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

Death would be preferable to the lights burning her cheeks—or was that just one massive blush that threatened to explode every blood vessel in her face?

      “Five hundred!”

      Oh, dear God. They were bidding. She held up a hand to stop them, but the auctioneer grabbed it, spinning her in a Fred Astaire-like move. “Just five hundred? Look at this beautiful young lady. Svelte, sweet and smart as a whip.”

      “Six-fifty!”

      “I hear six-fifty for the honey with honey hair, do I hear six seventy-five, six seventy-five…”

      Paige felt her legs weaken. Please God, make this end. “This is a mistake, George,” she whispered to the auctioneer, her voice hoarse and low. “I’m not number—”

      “Seven hundred!”

      “That’s more like it,” George bellowed into the microphone. “I hear seven hundred, seven hundred, do I hear seven-fifty?”

      He launched into the forced staccato that had enthralled the crowd all night, and someone yelled out a higher amount. The auctioneer’s drone rose in intensity as he dared and defied them to up the ante.

      “Eight-fifty!”

      “Nine hundred!”

      Her legs would never hold. George spun her again. Twirling, Paige caught a glimpse of Walker, still talking to the other man, but the light prevented her from seeing who it was.

      “Nine-fifty!” The shout came from the back of the room.

      That silenced the crowd for a moment, no doubt because they neared the thousand dollar figure that usually stopped the bidding.

      Her cousin laughed at something his companion said, and leaned back, momentarily blocking the blinding light and giving Paige a straight shot at the man sitting next to Walker.

      “One thousand dollars!”

      She heard the amount called out from the back, but her gaze locked on wolflike gray eyes that devoured her. A spray of goose bumps cascaded down her spine as they stared at each other.

      “Fifteen hundred!” The bid was shouted from the far left side of the crowded room, followed immediately by another.

      But the lights seemed to fade, the shouting muted, and the merciless bidding drowned out. She simply couldn’t tear her gaze from the handsome stranger who stared right back at her. Who was he? Who had Walker invited to this fund-raiser? Then he lifted his lips in a provocative half smile.

      Whoever he was, he was a heartthrob.

      “Two thousand!” With the blood rushing through her head, Paige barely heard the crazy bid barked from the far right side of the room.

      The auctioneer roared with glee and urged the frenzy onward.

      A trickle of perspiration snaked between her shoulder blades and she tried to swallow, still unable to look away from the man’s riveting gaze.

      Then he winked. So subtle, so sneaky, no one else could possibly have seen his secret message. But she did. And it sent an involuntary shudder through her body.

      “Ten thousand dollars.”

      The auctioneer froze and looked toward the front table. “Did I hear…?”

      He couldn’t. He couldn’t have said that. The wolf with gray eyes stood to an impressive height. Backlit by a spotlight and looking like a monarch making his pronouncement, his half smile widened to a predatory grin. “Ten thousand dollars for Paige Ashton.”

      For a long time the room remained soundless, then the gavel slammed so hard the podium vibrated and Paige’s knees nearly buckled.

      “Congratulations, sir, you’ve bought yourself one expensive evening out!”

      His gaze never wavered from her. “Worth every penny.”

      “What the hell did you do that for?”

      Matt Camberlane grinned at Walker Ashton’s question. “I couldn’t stand to see her suffer,” he declared, his gaze skimming the stage for another glimpse of her. That had been true, but Matt knew that his lifelong competitive streak had just seized him. No way that pretty woman was going out with any of the sharks in this room. At least not with any other shark in the room.

      Walker burned Matt with a threatening stare. “She’s my cousin. She wasn’t up for bid. I told you, she’s running the event.”

      “Precisely why I had to rescue her.”

      “She doesn’t need your kind of rescuing.”

      Matt attempted a “Who me?” look that he knew didn’t work on his friend. “I just told you, I’ve sworn off the opposite sex. You may have found the holy grail of love with Tamra, but I am not meant to drink from that ultimate cup of happiness.” To underscore his point, he drained his goblet of Ashton pinot noir. As he tilted his head back, he caught a flash of butter-yellow silk behind the temporary stage and curtain. She’d get away for sure, if he didn’t get back there and stake his claim.

      He heard Walker snort. “Love? You weren’t looking at her with love in your eyes, Matty boy. That was lust and I repeat—she’s my cousin. We were raised together. Paige is like a little sister to me. Plus, she’s been through hell the last couple of months.”

      “Chill, Walker. I’m not interested in her. I’m merely doing a little good deed. Some charity work.” Still, he’d seen the intelligent glint in her almond-shaped eyes, and couldn’t help noticing a few enticing curves on her slender body. He was most definitely interested. “She was seriously uncomfortable, couldn’t you tell?” He stepped away from the table, determined to nab her. “It’s for a good cause, remember?”

      Before Walker could respond, the auctioneer started yammering about number nineteen, and a skinny redhead slithered into the spotlights. Matt dashed between the round tables and made his way behind the velvet curtain.

      He stood in the back for a moment, searching the darkened area for the woman who’d just caused havoc in his head…and a few other places, too.

      “I don’t know who you are, sir, but I guess I owe you ten thousand dollars.”

      Matt turned to find Paige behind him, barely reaching his chin, even in the strappy high heels he’d checked out while she’d been up on stage. They’d done very nice things for her legs. She stood with her shoulders locked in defiance, but her wide, sea-green eyes gave her a hint of vulnerability. She clasped a clipboard like a protective shield in front of her chest.

      “Perhaps you don’t understand how this works,” he said, letting his gaze roam over her china-doll skin and settle on her slightly glossy, slightly parted lips. “I owe you ten thousand dollars. All you owe me is the pleasure of your company for an evening.”

      She shook her head. “No. You’ve made a mistake. A huge mistake. I’m not up—I’m not a bachelorette.”

      Disappointment squeezed his chest. “You’re not?”

      “I mean, I am technically, a…a—” she stammered, and then broke into a wide smile, holding out her hand. “I’m Paige Ashton. The assistant event coordinator.”

      He took the hand she offered and held it a second longer than he would a business associate. “I’m Matt Camberlane. The highest bidder.”

      “Matt Camberlane? The computer guy?”

      He laughed. “I guess I’ve been called worse. Yeah, I’m the computer guy, and now I’m your next date, Miss Ashton. Where would you like to go for dinner?” And breakfast, he thought with a flash of her writhing naked between the ridiculously expensive sheets of the five-star Napa resort he’d checked in to that afternoon.

      “I am so sorry, Mr. Camberlane.” He saw her take a deep breath and could have sworn she shuddered