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

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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

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