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