The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

other failed them.
    The passion was still there, but this time there was also friendship. A surprising and very dear friendship. This time, they had a chance…if they were patient with each other, willing to be foolish…
    Cole’s hand, stroking her hair, brought her back from a doze. Her eyelids lifted partway. “Mmm,” she said, to encourage him.
    “You still with me?”
    “Let’s see.” She wiggled a foot, fluttered the fingers of one hand. “All the parts seem to be in place, but I’ve misplaced my bones. Think overcooked spaghetti. Melted butter. Jell-O.”
    “You sound hungry.” He was amused, but there was an ounce of hesitation in his next words. “But happy.”
    “I am.” Her eyes were drifting shut again. “Very happy. I’m going to marry you.”
    Her eyes popped open. She couldn’t believe she’d said that.
    Neither could Cole, judging by the way he jolted. “What the…you’re joking, right?”
    She’d never been more serious in her life. But if she said that, Cole would be back in his clothes and out the door in under two minutes. So she mustered a decent chuckle. “How about another bet? If I get you to propose, you have to be my sex slave for a month.”
    He relaxed and tugged at a strand of her hair. “And if I don’t, you’re my sex slave? That’s an offer I can’t refuse. Be prepared to pay up.”
    His obvious relief hurt. But she had an uphill road to climb, and she knew it. She’d left Cole once. That was the one unforgivable sin in his book. He had a tendency to shove people who left him into a mental box and leave them there, where they couldn’t hurt him again.
    But as she’d told him, the problem with boxes was that their lids could pop off. Dixie meant to do anything and everything she could to break out of whatever mental compartment Cole had shoved her in. So she teased him, keeping things light, until he dozed off.
    Then she plotted.
    Words weren’t going to win Cole. Eleven years ago she’d told him she loved him, and she’d left him anyway. If you want to convince a man of something, she decided, you needed to use man-language. And man-language means actions, not words.
    How would a man go about convincing a woman he was serious?
    Dixie smiled, snuggled close to the man sleeping beside her, and laid her plans.

Chapter Nine
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    T he sun was shining brightly through Cole’s office window three days later as he punched in a number he’d gotten from a friend. He glanced at his watch as a phone rang on the other end. He needed to get this taken care of before Dixie showed up. She was taking him to lunch today, and he didn’t want her to know about…
    “Hampstead Investigations,” a female voice said in his ear.
    “My name is Cole Ashton. I’d like to speak with Mr. Hampstead about an investigation.”
    “I’d be happy to make an appointment for you, sir.”
    “I prefer to speak with Mr. Hampstead first.”
    “Very well. He’s on another line. Can you hold for a moment?”
    Cole agreed, tapping his fingers on the desk. He caught sight of the orchid sitting on the corner of his desk and his lips curved unwillingly. It looked right there somehow.
    Dixie had had it delivered the day after they made love. The next day she’d given him a box of chocolate-covered pecans, and yesterday she’d brought him a small, exquisitely wrapped box. That turned out to be cuff links—handmade, with turquoise set in heavy silver. They’d looked alarmingly expensive, but when he’d protested she’d laughed and said a friend of hers made them.
    It was almost as if she was courting him.
    Get real, he told himself, glancing at his watch again. This was Dixie. She was playing at role reversal and enjoying the game, that was all.
    A pleasant tenor came on the line. “This is Frank Hampstead, Mr. Ashton. How may I help you?”
    “I’ve a confidential family matter I need investigated. I prefer not to drive down to the city right now to see you in person.” Cole felt foolish enough about consulting a private investigator. He didn’t want to feel foolish in person. “I’m hoping we can arrange things over the phone.”
    “I generally insist on meeting my clients, sir. You’d be amazed at what some people will do—using a fake name, for example, which complicates the billing process considerably.”
    “Abe said you’d feel that way.” The friend Colenamed was an attorney with a great many connections in this part of the state.
    A spark of interest entered