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

her undergarment fall to the chaise longue and dropped his head into his hands. A pain in his chest was just as uncomfortable as the swollen erection that hadn’t yet gotten the message that playtime had ended. His blood was nowhere near settled. God only knew what was causing the hurt in his chest.

      Could that be his heart?

      He blew out another disgusted breath and got up to go to the bathroom.

      No doubt he could have handled that situation way better. But the tears. The tears just killed him.

      The only reason in heaven or hell to have a woman in his life was to have one in his bed. Women were for sexual comfort and gratification. Period. That was the lesson he learned from his miserable marriage to a woman who had used him. He’d vowed he would use them right back.

      He stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, but only heard the silent promise he’d made two years ago. Never, never again would he lay out his heart like a welcome mat to have high heels dug into it.

      He flipped on the cold water tap and stuck his hands under it, hoping it would cool off his heated skin.

      Heat caused by Paige’s body and mouth and incredibly sexy desire for him.

      He hadn’t been lying, but she didn’t believe him. He meant what he’d said. She deserved better than casual sex.

      But casual sex was the only kind he knew.

      Surely there was some worthy man, someone who would treat her like the goddess she was. Someone who would wipe her tears and not get freaked out by them. Someone who might even cry with her for how much he loved her.

      He splashed a handful of cold water on his face.

      Whoa, bud. That someone was not Matt Camberlane.

      Tomorrow morning he’d go to his office, fax a copy of the contract cancelation to Ashton Estates, then he’d hand the whole event over to someone in his Marketing Department. And then, he’d forget he’d ever met Paige Ashton. Or kissed her. Or ached for her in the most fundamental, frightening way.

      The problem was, he thought, as the water sluiced down his cheeks and into the corners of his mouth, he’d never forget her.

      But he had to. He just had to.

      Chapter Four

      She sailed past the security guard with the claim of a meeting with Matt Camberlane. But as soon as a no-nonsense, slightly overweight administrative assistant hustled into the lobby of Symphonics, Inc., Paige knew she was about to get the brush-off.

      “I’m Eleanor Bradford, Mr. Camberlane’s assistant.” She held out her hand in greeting but wore a frown and backed it up with a gentle shake of her head. You don’t have an appointment, her body language screamed.

      “Paige Ashton.”

      Her eyes widened a bit and she leaned back in a not-so-subtle reappraisal. “Are you one of the Ashton Winery family members?”

      Fame had its privileges, Paige supposed. “Yes. Mr. Camberlane and I arranged this meeting over the weekend.” She gave Eleanor her very best business-school-confident tilt of her head. “He’s expecting me.”

      “He is?” The woman looked unconvinced. No doubt Mr. Camberlane, multizillionaire boy wonder and world-class flirt, had his share of young women with faux appointments. Eleanor was just doing her job as gatekeeper.

      Eleanor’s expression changed from confusion to understanding. “Oh, I know what happened. You didn’t receive the fax I sent this morning.”

      Oh, yes, she did. “The fax?” Paige worked to sound perplexed.

      “I’m afraid Mr. Camberlane had to nullify the contract he’d signed. So that would cancel your meeting today. Why don’t you wait here while I go grab a copy for you?”

      Paige never changed the expression on her face as her mind whirled with options. “That’s a pity.” Should she demand to see him? No. She wanted the element of surprise on her side. She wanted to see his face when he wasn’t expecting her. “Do you mind if I come with you and use the ladies’ room, then? It was a long drive from Napa.”

      Eleanor hesitated a moment, then nodded. “Of course. There’s one by my desk.” Indicating for Paige to follow her, she leaned closer and added, “I was sorry to hear about your father’s, uh, passing.”

      Paige nodded politely. “Thank you.”

      “Any progress on the investigation?”

      Gossip would buy her access and maybe even time to linger near Matt’s office, but she didn’t relish the idea of using her father’s death and the headlines about the family to get what she wanted. Especially when what she wanted was…a man.

      “They’re looking at every possible angle,” she said, coolly enough to stop the casual interrogation.

      Eleanor used a key card to open a door that led to a maze of shoulder-high cubicle walls, giving Paige an occasional glimpse at various techie-types at computers or around small tables having meetings. The Symphonics employees were all as young and hip as the music that blared from various computers and sound systems, most of them wearing the standard Silicon Valley uniform of jeans and slogan-covered T-shirts.

      Would Matt be dressed like that? Paige tried to swallow at the thought of seeing him again, refusing to fall back into the doubt and introspection that had kept her awake all night.

      She’d made up her mind. She’d thought this thing through. She wasn’t backing down. His response to her was real. And her response to him? Oh, that was very, very real.

      Real enough for her to want an explanation for his sudden change in behavior. And real enough for her to want more. That’s what she wanted. Him. In the most primal, physical way.

      Around a corner and through another set of doors, they approached a spacious sitting area surrounded by offices instead of cubicles. While Eleanor ambled over to her L-shaped desk, Paige was drawn to the velvety voice of Sinatra coming from the corner office.

      Adrenaline and anticipation sluiced through her veins. That had to be Matt’s office. But a feminine chortle of laughter coming from the same place caught Paige off guard.

      “The ladies’ room is down that hall to your left,” Eleanor instructed as she riffled through papers, evidently unfazed by the sound of a woman laughing and Frank Sinatra singing in the middle of a Monday morning. “I’ll find that contract by the time you get back.”

      The hall was in the opposite direction of the office that beckoned her. Ignoring Eleanor’s instructions, Paige moved forward, getting a glimpse of the corner of his desk, a large window that faced a pond and trees, and part of a leather sofa that lined one wall.

      And what was on that leather sofa stopped Paige cold. From her vantage point, all she could see were two long, bare, gorgeous legs finished off by a pair of slinky cream pumps.

      The legs uncrossed and crossed again, accompanied by another throaty laugh.

      “I can handle anything, and you know that.” One leg slid over the other again, very slowly this time. “Better than anyone.”

      “I just need you to handle an event, Tessa.” The baritone of his voice easily overpowered the soft music, but not the sudden rush of blood in Paige’s ears.

      “It’ll be no problem, Matty.” Matty? “I’m sure your guests will be happy not to have to stay home and hand out candy to brats all night, anyway. I’ll start researching possible venues this morning.”

      Eleanor turned from her desk and slid her gaze pointedly toward the hall. “Down there, Miss Ashton. To the left.”

      Was that a warning to run or a reminder that the possible venues no longer included Ashton Estate Winery? Either way, Paige was just seconds and inches away from a most embarrassing encounter. Not only