The Highest Bidder Read online

  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 Symphonies' 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 teary-eyed 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.

  * * *

  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 calamat
a. "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."