But he never, ever kissed her again.
He slapped the menu on his conference table and grinned. "That made me hungry. Want to try Ellsworth again tonight?"
They'd visited the stylish restaurant in downtown San Mateo twice already. Both times, they'd shared a corner booth and a wild mushroom tart.
Like good friends.
"I don't want to."
He gave her a surprised look. "No? It's almost six o'clock. But you're right, that place gets pretty ridiculous on a Friday night. Want to go somewhere quieter?"
Yes. Your house. And I want to stay until tomorrow.
Her reasonable voice, thank God, answered for her. "Actually, Matt, I have to get back home. There's so much to prepare for the party on Monday night and—"
He reached over and laid his hand over hers, the warmth from his fingertips searing her skin. "Don't worry, Paige. The party's going to be great."
"I'm not worried," she countered.
"You seem … distracted."
Distracted? She was wildly, madly, hopelessly in love. Yeah, that could be a little distracting. But she just stared at him, searching his handsome face for a crack in that platonic demeanor he'd worn for the past few weeks.
"I'm fine," she lied. "I just want to be sure the VoiceBox party is flawless."
He squeezed her hand. "You've done an amazing job. I'm not worried about a thing."
Easing her hand out from his touch, she started to pack up her papers. "Megan always says it's not the ten things you expect to go wrong, it's the one you never dreamed of."
She could feel his eyes on her, and that just made her pulse kick into high gear.
"Then let's dream."
Her hands froze over the papers, and she lifted her eyes to meet his. "About what?"
"About what could go wrong," he said as though there couldn't be anything else in the world for them to dream about.
"Oh, I don't know … a power outage, the chef breaks his arm, nobody shows up." You shake my hand good-night and walk out of my life forever. "There are lots of potential heartaches, er, mistakes that could happen."
For what seemed like an eternity he studied her, and she managed to look right back but couldn't read the message in his eyes. "Whatever happens, Paige," he said so slowly the very air she breathed threatened to strangle her. "It's been a pleasure working with you."
She tried, but failed, to swallow. A pleasure. It had been. Once. Well, several times that night. "This has been a fun project," she managed.
"I've learned a lot," he said, the serious tone in his voice catching her attention.
"Like what?"
He just laughed softly. "I'll tell you when it's all over," he said. "We'll have a formal debriefing."
Well, at least that meant one more meeting. Formal or otherwise.
Gathering up all her strength and listening to the voice of reason instead of the one that screamed, Kiss him, kiss him, kiss him, she stood and scooped up her portfolio.
"I'll see you Monday."
Before he could talk her out of that, she managed to rush out the door, praying that she could drive all the way home with the tears that were about to make an appearance.
The pounding bass of the sound system literally shook the floor of Paige's office, which was directly above the ballroom. Through the open windows of the solarium, she could hear the familiar buzz of a party floating on the evening air: music, laughter, conversation and the clink of crystal glasses.
She should be down there. She should be checking the kitchen, supervising the waitstaff, watching for problems.
Instead, she'd escaped. She'd avoided anything but the most necessary contact with Matt, spending at least fifteen minutes of every hour up here attending to some very important business.
The business of licking her wounds and easing the excruciating ache in her heart. And the occasional self-chastising for being such a stupid fool for falling for Matt. Yes, she was very busy indeed.
At the sound of her door latch clicking, she tensed but didn't step out of the sunroom to see who was there.
She waited, hoping against hope to hear that baritone voice. Was it possible he'd come up in search of her? To finally admit that he—
"Paige?" Walker.
She blew out a breath of pure self-disgust. Matt Camberlane, chief executive chick magnet, was probably dancing with Tessa Carpenter from his Marketing Department right now, laughing at her uncanny resemblance to Shania Twain and twirling his Frank Sinatra felt hat.
"Paige? Are you in here?"
"In the sunroom, Walker," she called out.
Walker's giant frame filled the doorway in an instant. "Why aren't you downstairs?"
She threw him a "get real" look, then covered it with her own question. "Why didn't you come in costume?"
"You didn't," he countered, glancing at the simple black cocktail dress she wore.
"I'm working."
"So am I."
She raised an eyebrow. "Doing what?"
"Supervising my little cousin," he said with a teasing glint in his dark eyes.
"You have nothing to worry about, Walker. Nothing to supervise. Matt has been a perfect gentlemen." Unfortunately. "There's nothing going on between us."
"I wouldn't say that."
She crossed her arms and turned toward the window. "You're wrong. He's become a friend, that's all."
"How good a friend?"
She closed her eyes. "Please. He hasn't laid a hand on me. He's been … wonderful. We work together like a well-oiled team, he makes me laugh, he gives me advice, he listens and talks and, oh…" There were the tears again. She looked up at her cousin and finally said it. "I'm completely in love with him."
In an instant Walker put his arm around her. "Yeah, I saw that."
She shook her head. "Great. It's obvious, huh?"
"Actually, I noticed that he was in love with you."
A thrill zipped through Paige, but she wisely tamped it down before it took hold of her heart. "You've mistaken friendship and fondness for love."
"I don't know about that." He squeezed her affectionately. "I've known Matty a long time. I've never seen him quite like this."
She looked up at him. "Like what?"
He grinned. "Tamed."
Tamed?
"Come to the party," Walker said. "Lots of people—one in particular—miss you down there."
His voice was rich with meaning, and Paige studied him closely to decipher it.
Could he be right?
Matt stood to the side of the stage, nursing a drink that had long ago lost its taste. He pretended to watch his head of Human Resources dressed as Aretha Franklin belt out "Respect" but mostly he was scanning the entrances for the beautiful woman in a slinky black dress who'd left a few minutes ago.
With no warning, Walker was suddenly behind him. Matt was about to make a joke about his natural Native American stealth, when Walker said, "Paige is in her office."
"What's she doing up there?" he asked.
"Nursing a broken heart."
Matt put the drink down on the stage floor and turned to Walker, denial spurting through his veins. "I haven't—"
"I know." Walker held up a hand and smiled. "She told me you haven't."
For a moment the two men just stared at each other.
"You told me to prove she's different," Matt said. "She is. And I did."
Walker nodded, but held Matt's gaze. "You always surprise me, Matty boy. So now what?"
Matt grinned and put a friendly hand on Walker's shoulder. "More surprises, Walker."
"Aretha Franklin" finished her song with a flourish and the applause stopped their conversation.
"And now, ladies and gentlemen," she announced to the crowd. "By popular demand, our very own CEO, Matt Camberlane has agreed to play."
"He can't sing!" A guy in the crowd yelled out.
"That's for sure," Matt said with a laugh as he took the stairs two at a time and stepped into the lights. "B
ut I can play."
As the crowd quieted down, he sat at the piano and stretched his fingers. The lights blinded all but the front tables.
That's where he had sat the night he'd bid on Paige. Had she been able to see the look on his face the first time he saw her? And couldn't she see that same look every time they were together?
Ten thousand dollars for a date? Hah. He'd have paid a hundred thousand for the contentment and happiness he felt around her. No matter what the cost, he wanted Paige. Then and now.
And now he wanted more than the fleeting moments of contentment and happiness she gave him. He wanted it all. A lifetime of it.
His fingers settled into the familiar opening chords of "I've Got You Under My Skin."
Man, did he ever have that woman under his skin.
He finished the first verse and looked back into the lights. And almost missed a note to a song he'd played a thousand times.
She stood near the stage, her great big eyes trained on him, her lips mouthing the words. Backlit by the spotlight, the honey streaks in her hair looked dazzling, like a halo.
He tilted his head in invitation. "Sing for me," he mouthed to her.
A sweet smile was all he got in response. God, he loved her. He cocked his head again. "Come on."
"I'm working." She glanced at the crowd. "I can't."
"Can't?" He raised an eyebrow and whispered, "I don't know what that word means."
Behind her, he saw Walker say something in her ear and she laughed softly. Then, son of a gun, she started toward the stage.
When she sat down next to him, she caught his gaze and held it. Taking the microphone from the stand, she waited for him to start the second verse, and then she sang. For the next two verses, they never took their eyes off each other until he hit the final chord.
Then he moved his hands from the keyboard, slid his fingers over her creamy skin and lifted her face to his.
"You were right," he whispered. "It's not the ten things you expect. It's the one you never dreamed could happen."
And then he kissed her the way he'd been dying to for weeks.
* * *
Twelve
« ^
It was well past midnight when the last of the staff left the kitchen and Paige was ready to lock up the ballroom. There was only one person left.
Matt. Who'd been playing a medley on the piano for the last hour, patiently waiting for her.
She kicked off her heels and tiptoed up the stage steps. His eyes were closed as he played something soft and romantic, his jacket long ago discarded.
She stood behind him, then slowly slid her arms around his chest and leaned to whisper in his ear. "The party's over."
"No way, sweetheart." He turned and gave her a provocative grin. "It's just about to start."
A blast of heat whipped through her. "Don't tell me you want to have that debriefing now."
"As a matter of fact—" he stood and turned to hold her in his arms "—I do."
"You are one demanding client," she laughed.
"You have no idea."
The words sent more heat lightning shooting to every female cell in her body.
"What did you have in mind?" she asked, snuggling closer.
"I'm staying at Auberge tonight." He dipped his head to place his lips against her ear. "With you."
An hour later they arrived in his suite. A bucket of chilled champagne waited by the fireplace, which had been lit. A late, light supper had been recently delivered by room service. Music filled the room, and the bed, of course, had been turned back.
Before they'd left, she'd packed a small overnight bag, which he unobtrusively put in the bedroom while Paige strolled around and took in the ambiance of the living area.
"You planned this," she said with a note of teasing accusation when he returned.
"For a long time."
"Excuse me?"
"Since you unceremoniously dumped me with a voice mail."
"Matt—"
He placed a finger on her lips and shushed her. "You did the right thing."
"It sure didn't feel like the right thing."
He slid his arms around her and pulled her closer. "But it does now." Guiding her over to the intimate dinner setting, he eased her onto the chaise next to it. "I watched you all night. You didn't eat tonight."
"I was too busy." And too much in love.
He handed her a silver bowl of calamata olives.
"Please. Be an angel and let me watch you torture an innocent olive."
She giggled a little and took one. "Mmm," she moaned as she took a bite.
Before she swallowed, he bent over her and kissed her, taking the olive right from her mouth. Blood coursed through her as he turned the shared bite into a heated kiss.
"Oh," she said a little breathlessly when he pulled away. "That was torture."
He laughed as he uncorked the champagne. "You were amazing tonight," he said, nestling next to her. "That was the best launch party—the best party—I've ever been to."
Taking the glass he offered, she thanked him with a smile. "It's easy when you like your client."
"Oh, yeah? What do you like about him?"
"Everything."
He touched her crystal flute with his. "Then we both succeeded at our goals. To success."
Bubbles tingled against her lips as she sipped. "So, what was your goal?"
His gaze dropped to the deep V of her dress. Leaning over her, he tilted his champagne glass just enough to let a single drop fall against the rise of her breast.
Then he lowered his head and licked it off. Paige moaned softly as his tongue burned hot against the cold liquid, fighting the urge to sink back into the chaise and let him lick every inch of her just that way.
"My goal," he said, taking her glass and putting it with his on the table. "Is to drive you crazy."
"You did that weeks ago," she assured him. "And that olive thing you just did was pretty, uh, crazy."
He leaned into her and kissed her. "I haven't even started to get crazy," he promised as he broke away from her mouth. "But first," he whispered, "I am going to make you dizzy."
True to his word, his hand slid under her skirt and his fingers grazed her inner thigh as he burned a trail on her skin. She closed her eyes, definitely dizzy.
He kissed her again, delving his tongue deep into her mouth, then feathering soft kisses against her cheek, her jaw, down her throat.
Very slowly he turned her so he could unzip her dress. More kisses against her skin. With two hands he guided the straps over her shoulders and then he let out a soft moan.
"Do you know," he spoke into her ear, his voice like a baritone instrument as beautiful as the music he played. "How many times I imagined doing this while we were … meeting?"
"About as many as I have."
With her back still to him, she slipped out of the dress, wearing nothing back a whisper of black panties, then dropped her head against his chest to offer him the flesh of her neck, which he suckled. His hands curled around to fondle her breasts, sending Shockwaves at the heated contact. Turning to face him, she easily repositioned them on the chaise so Matt lay back, then she climbed on top of him. Slowly she unbuttoned his shirt.
A declaration of love screamed in her head, but she managed to contain it, focusing on each new angle of his chest and stomach as she undressed him.
Leaning against him, she whispered his name, loving the feel of his masculine hair against her bare breasts. Loving the strength of his muscles, the single-minded desire that came off him in waves.
"We've been here before," she said quietly, tapping the silky fabric of the chaise behind his head.
He became perfectly still, a sadness suddenly changing his expression. "I'm sorry I made you cry."
"No." She shook her head, leaning up on her elbows but keeping their skin in contact. "I made myself cry. I was just overwhelmed that someone like you would be … interested in someone like me."
He clos
ed his eyes as though the comment cut right through him. "You're kidding, right? How about that someone like you—classy and smart and raised in a mansion—would be interested in someone like me?"
This time she quieted him with a kiss. "I'm more than interested, Matt. I'm … crazy … about you."
"See? Success," he said with a teasing laugh.
Holding his gaze, she sat up to unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants. While she did, he caressed her breasts and ran his hands down her waist and over her backside.
When she closed her fingers over the swell of his manhood, he gritted his teeth and sucked in air.
He moved against her hand, sending a surge of power and delight through Paige. She loved that he wanted her as much as she wanted him.
They finished undressing and then she pushed him back on the chaise. Straddling him, then sliding on a condom he gave her, she arched her back and he caressed and kissed her breasts, her mouth, her face and throat.
"Let me love you, Paige," he whispered, the head of his erection throbbing against her opening. "Let me love you."
She lifted her hips and slowly guided him into her.
As he entered her, they both gasped. She could have sworn his eyes were moist, but beads of sweat had built up on his temples and she tasted the salt when she kissed his cheeks and neck.
He closed his eyes and mouthed her name and filled her completely. Slowly, easily, he moved in and out, increasing the intensity with each thrust.
Clinging to his powerful arms, she encircled his hips with her legs, and tilted to get him even deeper, wanting to scream with the complete happiness of this union.
She closed her eyes as the waves of an orgasm started, carrying her one after another, closer and closer, unable to stop as the sweet ache made her arch above him.
Lost in his own response, he gripped her hips and drove harder and harder into her. His chest and arm muscles flexed with the effort to control himself, and rivulets of sweat trickled over his cheeks and neck. Finally he gave in. With a low, long groan of satisfaction, he thrust himself as deep as he could go and let the release overtake him.
The Highest Bidder Page 14