The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

was?
    From outside, the structure was a series of sharp angles made from weathered gray wood and glass. It looked forbidding and modern and completely out of touch with the gentle rolling green hillsides. But inside, Megan thought as her gaze slid across the foyer, was a whole different story.
    Here, Simon’s home looked warm, welcoming. Acres of gleaming wood floors led off in all directions and she peeked in at the rooms she passed on her way to the stairs. Overstuffed sofas and chairs, muted throw rugs, well-polished wood furniture, Tiffanylamps, their stained-glass shades shining jewelcolored splashes of light on their surroundings. Everything about the place whispered comfort. A far cry from the estate—where the first rule she and her siblings had learned was don’t touch.
    She shifted her gaze to Simon, carrying her suitcase, as he led the way upstairs. The stair balustrade was deeply carved, with pine boughs and flowers twining the railing as if they were springing to life right out of the wood. Framed paintings lined the pale yellow walls and the stair runner picked up the yellow in narrow stripes of faded cream.
    The ticking of a grandfather clock at the foot of the stairs followed after them, like a heartbeat sounding out each step.
    “It’s pretty,” she said lamely, more to combat the silence of the big house than for any other reason.
    “Thanks.” He turned right at the head of the stairs and stalked along a wide, well-lit hallway, with Megan hot on his heels.
    When he stepped into the master suite, Megan stopped in the doorway to simply stare. Very male, the room was dominated by a four-poster bed big enough to play softball on. Megan swallowed hard and told herself she should be glad of the bed’s size. She could hug one edge and hope Simon stayed on the other. At least for the week she had coming to her.
    And when that week was up? A tingle of anticipation zapped her and Megan tried not to shiver.Good heavens, what had she gotten herself into? Stop thinking about the bed.
    The rest of the room was furnished simply, but tastefully. A wide bank of windows made up one wall and the view was amazing—she could see practically the whole valley stretched out below her. Cushioned window seats with plump pillows beckoned daydreamers, and a cozy love seat rested in front of a brick fireplace, its hearth cold at the moment.
    She moved into the room as Simon tossed her suitcase onto the bed and she caught a glimpse of the master bath—miles of sky-blue tiles and a tub big enough to host the softball team when they finished their game on the giant bed. Oh boy.
    “Feeling better?”
    She shook herself out of her thoughts and slanted a look at the man watching her. “As opposed to what?”
    One corner of his mouth lifted then flattened out again. “You weren’t looking so hot when we left your house.”
    “Gee, thanks. What every bride longs to hear.”
    “Look,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked toward her. “I know this hasn’t been an easy day—”
    “It’s been an interesting day.”
    He kept walking, one long stride at a time until he was standing just inches from her. His cologne reached her, some musky scent that seemed to diveright for the pit of her stomach and beyond. Whoa. Okay, she needed to get a grip.
    His eyes, the color of coastal fog, stared at her and she felt herself nearly being hypnotized by them. She couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. And what did that mean for heaven’s sake?
    Several long moments ticked past and she was struck again by the silence in the big house. At home, there was always something going on. People talking, shouting, music drifting from either her room or Paige’s. Trace had his television on, with those annoying sports-announcer voices dribbling into the hallways.
    But here, she was pretty sure if she opened the window, she’d be able to hear grass growing.
    It gave her the heebie-jeebies.
    “Is it always this quiet?” she asked suddenly.
    He paused, cocked his head as if listening, then shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so. Why?”
    “Don’t you think it’s a little…eerie?”
    He laughed. Shortly, harshly, as if he wasn’t used to laughing and Megan wouldn’t have been surprised if that were true. A shame, she thought, because laughter did great things for his eyes. And his mouth. And—never mind.
    “Worried about ghosts?” he asked.
    “No,” she snapped back, just a little irritated. “I’m just not used