The Ashtons: Paige, Grant & Trace. Roxanne St. Claire
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“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