Dynasties: The Ashtons. Maureen Child

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СКАЧАТЬ been so desperately in love. And he…he’d been halfway in love. In the end, she hadn’t been able to handle that.

      Dixie rounded the corner of the house—and almost walked right into Cole. And her cat, who was purring madly in Cole’s arms.

      “Good grief.” She shook her head, disgusted. “He got out again?”

      “I was working on a budget projection and turned away to get a file. When I turned back, there he was, sitting on top of a stack of quarterly reports, cleaning his face and looking smug. Tilly’s still hiding under my desk. Hey.” He touched her arm lightly with his free hand. “Is something wrong?”

      “Just thinking deep, philosophical thoughts. It interferes with my digestion.” She started walking again. He fell into step beside her. “Is Tilly okay?”

      “She’s fine, now that I removed her tormenter.” He smiled. “That’s three, Dixie. And still two days to go.”

      “I know, I know.” She and Cole had a bet on. Cole had bet that Hulk would escape at least half a dozen times before Friday.

      It should have been an easy win for her. Not because she fooled herself that she controlled Hulk, but she did know his ways. She’d figured her cat would escape once a day, no matter what she did—but if she let him stay out long enough to get his outside fix, he’d be content to stay in the rest of the time.

      She hadn’t counted on his obsession with Cole’s dog. “I think you’re sneaking him out,” she said darkly.

      “Would I do that? He may be teleporting. Here.” Cole dumped the cat into her arms. “Where did you find Cattila the Hun, anyway?”

      Had Cole always had this deliciously wry sense of humor, and she’d forgotten? “He just showed up one day, sitting outside my apartment as if he’d been waiting for me. I opened the door and he strolled in, demanded dinner, then curled up in my lap and informed me it was time to pet him.”

      Cole nodded. “I can see where you wouldn’t want to argue with him.”

      “He was half-starved.”

      “He’s made up for it.” There was a hint of the devil in his sidelong glance. “Maybe I should borrow his technique. As I recall, you’re a great cook. If I show up demanding dinner—”

      She laughed. “You won’t get in the door. I suspect your priorities are different from Hulk’s.”

      “You’re right.” His voice dropped as he stroked her arm. “I’d want to go straight to the petting.”

      Just that light touch, and her system hummed happily. She wanted more, and there was no one around but herself to warn her of the dangers. “Hands off. I can’t defend myself with my arms full of Hulk.”

      “I know. I like you helpless.”

      “You’ve never seen me helpless,” she retorted. They’d reached the carriage house. “Open the door, will you, so I can put my monster back where he belongs.”

      Instead he leaned against the door, smiling. “Bribe me.”

      “Oh, come on, Cole—”

      “Just a kiss. I’ll even promise to keep my hands to myself.” But he wasn’t. He’d reached for a strand of her hair and was tickling her with it—under her chin, along her throat. “One kiss…or don’t you dare?”

      She raised an eyebrow even as a shiver touched her spine. “You think I’m juvenile enough to jump at that bait?”

      “I can hope.” He moved even closer, stopping with scant inches between them. The heat of his body seemed to set the air between them ashimmer with possibilities. “Why not, Dixie? It’s not as if you don’t want to kiss me.”

      Her heart was pounding. “Your neck ever get tired from holding up that swollen head of yours?”

      He just smiled. “It’s only a kiss. What could it hurt?”

      All kinds of things—me, you…but apparently she wasn’t very good at listening to herself, because she went up on tiptoe, pausing with her lips a breath away from his. “No hands,” she murmured. And she kissed him. Slowly. Just a skimming of lips at first…

      “Uh-uh,” she said when he tried to take over. “This one’s mine.”

      Hulk was between them, so their bodies didn’t touch. Just their mouths. The scent of him was a heady intimacy as she tickled his bottom lip with her tongue, then touched it to each corner of his mouth, and arousal was pure pleasure. The ache grew, gradually focusing like a perspective drawing, when all lines lead to a single point.

      Dixie opened her mouth over his and took his breath inside her—which was just as well, for she didn’t seem to have enough of her own. For a moment they met fully, lips, tongues, breath.

      Then she eased back, smiling. And was pleased by the stunned look on his face.

      He reached for her. She stepped back, shaking her head. “No hands, remember? Open the door, Cole.”

      “The door.” He blinked. “Right. Anything you say. Sure you wouldn’t like all my worldly goods instead?”

      “Not just now, thanks.” She sauntered inside, still holding her cat…with her heart pounding and pounding, and a little voice inside asking if she’d lost her mind.

      This had to be about the stupidest thing he’d ever done, Grant thought as he gunned his pickup in order to keep up with the shiny blue Mercedes half a block ahead on the busy highway. He was acting like some two-bit private eye, for crying out loud.

      But Grant didn’t give up easily. Some called him pigheaded. He preferred to think of himself as determined. And so far, Spencer Ashton had refused to see him, leaving Grant only two options: give up and go home, or somehow force the bastard to talk to him.

      The bastard who’d fathered him. His father. Grant forced himself to use the word, though it went down about as well as ground glass.

      Looked as if they were heading out of the city. Spencer owned a big, fancy mansion near Napa. If that’s where he was going, Grant was out of luck. He’d already been turned away from that door. From the high-rise office building here in San Francisco where Spencer went most mornings, too.

      Which is why Grant was playing P.I. Sooner or later the man would go someplace where none of his servants or employees manned the gates.

      Sooner or later his father would have to speak to him.

      Grant scowled. More than once he’d wished he’d never seen that damn TV show. He’d come in from working on the older of his two tractors, showered and settled down with a cold beer. The game hadn’t started yet, so he’d been thinking about the weather while some documentary about winemaking finished up. A perky young reporter had been interviewing Spencer Ashton of Ashton-Lattimer, a corporation that owned vineyards and a large commercial winery.

      Ashton Estate Winery. The name had snagged Grant’s attention, naturally, since it matched his own surname. But it was the face that had riveted him.

      Spencer СКАЧАТЬ