint of an edge in her voice. “In every way but name.”

“I know he is,” Paige said. Everyone knew her father had refused to let Lucas adopt Spencer’s four children. For no reason, as far as Paige could figure out, other than spite. Spencer certainly didn’t care about them—he never spoke to them, saw them or showed any interest in their lives after he left Caroline and married Lilah.

Another wave of distaste rolled through Paige, as she felt nothing but shame for the mistakes and bad judgment made by some of the people she truly loved.

“And Mercedes?” she asked, thinking of the luncheon she’d shared with Mercedes over a month ago. At the time, the woman had been tight with bitterness, but she’d since married and progressed nicely with her pregnancy. “How is she feeling?”

Jillian brightened. “She’s not throwing up anymore. How about Megan?”

“Better, but not completely out of the nausea stage.”

“Well, hello there, buddy,” Matt’s sudden greeting pulled Paige’s attention to the entryway.

A wild tuft of red hair, chubby cheeks and bright green—Ashton green—eyes stared at the three of them.

Paige’s heart clutched as she stared right back, mesmerized by the sweet face and the expression of pure innocence on his face. Baby Jack.

Her little brother.

“Come on in, honey,” Jillian encouraged him. “Where’d Aunt Anna go to?”

He pointed in the general direction of the door. “Bwawy.”

“She’s in the library?” Jillian stood and took his hand to walk him into the living room. “It’s all right. Come and meet some special people.”

Matt reached out for an easy high-five. “Hey, little dude. How’s it goin’?”

But Paige was ridiculously paralyzed, her heart suddenly thumping wildly in her chest. She’d never dreamed meeting any man under three feet tall could do this to her, but Jack Sheridan was her brother. Her blood. Her father’s child.

And all she wanted to do, she realized with a shock, was scoop him up into her arms and cover his dear little face with wet, warm kisses.

“This is Paige and Matt,” Jillian said as she urged him closer. “Can you say hello?”

His smile was pure charm. Oh God, Paige thought with a silent gasp. He’s Spencer. At least when her father wanted to turn on the charm, that was the smile the recipient got. Charm had been her father’s most effective weapon.

Jack gave her a shaky wave, but held his hand up in front of Matt. “Again! Again!” He smacked Matt’s hand several times, then let out a cascade of childish giggles.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Paige reached out both arms. “Can I have a hug, Jack?”

“Hug,” he repeated, then glanced to Jillian, obviously a little unsure of the strange arms beseeching him.

“You can give Paige a hug,” Jillian said, tapping his back to send him in Paige’s direction. “She’s your—”

For a moment the room was silent, and Jillian froze, obviously unsure of how to describe their odd relationship to a two-year-old.

“My Pay!” Jack exclaimed, an approximation of Paige’s name.

“Yes!” Paige chuckled at the sound, her eyes filling with moisture. “I’m your Paige. Now can I have a hug?”

He toddled to her and tentatively entered the arms she held out. Paige folded him to her chest, inhaling his sweet little-boy smell and dropping a kiss on the red curls.

“Hello, Jack,” she whispered against the lump that formed in her throat. “I hope we’ll be great friends.”

The child pulled back to look at her, his grass-green eyes wide and wary. Paige searched his face, seeing the earliest signs of some powerful family traits even in his baby face. But it was his eyes that nearly did her in.

No one could look at this child and wonder whose blood ran in his veins. He was an Ashton, a living, breathing reminder of the sins of her father.

And yet he was also her brother.

His little mouth tipped up in a shy smile. “Pay?”

She couldn’t help laughing a little. “You can call me Pay, honey.” She pulled him closer and planted another kiss on his head, lifting her gaze to meet Matt’s as she did.

And it suddenly dawned on her that the game she was trying to play with Matt—the game of seduction and sex—was no different from the one that had caused this child. Of course, there was no adultery involved. But still.

There was no commitment, either.

Could she live with that?



As the morning moved into early afternoon, an ever-changing cast of characters continually transformed the atmosphere of the room. Paige didn’t have an opportunity to consider the troubling questions that ricocheted through her head when she looked at Matt, nor did she have time to analyze all the dynamics of the various personalities at play.

She’d save that—and her uncertainties about Matt—to mull over later.

Shortly after Jack made his appearance, Anna Sheridan had come in search of him. A petite, well-dressed woman in her midthirties, Paige immediately noticed how protective she was of her nephew. Just the fact that she’d sought refuge for Spencer Ashton’s child in the home of his former wife showed a woman who would face anything to shield her child—or, in this case, her nephew.

And when Caroline Sheppard had entered the room a little while later, the ambiance had taken yet another change. Paige felt her back go ramrod straight and her jaw clench as she stood to greet her father’s former wife.

Would Caroline be icy, neutral or warm? Within minutes Paige knew. With a twinge of envy and admiration, she realized that Caroline Lattimer Ashton Sheppard was the real deal.

From the moment she’d arrived, holding the hand of a pigtailed, brown-eyed imp named Rachel who did little more than gaze at Jillian with unadulterated adoration, Caroline made them welcome.

With just her occasional touch, her easy smile, her obvious contentment with her life, Caroline managed to convey that she had no regrets for how her life had turned out. And, even more, their conversation led Paige to believe that she didn’t blame anyone but Spencer for the trauma and drama inflicted on both families.

They enjoyed a leisurely and delicious lunch, served on the lanai that overlooked the rustic carriage house and stables and the gently sloping acres of some of the most sensational Pinot Noir, Merlot, Cab and Petite Verdot grapes in Napa Valley.

Of course, they tasted some of those wines with lunch, and Jillian impressed them all with her in-depth knowledge and insights. They spoke the language of vintner families: harvests, bouquets, vintages and trends, the issues facing the family having been covered with Jillian and Caroline in the living room.

And just to confuse her further, Matt was the ideal guest—entertaining, interested and remarkably adept at positioning himself at her side exactly as a friend, not a boyfriend, would.

When Grant Ashton arrived, the atmosphere of the little gathering suddenly changed again and Paige knew that family business was about to go on the lunch menu.

After a round of introductions and greetings, the large and rugged man pulled out the chair closest to Anna and locked a blue-eyed gaze on Paige. “Do Cole and Eli know you’re here?”

Jillian answered first. “They’re too busy to come over.”

That could be true, Paige told herself. Although much of the harvest had been completed by the end of September, many of the red grapes grown here would ripen this month. They could be busy in the winery. Or unwilling to break bread with the enemy.

“I was just over there,” Grant said, tossing a look over his shoulder in the direction of the winery. “Not too much going on right now.”

“Whatever their reason,” Paige said, holding his direct gaze, “I’m grateful to be so welcome here.”

Grant nodded slowly before turning to Anna, when the lines around his eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Where’s Jack?”

“I just put him down for a nap in the guest room,” she told him, her return look just as fond. “But it required a promise that you’d wake him up the minute you got home.”

Home? Did Grant Ashton, the down-to-earth farmer from Nebraska who’d stormed into California demanding to know his real father, consider Louret Vineyards home? Did Anna?

They weren’t living at the house but staying in the cottage and carriage house on the property. Yet they did seem rather settled.

“I’ll get him when he calls,” Grant promised, shaking his head to decline an offer of wine that Jillian made. Again he directed his attention to Paige. “Any news on the investigation?”

No tiptoeing for this big man.

“Nothing concrete,” she said. “The detectives are trying to trail some evidence of blackmail.”

He snorted a little and threw a glance at Anna. “Probably a lot of opportunity for that in the old man’s past.”

Paige swallowed as an uncomfortable silence fell over the lanai. “Yes,” she finally said, looking down at her lap. “I’m sure there is.”

“Hey,” Grant’s voice pulled her gaze back up to his. “Whatever he was, it sure isn’t something his kids need to take the blame for.”

For a moment she couldn’t speak. Here was yet another half brother touching her heart. For one wild, insane moment, Paige wondered what it could be like if all these families—all these smart, talented, ambitious and dynamic offspring of one man—could actually live in some semblance of peace.

Was that too much to ask?

Paige gave him a smile of genuine warmth. “I appreciate that, Grant.”

With a barely noticeable sigh, Caroline stood and excused herself, and suddenly the impromptu lunch party came to an end. As Paige pushed her chair back, she reached down to pick up her handbag and happened to take a quick glance under the table.

In that flash of a second, she could have sworn she saw Anna’s tiny hand enclosed in the much bigger one of Grant Ashton.




Chapter Seven


“I don’t want to go home.”

Matt gave Paige a questioning look as he pulled onto the main road and exited The Vines. “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

Your house. Your arms. Your bed. “I just don’t feel like facing my family. They’ll expect a full accounting on the day.”

That was the truth. She didn’t really want to go to his house—oh, yes she did—but the thought of returning to the estate to be interrogated by her mother and Trace was utterly unappealing. And no doubt Megan would want a postmortem.




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