The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

kitchen, she could hear the low rumble of voices and the occasional rattle of dishes. Through the bay windows overlooking the broad expanse of lawn at the front of the house, she had a view of the wide circular driveway with the oversize reflecting pool dead center.
    And at the moment, her new husband was standing beside that pool, cell phone clapped to one ear.
    Paige strolled toward the front windows, then glanced back at her sister. Wiggling her eyebrows,she urged, “Look at him, Megan. The man’s gorgeous. Who wouldn’t want to get him off onto an island and out of that oh-so-elegantly tailored suit?”
    “Me, that’s who.” Megan blew out a breath then stood up and walked around her desk. Crossing the soft oriental carpet stretched out across a cold marble floor, she stopped alongside her sister and watched the man she’d married. “Okay, fine. He’s easy to look at.”
    “Easy? Oh, he’s better than that.”
    “Yeah. He really is.” And that kiss, Megan thought, remembering the first touch of his mouth on hers. She hadn’t expected to feel so much everything. It had been like standing in the middle of a power plant when there was a system overload. Sparks, lights, electrical charges jumping through her body. “But it doesn’t matter.”
    Paige reached out and touched her hand to Megan’s forehead. “Nope. No fever.”
    “Funny.” Megan pushed her sister’s hand aside. Watching as Simon reached up and pushed one hand through his wind-tousled hair, she swallowed hard and then told herself to get a grip. She didn’t have anything to worry about. They’d already agreed that there wouldn’t be any sex for a week.
    And why, she thought, was she suddenly regretting that little agreement? Because Paige was right, she told herself. She was certifiable.
    “Well,” Paige said with a shake of her head, “I still say you should have gone to Fiji.”
    “I can’t.”
    “Okay, I get it,” her sister said. “But you should at least leave here before Father gets home. Unless you want your wedding day and the day of your death to be remembered with one fond anniversary.”
    “Oh man…” There’d been so much going on, so much to think about, she’d completely forgotten about Spencer Ashton. She hadn’t wanted to consider her father at all. Because once she did, she’d have to face up to the task of telling him that she’d shattered his dreams regarding Senator Jackson.
    And that scene wouldn’t be a pretty one.
    Megan’s stomach twisted at the thought. All her life, she’d tried to please Spencer. She’d tried to be the kind of daughter he wanted. The kind of Ashton heir he expected. As a girl, she used to dream of having him really look at her one day and say, I’m proud of you, Megan.
    Though she hated to admit it, even to herself, there was still a piece of that little girl inside her. Still waiting for Daddy’s approval. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d grown up. That she’d accepted long ago that Spencer Ashton would never be the kind of father she’d once dreamed of.
    “And that’s not even taking Mother into account,” Paige muttered.
    “Oh, this just gets better and better,” Megan said. Why hadn’t she thought this through? Now she was stuck having to tell both her parents that she wasmarried and to try to explain why neither of them had been present. Good times.
    “So what’re you going to do?”
    Megan shot her sister a quick look, then headed back toward her desk. Snatching her purse out of the bottom drawer, she slammed the drawer shut again and stood up. “I’m going to take your advice and get out of here. Fast.”
    Simon Pearce was not a man to be brushed off.
    So he for damn sure wasn’t going to be ignored by his new wife.
    Wife.
    He was married to one of the Ashtons. And he wondered if that meant he’d have to be civil to Spencer. That went against the grain. Spencer Ashton had the reputation of a hungry barracuda, and the scruples of a con man bilking a church lady out of her life savings.
    Late-afternoon sunlight sparkled on the surface of the reflecting pool and Simon squinted against the glare. A warm breeze ruffled the still water and brushed past him, carrying the nearly cloying scent of roses from the well-manicured garden.
    He tightened his grip on the cell phone in his hand and tried to concentrate on what Dave Healy was saying. But it wasn’t easy.
    “Simon, if you’re not headed to Fiji as planned, then why can’t you take the