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

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.”

      “I want to believe you. I’m just a little…intimidated by you.” She gestured around the secluded grove. “By this.”

      “An Ashton? Intimidated?” He threaded his fingers through hers. “I don’t buy it for a minute.”

      She eased herself closer to him. Yes, this was going to be easy. And fun. He leaned toward her, close enough to feel the electrical charges singing in the air between them.

      Unwinding his fingers from hers, he trailed a path up her arm, toward the soft flesh of her neck and throat. When he lightly touched the skin just under her ear, her eyelids fluttered. He grazed along the edge of her delicate jaw, then traced the outline of her lips.

      He felt her breath catch.

      “You like that,” he whispered.

      She almost nodded, opening her eyes enough to capture his gaze. “I like you.” The echo of his own admission was difficult for her, he could tell.

      “You’re such a flirt, Paige Ashton.”

      She started to laugh at that, but he leaned over and covered her mouth with his. As their lips met, her laugh stuttered into a moan that caught in her throat. As she opened to him, he tasted the delicious, tangy flavor of Greek olives on her tongue.

      He tunneled his hand into her hair, holding her head with a strong, confident grip. She kissed him back, meeting his mouth with matching passion.

      Easing her on to her back, he moved over her, so that they finally touched. Against the concave of her stomach, his arousal was impossible to hide. She sucked in a quick breath, her kiss halted momentarily.

      “Just so you know,” he whispered against her mouth. “I like you more.”

      She responded by resuming the kiss and lifting herself toward him, a move that sent every drop of blood in his body rushing to one place. He wanted her. His body hurt with swollen desire as he stroked her back, aching to glide his hand around and touch the delicate rise of her breast, itching to grasp her round rear end and bury himself between her legs.

      Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to do none of those things. “I think we’re done here,” he said softly.

      She lifted her chin and gave him a stunned, hurt look. “We are?”

      “Here,” he explained. “In the olive grove. Let’s go up to my suite.”

      Her eyes widened, and she tucked the corner of her lip between her teeth as the decision colored her expression. He swallowed every word of persuasion he knew. This was her choice.

      “Okay.”

      Even to Paige, her simple word sounded raspy, aroused. As it should. She felt raspy and aroused. Her whole being sparked in anticipation, longing for more hot kisses, dying for his hands to engulf her entire body.

      “Okay,” he repeated, sounding a teensy bit surprised and a lot delighted. Didn’t he think she wanted to go to his room?

      Did he want her to say no?

      She crushed the thought, hating her insecurities when everything about him had demonstrated just the opposite.

      This wasn’t a tough decision. Matt Camberlane was sexy, gorgeous, smart, and he wanted her. Her gaze dropped to the very obvious tent in his khaki pants, the sight of it both flattering and intoxicating.

      As he folded up the blanket in one quick move and scooped up the remnants of their picnic, she made a feeble attempt to help, but he was much faster.

      “I got it, sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her hand to help her up. “Let’s go.”

      Nice to know they were both in a hurry. That this electrifying, crazy, lusty attraction was mutual. The thought sent a little shiver through her, and he pulled her under his arm, holding the blanket and basket easily in his other hand. Instantly she felt safe. Safe and warm and protected by the power that was Matt.

      In silence they climbed the stone stairs out of the grove. She barely glanced at the panorama of Rutherford Hills’ rolling vineyards around them, didn’t even notice the sun-and earth-toned cottages that made up the outer buildings of the luxury hotel and spa.

      Together, they slipped into a side door, dropped the basket and blanket with the concierge, and headed up a set of back stairs. He must be staying in one of the luxurious upper suites, she thought. She’d been in one when friends from Los Angeles had stayed at the famous inn. The suites were huge. Would they even make it through the spacious living room to the bedroom?

      Her heart rattled her whole chest, as he slid the key in the door, his own hands steady. Before he opened it, he froze for a moment, then tipped her face up to him with his other hand.

      “You still have plenty of time to change your mind, Paige,” he said softly. “I don’t want you to feel…seduced.”

      She blew out a breath and smiled. “You’re the one who should feel seduced, Matt.”

      His expression softened with a sexy half grin as he pushed the door open. “I love it when you flirt with me.”

      They’d never make it to the bedroom. At least, not dressed. As the door closed behind them, he didn’t give her a second to even scan the glorious decor of the room. He pushed her right up against the door and pinned her there with his whole, heavenly, strong body.

      His kiss was demanding and complete, his erection pressing into her stomach, making her want to hoist herself higher to get the hard ridge exactly where she wanted and needed it.

      He reached under her sweater, the heat of his hand searing the skin of her waist. He murmured her name as their teeth tapped and their legs entwined. His hand moved higher and he sucked in a ragged breath as he covered the thin material of her bra and cupped her breast.

      “You are so sexy, Paige,” he whispered to her.

      The words were the sweetest elixir, like the firstpressed wine. She moaned in response, leaning into him, giving him free access to stoke the fires in her body.

      His thumb grazed her hardened nipple, swelling it like magic, sending waves of heat from her breasts down to her dampened crotch. All thoughts of decorum, all notions of propriety dissolved in her as his mouth trailed down her throat and their hips began to rock in a natural, marvelous rhythm.

      Her hands flattened against his chest, finally able to touch him, hungry to get her fill of his substantial, solid body.

      In one quick move he guided her to an oversize chaise longue near an unlit fireplace and lifted her sweater over her head, dropping it on the ground. Easing her back, he opened the front clasp of her bra and pushed it away, over her shoulders,