Name Your Price

by Barbara Mccauley

  “Really, I’m fine.” Smoothing a hand over her stomach, Mercedes leaned back, seemed intent for a long moment, as if contemplating very carefully what she was about to say. “May I ask you something personal?”

  The question was like her own little kick in the stomach. Becca resisted the urge to squirm. “Okay.”

  “It’s about Trace.”

  “Trace?” Becca’s fingers tightened on the portfolio sitting on her lap. “What about him?”

  “I understand you were engaged to him.”

  “I—” She had to clear her throat. “I was.”

  “Obviously you know that he’s my half-brother.”

  Even if she hadn’t been engaged to Trace, Becca would have known that. Everyone who lived in the Valley knew that Spencer Ashton had abandoned his wife Caroline and their four children to marry his secretary, then had three children with her. “Yes.”

  “So you also know that our families have always been estranged, and since Spencer’s death seven months ago, we’ve been in a legal battle over the estate.”

  It was more of a statement than a question, so Becca didn’t bother to answer.

  “It’s not really about the money, you know. Personally, I wouldn’t take one red cent.” Mercedes sighed. “But the Ashton men have a lot of pride. Trace and Eli seem to have an extra dose. Those two can’t get within ten yards of each other before they start swinging their fists. I can see I’m making you uncomfortable, Becca. I apologize.”

  “I just don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” Becca said quietly.

  “If we’re going to be working together, I want to be sure it won’t be difficult for you. That you won’t feel you’re in the middle of my family’s problems, or you have to take sides. I personally hold no ill will for Trace, and I’m hoping that somehow we’ll all be able resolve our differences.”

  “Trace and I broke up five years ago.” It was so strange, discussing Trace with Mercedes. Strange and definitely unsettling. “I’m sorry if your family is having problems, but it’s absolutely none of my business. I assure you, my past relationship with your brother will in no way affect my work.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, Becca.” Mercedes reached out and touched Becca’s hand. “I didn’t mean to embarrass or offend you.”

  “You didn’t, I’m not.” But her heart was still fluttering in her throat. “It’s fine.”

  “Well, then.” Smiling, Mercedes dropped her hand and glanced down at the portfolio in Becca’s lap. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, why don’t you show me your work.”

  Five

  B odies of every shape and size packed the Saturday night grand opening of Elaine’s Pub and Pool. Blue collar, white collar, young and old, single and married, all seemed to be enjoying the evening festivities, which included free T-shirt giveaways every hour. Animated conversations mixed with an enthusiastic deejay spinning records, the clack of pool balls and a fiercely competitive game of darts that had induced a rowdy burst of laughter and cheers.

  Becca was amazed, and impressed, at the extent of the changes her mother had made in the business since she’d taken over. Fresh paint on the walls, new overhead lighting, improved ventilation system for the smoke and a nonsmoking area, too. She’d even added a creative menu of appetizers that included “Hit Man Chicken Wings,” so dubbed because they were killer, and “Dragon Puffs,” spicy cheese-stuffed jalapeños so good they could make a grown man cry. The weekend deejay had also proved to be a big hit, Becca noted, and a well-rounded selection of music kept the small dance floor crowded. Currently, a lively disco-reggae rendition of “White Christmas” was pumping the room.

  “Three Buds, a Heineken, and two Cokes,” Becca shouted to Candy, one of the three part-time bartenders who’d just been hired. The young woman, with her cropped blond hair and big blue eyes, was already popular with the clientele, not only because she was pretty, but because of her theatrics. Candy could sing country music, juggle bottles of alcohol and she made a fantastic margarita, as well.

  The fact that she filled out the Elaine’s Pub T-shirt quite well didn’t hurt, either.

  Becca glanced down at her own T-shirt. If this was her livelihood and she had to rely on tips based on bra size, she knew she’d be in big financial trouble.

  “Becca,” her mother called from a nearby table where she’d been mingling with several customers. “Take a break after you deliver that order, honey. You’ve been on your feet for more than three hours.”

  Her mom looked beautiful tonight, Becca thought. Her smile was radiant, her eyes shone with laughter. There’d been so many rough times, so many years that they’d barely managed to get through, and seeing her mother this happy made Becca’s throat tighten with love and pride.

  She wondered sometimes if her mother was lonely, if she wished she had someone to share her life with. She dated sometimes, but as far as Becca knew, none of those men she’d gone out with had been anything more than casual friends or an occasional blind date. They never talked about it, but Becca had often wondered if her mother been so in love with Becca’s father that no other man could take his place?

  Becca couldn’t help but wonder if her own life might end up the same as her mother’s. If the love she’d known with Trace would make it impossible to ever truly care for someone again, to settle down and have babies and a real home.

  She glanced at a man and woman sitting in a corner booth, watched the couple kiss, then exchange an intimate smile. An ache settled in her chest and she quickly looked away. Desperately, she wanted that, had always wanted that.

  She would love again, dammit, she thought, lifting her chin. She would have children and a home. She had to believe that.

  As soon as she got back to Los Angeles, she’d start dating more. She’d given Trace too much power over her, it was time she took it back. She’d have an open mind with men, she resolved, and even more important, an open heart.

  With that decision made, she felt lighter, in control again. She delivered her tray of drinks, exchanged banter with a couple of the older college guys who’d been flirting with her all night, then was heading for the employee lounge when a man’s hand reached out from the crowd and caught her arm.

  “Sorry—” she turned with a smile “—I’m on—”

  Her smile froze. Trace.

  No, no, no!

  Her heart leaped into her throat. She quickly looked around, was terrified that the music would suddenly stop, then everyone in the room would go quiet and every head would turn and stare.

  When he brought his mouth close to her ear, a shiver ran through her.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asked.

  She lifted her eyes to his, felt the burn of his dark green gaze. For one crazy moment, everything surrounding her faded away. The people, the music, even her mother. The past five years. For just that moment, she wanted to lean into him, to slip her arms around his neck and kiss him hello. For just one moment, she wanted to belong to him.

  So much for taking back her power.

  Just as quickly, reality came crashing back. “I’m working, Trace.”

  “Just give me a minute,” he said firmly, sliding his thumb over the inside of her elbow. She felt the tingle all the way down to her toes.

  The last thing she wanted was for her mother to see her talking with Trace, and based on the determination in his eyes, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

  Darn it!

  She nodded toward a door that led to a side parking lot, then pulled out of his grasp and walked away. She told Candy she was taking a break, casually slipped into her coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck and stepped outside into the brisk night air.

  She didn’t see him at first. With his black jacket and dark shirt, he blended in with the shadows in the parking lot. But when he pushed away from the side of the building, she took in a slow breath to fortify herself. You can do this, she told herself firmly. You can, you can, you can.

  �
�I’ve only got a minute.” Shoving her hands into the pockets of her coat, she moved toward him. “We’re pretty busy in there.”

  “Your mom’s done a hell of a job.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The deejay’s a nice touch.”

  “Thanks.” Would she ever be able to look at him and not hurt? she wondered. There were times when she couldn’t remember why she’d left, times when she couldn’t remember anything but what it felt like to be in his arms.

  “I heard you got an assignment with Whitestone.”

  She nodded. “I’m doing a layout for them for Wine News and some photos for an Internet site.”

  He stepped closer to her, reached out and lifted one end of the scarf she’d wrapped around her neck. “Does that mean you’ll be staying longer?”

  Slow down, she told her pulse. It didn’t listen. “Just a couple of days. You said you wanted to talk.”

  “I do.” He lifted the other end of her scarf. “I’ll pick you up in the morning. We can drive into Sausalito and have lunch at Pascale’s.”

  Pascale’s had been their favorite restaurant at the cozy little town outside of San Francisco. They’d spent hours there just walking on the wharf and watching the boats in the marina. The weekend he’d proposed, they’d stayed at a small bed-and-breakfast there and made love for hours. The memory made her breath quicken and her blood heat up.

  “Trace, no.” She resisted when he tugged on her scarf.

  He held firm. “All right, let’s make it dinner, then.”

  “No,” she repeated, but even she knew there was no conviction in her voice.

  “No to dinner?” he murmured, lowering his head. “Or no to this?”

  He didn’t wait for her to answer, just dropped his mouth over hers.

  She wouldn’t kiss him back, she told herself. Like the last time, if she could resist him, if she could prove she was immune and he had no effect on her, she was certain he wouldn’t persist in this game of his.

  But when the night closed around them like black velvet, when she breathed in the masculine scent that was his alone, when his tongue lightly traced the seam of her closed lips, every wall, every resolve, every thread of resistance dissolved like smoke in the wind.

  Just one kiss, her mind whispered, then went blank.

  On a soft moan her lips parted, her eyes drifted closed. He took his time, nibbled lightly at the corner of her mouth, gently tugged her bottom lip with his teeth. Strands of pleasure streaked through her, braiding and unbraiding, tightening and flowing.

  She wasn’t sure when her hands had slipped from her pockets, but her fingers were suddenly gripping the front of his shirt, closing tightly around fabric. She was certain if she didn’t hold on, her knees would give out completely.

  When his tongue slipped inside, she thought she might cry from the sheer need that jolted her system. Dazed, she clung to him, heard that little voice that told her she would regret this later. But at the moment, she didn’t care. She could only feel.

  She met the hot thrust of his tongue with her own, shuddered at the sensations ripping through her. Her skin tightened, her breasts ached, she could feel her bones melting.

  And the need, the throbbing need, centered painfully between her legs.

  When he pulled away, she nearly whimpered in complaint.

  “Becca,” Trace whispered, his voice husky and strained. “I want you.”

  I know. I want you, too.

  “Come home with me tonight,” he said, brushing his lips over hers. “Stay with me.”

  How easy it would be to say yes. To be in his arms, in his bed, for even a few hours. Because she knew what they’d shared before, and knew instinctively that the time and distance between them would only make it better now, she nearly said yes.

  Headlights from an approaching car flickered across the parking lot, reminding her where they were. Who she was, and who Trace was.

  She wasn’t strong enough five years ago and she wasn’t strong enough now.

  When he reached out for her, she shook her head and stepped back, watched his jaw tighten and the sharp planes of his face harden.

  “Becca—”

  “I’ve got to get back inside, Trace.”

  His hand dropped to his side and he nodded stiffly. “Tell your mom I said congratulations.”

  “Sure.”

  But they both knew she wouldn’t. She turned and slowly walked inside, closed the door behind her, then prayed desperately that somewhere she could manage to dredge up enough of a smile to help get her through the night.

  Dammit, he was late. Birthday present tucked under his arm, Trace followed the tuxedo-clad maître d’ through the elegant dining room of Le Sanglier. Candles flickered on pink-linen-clad tables set with formal china, gleaming silver and sparkling crystal. Teams of waiters in crisp white shirts and black bow ties busily served meals from carts sizzling with thick, buttery steaks and flaming crêpes suzette. Instrumental holiday music drifted quietly amid the hushed conversations of couples out for an evening of fine French cuisine.

  The restaurant, one of the top rated in Napa Valley, had recently been named Most Romantic Dining by Howard Bomgarten, a popular California food and wine critic. Paige had made the reservations four weeks ago for their mother’s fiftieth birthday party, a birthday Lilah Ashton was less than enthusiastic about. And though she was reluctantly willing to accept the family party, she’d already made it clear that no one was allowed to mention the number.

  He wouldn’t have been late if he hadn’t been thinking about Becca again, Trace thought irritably. One minute he’d been studying a fermentation report and the next he was replaying—for at the least the tenth time—last night’s encounter in the parking lot.

  The woman frustrated the hell out of him. That kiss had proven she wasn’t as indifferent—or disinterested—in him as she’d tried to make him believe. He’d heard her soft moan, felt her tremble under his touch. Dammit, she’d wanted him just as badly as he’d wanted her. She knew how good it had been between them. How good it could be again.

  He just had to figure out a way to convince her.

  At the sound of someone calling his name, Trace snapped out of his wayward thoughts, then looked up and saw another vintner waving hello. Trace waved back, then cursed himself, determined to push Becca out of his mind—for the evening, at least.

  With a sigh, he glanced at his watch, knew his mother would be in a snit that he was ten minutes late. Her modus operandi would be a chilly greeting, then she’d ignore him for several minutes until she felt he’d been properly chastised.

  “Right this way, Mr. Ashton.” The maître d’ glanced over his shoulder as he led Trace to a private room behind the main dining area, then opened the set of French doors and stepped aside. “May I take your coat, sir?”

  Trace brushed away the light mist of rain that had fallen on his shoulders, then shrugged out of his coat and handed it to the man. “Thank you.”

  “Ah, here’s the prodigal son now,” Paige said when Trace stepped into the room.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Trace moved to his mother and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, then set her present on the table. “Happy birthday, Mom.”

  “Thank you, dear.” Lilah patted his cheek and smiled cheerfully. “It’s no problem. We were just enjoying an aperitif.”

  Trace exchanged a curious glance with his sisters, who both appeared as stunned as he was by their mother’s warm reception.

  Who is this woman? he wondered. And what has she done with my mother?

  She looked like the same woman, he thought. Chin-length red hair, lake-blue eyes that matched her Versace silk suit, nails and makeup impeccable. Lilah Ashton, all right.

  It was hard to believe turning fifty had prompted such a sudden change. He loved his mom, but she’d always been overly dramatic, not to mention demanding. Her demeanor tonight was softer somehow, calmer. Lighter. She had a glow to her cheeks and an almost schoolgirl brightness about her.


  Must be one of those fancy spa treatments she always went for, he thought. Whatever it was, he decided he liked it.

  “Hey, Waddle.” He moved beside Megan and placed a hand on his sister’s very pregnant belly. “Aren’t you about done in there?”

  “I’m quite done,” Megan replied testily, and tossed a lock of blond hair from her cheek. “In fact, I’m more than done. My daughter, however, is not.”

  “Don’t get her going.” Simon, Megan’s husband, sent Trace an imploring look. “The doctor told her this morning that she probably won’t deliver until after the first of the year and she’s blaming it on me. Says our daughter has inherited my stubborn gene.”

  “I’m sure that’s true,” Paige said, lifting a glass of water. “Everyone in my family has the patience of Job.”

  Matt, Paige’s fiancé, rolled his eyes. “I suppose that’s why I saw you shaking your Christmas present yesterday.”

  “I was just moving it,” Paige insisted petulantly.

  Trace chuckled then noticed their cousin Charlotte and her husband were missing. He knew that they’d been visiting Charlotte’s mother in South Dakota, but they were supposed to have returned yesterday. “Where’s Char and Alex?”

  “A snow storm closed down the airport and delayed their flight,” Lilah replied. “Charlotte called this morning to wish me a Happy Birthday. Walker and Tamra also sent their regards.”

  Walker have moved to South Dakota three months ago to get married and set up a new business. They’d had their differences in the past, and Trace was glad he and his cousin had made amends before he’d moved away.

  Trace pulled out a chair to sit next to his mother. “How’s his consulting firm doing in Sioux Falls?”

  “Very well, Charlotte says. Dear, would you mind sitting over there?” Lilah nodded at an empty space between Megan and Paige. “I have a guest coming.”

  A guest? Trace glanced at Paige, who simply lifted a brow, then patted the chair next to her. What did she know that he didn’t? he wondered.