Name Your Price

by Barbara Mccauley

  She dropped her gaze. “Stephen has a meeting tonight in San Francisco. He asked me to go with him.”

  Trace nodded. “All right.”

  “I thought…we thought—we’d come back tomorrow morning.”

  Tomorrow? Good God, this was definitely something he didn’t want to discuss with his mother. He picked up his glass of water and took a long gulp to clear the dryness in his throat. What the hell was he supposed to say? He knew she was waiting, anxious for his approval.

  “Okay, well, have a nice time.”

  Lilah’s shoulders relaxed, then tears filled her eyes. She reached out and laid her palm on his cheek. “I don’t deserve you.”

  The depth of emotion in his mother’s voice and touch surprised and embarrassed him. He couldn’t remember a time he’d ever seen her so genuinely open with her feelings and he wasn’t quite certain how to respond. “Mom—”

  “You don’t have to say anything, dear.” Lilah smiled, then patted his cheek. “I won’t even ask you about the woman I saw driving away from your apartment this morning.”

  Trace felt the blood leave his face. Dammit! So she had seen Becca leave.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Spencer.” Irena, the Ashton Estate’s head housekeeper, stood in the doorway of the veranda. With her topknot of plain brown hair, stoic features and gray uniform, the woman gave the impression of a mouse, but everyone who lived and worked at the Estate knew that Irena Hunter was a force to be reckoned with.

  Trace silently thanked the woman for saving him from an awkward moment with his mother.

  “What is it, Irena?” Lilah asked.

  “Mr. Cassidy is on the phone. Shall I take a message?”

  Pleasure lit Lilah’s face. She started to rise, then glanced at Trace and sat back down. “Ask Mr. Cassidy if I may return his call, please.”

  “Go ahead, Mom.” Trace downed the rest of his coffee and stood. “I’ve got to get back to work, anyway.”

  “Are you sure, dear?”

  “I’m sure.” He kissed his mother’s cheek. “Tell Stephen I said hello.”

  Smiling, Lilah hurried from the room. Trace stared after her for several long moments. Had she known it was Becca leaving his apartment this morning? he wondered.

  Did it matter if she did?

  Not one little bit.

  Five years ago, when Becca had broken their engagement, his mother had cried and been furious that her son’s heart had been broken. To his annoyance, she’d fussed over him for months, pushed him at every available, wealthy socialite within a two-hundred-mile radius. He’d made an attempt at dating a couple of the women, but he simply hadn’t been interested.

  Now, at least temporarily, Becca was back. He’d told himself he’d only wanted her in his bed so he could get her out of his system. But that hadn’t happened.

  And now, Trace realized, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted at all.

  It was just dinner, Becca told herself on the sidewalk outside Morelli’s. A quick bite to eat, a little conversation. Nothing formal or fancy, just a couple slices of pizza. Tonight, she’d be home and in bed early. Alone.

  All day, she’d barely been able to work. How could she, with thoughts of Trace constantly intruding? Over and over, she’d replayed last night in her mind. Every passionate kiss, every urgent whisper, every soul-shuddering touch. Even now, standing in the chilly night air, her blood warmed with the memory.

  Forcing her mind back to the present, she inhaled a deep breath and went inside the busy pizzeria. Nothing had changed since she’d been here last. The same red vinyl and chrome booths. The same wall mural of an Italian vineyard. The same mouth-watering scent of herbs and tomato sauce.

  Trace sitting at the same booth where they used to sit.

  When he looked up and smiled, her heart stumbled.

  Pull yourself together, she scolded. Squaring her shoulders, she made her way toward him, grateful that the other diners were busy with their food or watching Monday night football on the wall-mounted television.

  Feeling strangely shy and more than a little nervous, she slid across from him in the booth. When their knees bumped, she quickly tucked her legs into the corner. If he noticed, he didn’t comment.

  “Hi.” Feverishly she worked on something clever to say beyond that when Trace rose, slid onto the seat beside her and dropped his mouth on hers.

  Her mind simply went blank.

  He kissed her hard and quick, then pulled away and moved back to his side of the booth. Shocked, all she could do was stare.

  “I’ve been thinking about doing that all day.” He sipped from the bottle of beer sitting in front of him. “Just thought I’d get it out of the way.”

  Would she forever be off balance around him? she wondered. A simple kiss and she suddenly couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe? Was she really that defenseless against him?

  Annoyed at the thought, she lifted her chin and met his gaze.

  “I’m not sleeping with you tonight, Trace.” She felt a smidgen of satisfaction at the surprised lift of his brow. “Just thought I’d get that out of the way.”

  He grinned at her. “Can I at least get a ride home? I just dropped my car off at the body shop to replace a fender.”

  “I suppose so.” She slipped out of her coat. “If you can jump from a speeding car.”

  He reached across the table, touched the tips of her fingers with his. “Do I make you nervous, Becca?”

  A tingle ran through her when he softly moved his fingers over hers. Darn it! Why couldn’t she lie to this man? “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  There it was again. The slightest touch and she could feel her bones melting. He more than made her nervous, she thought and pulled her hands away. He scared her to death.

  “One large pepperoni.” A short-haired brunette wearing a diamond stud in her left nostril slid the pizza onto the table.

  Becca glanced at Trace. She hadn’t been certain she’d show up, but apparently he had been. She hated being so predictable, but after last night, she figured it was a little late to be coy.

  “Something to drink?” the waitress asked Becca while she dished up two slices of pizza.

  “Iced tea, please.”

  The pizza smelled as good as it looked, and Becca realized how hungry she was. She pulled off a slice of pepperoni and popped it in her mouth, then took a bite of the warm cheesy dough.

  Trace hadn’t been the only thing she’d missed, she thought with a moan. No one made a pizza like this in L.A.

  Chuckling, Trace dug into his own piece of pie. “Tell me about your business.”

  She thought for a moment while she chewed, decided the topic was safe enough. “Not much to tell, really. The first year I survived on royalties from stock photographs, then I finally got my foot in the door shooting layouts for a couple of food magazines. Six months ago I landed an account with a vineyard in Santa Barbara and that led me to Glen Ivy, then Whitestone.”

  “And Louret?”

  She glanced up at him, took a sip of the iced tea the waitress had just set on the table. So he had heard about Louret. “I’m not officially hired yet. Your—” she fumbled “—ah, Mercedes is looking at my proposal.”

  “You can call her my sister,” Trace said evenly. “We’ve all come to terms with the fact we share our father’s blood. We, or I should say, our lawyers, are dealing with the terms of all the rest.”

  “You mean that they’re contesting the will?” she asked, then bit her lip. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”

  He smiled. “It’s no secret. My father’s offspring, like his holdings, are as extensive as they are complicated. It’s going to take some time to sort everything out.”

  Becca considered what she was about to say carefully. As much as she’d prefer to avoid the subject of their past, she decided that Trace should know his name had come up in her meeting with Mercedes. “She—your sister, asked me if it would be a problem for me to work for Louret.”

&
nbsp; “Why would it be a problem?”

  “She knew that we were, that we used to be—” God. She couldn’t even say it.

  “Engaged?” he finished for her.

  Becca nodded. “She was concerned that I might be uncomfortable working for them.”

  “I see.” Trace lifted a brow, then leaned back in his seat. “And what did you say?”

  “That whatever my relationship had been with you, it would not affect my work.”

  He picked up his beer and tossed back a swig. “Are you asking me if I mind?”

  “I’m not asking you anything,” she said, stiffening, wondered if maybe she had wanted to know how he felt about her working for Louret. “I just thought, given the situation, you should know.”

  He set his beer down carefully. “And just what is the situation, Becca?”

  Dammit. She’d fallen right into that one. She could pretend she didn’t understand what he meant, or she could say there was no situation, which would imply that last night hadn’t meant anything to her.

  When his cell phone rang and saved her from answering his question, relief poured through her. Frowning, Trace pulled the phone from his jeans’ pocket and snapped it open.

  “Yeah,” he practically barked into the phone, then straightened quickly as he listened. “I’m on my way.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked when he hung up.

  “Megan’s water just broke.” Trace’s hand shook as he tossed several bills onto the table. “We need to get her to the hospital.”

  The waiting could kill a guy, Trace decided. He paced outside the examination room the nurses had wheeled Megan into, wondered how five minutes could seem like five hours. There’d been a constant flow of activity coming and going from the room, but he had no idea what was going on, only that his sister was in labor and for the past thirty minutes, since Simon had dropped Megan off at the nail salon in town, he’d been MIA.

  The sound of a muffled moan from inside the room turned Trace’s blood to ice.

  Thank God, Becca was in there with Megan. Though there’d been a moment of awkwardness when they’d picked his sister up at the salon, it had been quickly forgotten when Megan had nearly doubled over with a contraction. Becca had squeezed Megan’s hand and kept talking to her through the pain, then kept talking all the way to the hospital. Trace had white-knuckled the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the road.

  He knew nothing about labor and babies. It wasn’t something he’d ever needed to think about, and the fact was, everything about it scared the hell out of him. Sure, he’d planned on having a couple of his own one day, after his sisters had popped out a few. By then, he figured he’d be a pro.

  He heard another moan, then a curse word. Megan never cursed. She was always in control, always held it together.

  Dammit! Trace dragged a hand through his hair. Where was Simon?

  Simon hadn’t let Megan out of his sight for the past two weeks and now suddenly the man couldn’t be found anywhere. Trace had called his mother, then remembered she was in San Francisco with Stephen, and the best he could do was leave a message on her cell phone. He’d also tried Paige, but she hadn’t answered her phone, either. It was like everyone in his family had fallen into a hole somewhere.

  Trace glanced at his wristwatch again. Six minutes.

  Dammit, dammit, dammit!

  “Trace!”

  He spun in time to see Simon and Paige come flying around the corner together.

  “Where is she?” Simon demanded.

  “Number five.”

  Simon rushed past Trace and disappeared into the room.

  “Where were you?” Trace asked Paige.

  “I met Simon at the jewelry store. He wants to surprise Megan with a necklace after the baby is born and he wanted my input. We didn’t realize there was no service on our phones until a few minutes ago.” Paige grabbed Trace’s arm. “Just tell me how she is.”

  “She’s doing fine,” Becca said, stepping out of the room.

  Paige blinked. “Becca?”

  “It’s a long story.” At the moment, the last thing he wanted to do was go into an explanation of why Becca was here. “We’ll talk later.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.” Paige looked from Becca to Trace, then back to Becca. “How’s she doing?”

  “She’s doing great.” Becca smiled. “You’re just in time to welcome your niece into the world.”

  Paige’s eyes widened, then she hurried into the room. Trace felt the blood rush from his head. He took hold of Becca’s arms. “Really?”

  Becca nodded. “Really.”

  “But we just got here.” Trace shook his head. “Simon just got here. Babies are supposed to take hours, days, according to my mother.”

  “Apparently, Megan had been having low back pain and didn’t realize she was in labor,” Becca said. “When her water broke, that sped things up even more.”

  “But still—” Trace gulped in air “—she can’t be, I mean, how could she—”

  At the sound of a baby crying, Trace stared in shock at the room, then looked back at Becca. “Is that…did she—” he swallowed hard “—oh, God.”

  Becca laughed. “Congratulations, Trace. You’re an uncle.”

  Eight

  I t was nearly ten o’clock when Becca pulled into the main drive of the Ashton Estates. She hadn’t had a drop to drink, but she felt wonderfully intoxicated and ridiculously giddy.

  The birth of Amber Rose Pearce, seven pounds, six ounces, twenty-one inches long, had caused quite a bit of excitement at the hospital. She may have been two weeks early, but once she decided it was time to be born, she came in like a bright, beautiful rocket. Big rosy cheeks, huge blue eyes, velvety blond hair. And quite an attitude, Becca thought, remembering the baby’s tiny clenched fists and irate wail. It should have been awkward, being part of such an intimate and exciting family event. Becca hadn’t seen Megan and Paige in five years, and considering how abruptly she’d broken her engagement to Trace, it would be reasonable to assume that his sisters would feel resentment toward her.

  But if they had resented her, or her being there, they certainly hadn’t shown it in any way. If anything, both Megan and Paige had seemed pleased that she was there—and more than a little curious, though neither one had actually said anything. But then, they had been a little bit busy.

  Especially Megan.

  “You’re smiling.”

  “What?” She stopped the car in front of Trace’s apartment, then glanced over at him. “Oh. I guess I am. It was just so amazing.”

  “It was, wasn’t it?” He grinned back at her. “Once you get past the scary part.”

  “You should have seen your face when Simon handed you the baby,” she said, laughing. “I would have thought he’d put a ticking bomb in your arms.”

  “A bomb would have been less terrifying,” he admitted. “I still can’t believe how tiny she is.”

  “I appreciate Megan letting me hold her, too.” Becca had never experienced anything like it in her life. The incredible smell of a newborn baby, the rose-petal-soft skin, the sweet cooing sounds. Cuddling little Amber had melted Becca’s heart, made her yearn and long to hold a baby of her own.

  And when she’d watched Trace hold his new niece, saw the look of wonder and adoration on his face, Becca knew it was his baby she wanted to hold.

  Their baby.

  “Come on.” Trace reached across the seat and turned off the headlights, then plucked the keys from the ignition. “I believe I can find a bottle of bubbly to celebrate.”

  “Trace, no—”

  But he wasn’t listening. He was already out of the car and coming around to open her door, dragging her from behind the wheel and ignoring her protests as he pulled her along with him up the stairs to his apartment. In spite of the little voice telling her to run while she could, her heart told her to stay.

  The night air was cold, the sky sparkling with stars, the moon a low-hanging crescent. Silence
surrounded them, a sense that for a little while, at least, all was right with the world.

  By the time they reached the top of the stairs, she was laughing and more than a little breathless. She gasped when he unexpectedly wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her hard, then with a loud whoop, spun her around.

  “She has to be the most beautiful baby in the world,” he said with a big grin. “I’m an uncle.”

  “Uncle Trace.” She’d never seen this side of him before, Becca realized. The man she’d known five years ago had always kept his emotions in check, had always been in control. “I like the sound of it.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.” He set her back on her feet. “Thank you. For being there.”

  “It was wonderful.”

  He stared down at her for a long, heart-stopping moment, then the smile on his face slowly faded. He lowered his head and kissed her, softly, gently, and she thought she might cry from the emotion rippling between them. She knew that the change in him had nothing to do with his feelings for her, but that didn’t seem to affect her reaction to his kiss. His lips lightly touched hers, brushed back and forth, then settled tenderly over her mouth.

  His tongue, hot and moist, swept over her lips. She struggled to breathe, heard the sound of her pulse thundering in her head.

  “Come inside with me,” he whispered.

  Her heart hammered in her chest, blood raced like liquid fire through her veins. Tonight, she decided, she would listen to her heart.

  “Yes.”

  They tumbled through the front door, wrapped in each other’s arms. Need pumped through her, desire sang, resistance melted away. She wanted as she’d never wanted before, and the realization was exhilarating. They moved slowly toward the bedroom, neither one of them wanting to break contact. Her fingers shook while she worked the buttons of his shirt, he tugged her sweater over her head, kissing her again and again.

  Clothes lined the hallway, and by the time they toppled onto the bed, they were naked.

  Bare skin to bare skin, he rolled her underneath him, kissed her long and deep, until she was gasping for breath.