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

Matt’s chest tightened at her words. Spencer Ashton was another man who couldn’t win the body vs. brain challenge. “To control himself?” he finished for her.

“That’s one diplomatic way of putting it.”

“What matters, Paige, is how you handle the situation,” he told her, placing a comforting hand over hers. “You can’t control how the other members of your family think and act—but you can control how you respond to them. And by going there to extend the proverbial olive branch, I think you’re doing the right thing.”

He took his eyes off the road just long enough to see the warmth back in her gaze. “Thanks, Matt. Spoken like a real friend.”

A friend. Exactly what he wanted to be. “Hey, I’m happy to help you out by coming with you on the mission.”

She narrowed her eyes teasingly. “I thought this had something do with getting your wish.”

“That, too,” he assured her. And just to up the ante a little bit more, he weaved his fingers through hers and held her hand until he had to shift gears.

When Jillian Ashton-Benedict descended the winding staircase into the foyer of The Vines to greet them, Paige was struck once again by how lovely her half sister was. Tall, slender and as graceful as her mother, Caroline, Jillian gave Paige a sense of reassurance and alliance that she’d never felt in the presence of her other half siblings.

Perhaps it was because Paige was the youngest in her family and Jillian was the youngest in hers. As the “babies” they tried harder.

“Hello, Paige. It’s so good to see you.” Jillian reached out to take both of Paige’s hands, erasing the awkward question of whether they would hug like sisters or shake hands like casual acquaintances.

“This is Matt Camberlane,” Paige said quickly. She’d mentioned that Matt would be with her when she’d chatted with Jillian last night. If her half sister recognized the entrepreneur’s well-known name, or if she was intrigued by the relationship between them, she was far too ladylike to let on. This was due, no doubt, to the fine influence of Caroline Sheppard, who, Paige sadly had to admit, landed a few steps higher on the class ladder than her own mother, Lilah.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Matt,” Jillian said warmly, shaking his hand. “I’m so glad you could come.” She guided them past the stairs into the formal living room, an oversize room filled with antiques but just as cheerful and welcoming as the whole French country-style home.

“I hope you’ll have the opportunity to meet my stepdaughter, Rachel,” Jillian said. “My mother has taken her down to the stables to ride this morning, but they’ll be back for lunch. Can you join us?”

Did Caroline want her to? Certainly Paige’s mother would never have extended an invitation to a member of her husband’s “other family” for lunch. The memory of how Lilah practically threw Mercedes and Jillian out of their house when they’d made a sympathy call after her father had died still burned in Paige’s mind. At the time Paige had been so upset over the murder and loss of her father, that she hadn’t done anything to stop her mother’s over-the-top reaction.

But the scene remained vivid in her memory, and inwardly Paige cringed with embarrassment. Yet here was Jillian, five months later, graciously inviting her to lunch.

“We can do that,” Matt offered, taking the responsibility from Paige’s shoulders. As they sat on a pale celery-green silk sofa, she flashed him a grateful look for the support.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” Paige agreed. “We don’t want to be a bother.”

Jillian waved a hand and took a seat in a chair directly across from Paige. “Not at all. It’s a gorgeous day. We’ll have lunch on the lanai. Mercedes isn’t here today, but I’m sure Anna can join us after she gets Jack down for a nap. Grant usually stops in the house midday.”

“And Cole and Eli?” Paige’s stomach tightened at the possibility of having lunch with the half brothers who hated her.

“They are busy at the winery,” Jillian said quickly.

“Have they changed their minds about contesting the will?” Paige asked, deciding it was better to have the issue in the open, rather than dancing around what they were all thinking.

Jillian shrugged a narrow shoulder, and a burst of hope spurted through Paige. “Everything is in limbo, as you know, while the police try to solve this murder. Until they do, the will is in probate and contesting it is a moot point.”

Paige nodded slowly. Did that mean they might not contest the will? She wasn’t sure how far to push the point. “So, otherwise, how are your brothers doing?”

“This is a difficult time for everyone,” Jillian said. “Eli and Cole have both found love and a sense of peace in their lives, and for that I am eternally grateful.”

“But they aren’t at peace where their father is concerned,” Paige suggested.

“Lucas Sheppard is our father,” Jillian responded, the first hint of an edge in her voice. “In every way but name.”

“I know he is,” Paige said. Everyone knew her father had refused to let Lucas adopt Spencer’s four children. For no reason, as far as Paige could figure out, other than spite. Spencer certainly didn’t care about them—he never spoke to them, saw them or showed any interest in their lives after he left Caroline and married Lilah.

Another wave of distaste rolled through Paige, as she felt nothing but shame for the mistakes and bad judgment made by some of the people she truly loved.

“And Mercedes?” she asked, thinking of the luncheon she’d shared with Mercedes over a month ago. At the time, the woman had been tight with bitterness, but she’d since married and progressed nicely with her pregnancy. “How is she feeling?”

Jillian brightened. “She’s not throwing up anymore. How about Megan?”

“Better, but not completely out of the nausea stage.”

“Well, hello there, buddy,” Matt’s sudden greeting pulled Paige’s attention to the entryway.

A wild tuft of red hair, chubby cheeks and bright green—Ashton green—eyes stared at the three of them.

Paige’s heart clutched as she stared right back, mesmerized by the sweet face and the expression of pure innocence on his face. Baby Jack.

Her little brother.

“Come on in, honey,” Jillian encouraged him. “Where’d Aunt Anna go to?”

He pointed in the general direction of the door. “Bwawy.”

“She’s in the library?” Jillian stood and took his hand to walk him into the living room. “It’s all right. Come and meet some special people.”

Matt reached out for an easy high-five. “Hey, little dude. How’s it goin’?”

But Paige was ridiculously paralyzed, her heart suddenly thumping wildly in her chest. She’d never dreamed meeting any man under three feet tall could do this to her, but Jack Sheridan was her brother. Her blood. Her father’s child.

And all she wanted to do, she realized with a shock, was scoop him up into her arms and cover his dear little face with wet, warm kisses.

“This is Paige and Matt,” Jillian said as she urged him closer. “Can you say hello?”

His smile was pure charm. Oh God, Paige thought with a silent gasp. He’s Spencer. At least when her father wanted to turn on the charm, that was the smile the recipient got. Charm had been her father’s most effective weapon.

Jack gave her a shaky wave, but held his hand up in front of Matt. “Again! Again!” He smacked Matt’s hand several times, then let out a cascade of childish giggles.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Paige reached out both arms. “Can I have a hug, Jack?”

“Hug,” he repeated, then glanced to Jillian, obviously a little unsure of the strange arms beseeching him.

“You can give Paige a hug,” Jillian said, tapping his back to send him in Paige’s direction. “She’s your—”

For a moment the room was silent, and Jillian froze, obviously unsure of how to describe their odd relationship to a two-year-old.

“My Pay!” Jack exclaimed, an approximation of Paige’s name.

“Yes!” Paige chuckled at the sound, her eyes filling with moisture. “I’m your Paige. Now can I have a hug?”

He toddled to her and tentatively entered the arms she held out. Paige folded him to her chest, inhaling his sweet little-boy smell and dropping a kiss on the red curls.

“Hello, Jack,” she whispered against the lump that formed in her throat. “I hope we’ll be great friends.”

The child pulled back to look at her, his grass-green eyes wide and wary. Paige searched his face, seeing the earliest signs of some powerful family traits even in his baby face. But it was his eyes that nearly did her in.

No one could look at this child and wonder whose blood ran in his veins. He was an Ashton, a living, breathing reminder of the sins of her father.

And yet he was also her brother.

His little mouth tipped up in a shy smile. “Pay?”

She couldn’t help laughing a little. “You can call me Pay, honey.” She pulled him closer and planted another kiss on his head, lifting her gaze to meet Matt’s as she did.

And it suddenly dawned on her that the game she was trying to play with Matt—the game of seduction and sex—was no different from the one that had caused this child. Of course, there was no adultery involved. But still.

There was no commitment, either.

Could she live with that?

As the morning moved into early afternoon, an ever-changing cast of characters continually transformed the atmosphere of the room. Paige didn’t have an opportunity to consider the troubling questions that ricocheted through her head when she looked at Matt, nor did she have time to analyze all the dynamics of the various personalities at play.

She’d save that—and her uncertainties about Matt—to mull over later.

Shortly after Jack made his appearance, Anna Sheridan had come in search of him. A petite, well-dressed woman in her midthirties, Paige immediately noticed how protective she was of her nephew. Just the fact that she’d sought refuge for Spencer Ashton’s child in the home of his former wife showed a woman who would face anything to shield her child—or, in this case, her nephew.

And when Caroline Sheppard had entered the room a little while later, the ambiance had taken yet another change. Paige felt her back go ramrod straight and her jaw clench as she stood to greet her father’s former wife.

Would Caroline be icy, neutral or warm? Within minutes Paige knew. With a twinge of envy and admiration, she realized that Caroline Lattimer Ashton Sheppard was the real deal.

From the moment she’d arrived, holding the hand of a pigtailed, brown-eyed imp named Rachel who did little more than gaze at Jillian with unadulterated adoration, Caroline made them welcome.

With just her occasional touch, her easy smile, her obvious contentment with her life, Caroline managed to convey that she had no regrets for how her life had turned out. And, even more, their conversation led Paige to believe that she didn’t blame anyone but Spencer for the trauma and drama inflicted on both families.

They enjoyed a leisurely and delicious lunch, served on the lanai that overlooked the rustic carriage house and stables and the gently sloping acres of some of the most sensational Pinot Noir, Merlot, Cab and Petite Verdot grapes in Napa Valley.

Of course, they tasted some of those wines with lunch, and Jillian impressed them all with her in-depth knowledge and insights. They spoke the language of vintner families: harvests, bouquets, vintages and trends, the issues facing the family having been covered with Jillian and Caroline in the living room.

And just to confuse her further, Matt was the ideal guest—entertaining, interested and remarkably adept at positioning himself at her side exactly as a friend, not a boyfriend, would.

When Grant Ashton arrived, the atmosphere of the little gathering suddenly changed again and Paige knew that family business was about to go on the lunch menu.

After a round of introductions and greetings, the large and rugged man pulled out the chair closest to Anna and locked a blue-eyed gaze on Paige. “Do Cole and Eli know you’re here?”

Jillian answered first. “They’re too busy to come over.”

That could be true, Paige told herself. Although much of the harvest had been completed by the end of September, many of the red grapes grown here would ripen this month. They could be busy in the winery. Or unwilling to break bread with the enemy.

“I was just over there,” Grant said, tossing a look over his shoulder in the direction of the winery. “Not too much going on right now.”

“Whatever their reason,” Paige said, holding his direct gaze, “I’m grateful to be so welcome here.”

Grant nodded slowly before turning to Anna, when the lines around his eyes crinkled in a warm smile. “Where’s Jack?”

“I just put him down for a nap in the guest room,” she told him, her return look just as fond. “But it required a promise that you’d wake him up the minute you got home.”

Home? Did Grant Ashton, the down-to-earth farmer from Nebraska who’d stormed into California demanding to know his real father, consider Louret Vineyards home? Did Anna?

They weren’t living at the house but staying in the cottage and carriage house on the property. Yet they did seem rather settled.

“I’ll get him when he calls,” Grant promised, shaking his head to decline an offer of wine that Jillian made. Again he directed his attention to Paige. “Any news on the investigation?”

No tiptoeing for this big man.

“Nothing concrete,” she said. “The detectives are trying to trail some evidence of blackmail.”

He snorted a little and threw a glance at Anna. “Probably a lot of opportunity for that in the old man’s past.”

Paige swallowed as an uncomfortable silence fell over the lanai. “Yes,” she finally said, looking down at her lap. “I’m sure there is.”

“Hey,” Grant’s voice pulled her gaze back up to his. “Whatever he was, it sure isn’t something his kids need to take the blame for.”

For a moment she couldn’t speak. Here was yet another half brother touching her heart. For one wild, insane moment, Paige wondered what it could be like if all these families—all these smart, talented, ambitious and dynamic offspring of one man—could actually live in some semblance of peace.

Was that too much to ask?

Paige gave him a smile of genuine warmth. “I appreciate that, Grant.”

With a barely noticeable sigh, Caroline stood and excused herself, and suddenly the impromptu lunch party came to an end. As Paige pushed her chair back, she reached down to pick up her handbag and happened to take a quick glance under the table.

In that flash of a second, she could have sworn she saw Anna’s tiny hand enclosed in the much bigger one of Grant Ashton.

Chapter Seven

“I don’t want to go home.”

Matt gave Paige a questioning look as he pulled onto the main road and exited The Vines. “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

Your house. Your arms. Your bed. “I just don’t feel like facing my family. They’ll expect a full accounting on the day.”

That was the truth. She didn’t really want to go to his house—oh, yes she did—but the thought of returning to the estate to be interrogated by her mother and Trace was utterly unappealing. And no doubt Megan would want a postmortem.

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