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
