After Philip announced there would be no wedding. Baxter ushered Mr. and Mrs. Dawson out of the ballroom. They both looked shocked, but then the tears started. He hated crying women.

"You can get answers from your son." He needed answers too. "Good riddance," he mumbled, as they walked through the lobby. After the ballroom had emptied, The family met in his parents' suite.

"She'll realize she dodged a bullet. I suggest we all pack. I'll call Gavin." Baxter looked at his mother who nodded with a hidden smile.

Their pilot was always on standby. Kasper spoke up first. "I'm gonna stay and ski."

Baxter had only skied once all winter, and it was March. "I think I'll stay in Colorado through the weekend. I need a break. Who's taking care of Tate?"

Doyle wiped her eyes. She surprised Baxter; he hadn't thought she liked Duncan either. "I checked on her. She wants to be left alone. She's going to the island by herself."

Kasper smiled. "Maybe I should skip skiing."

Amelia used the voice that stopped her children in their tracks. "No. She needs to be alone, not drunk with you."

Baxter smiled at his mother's reprimand. The family separated quickly with the plane on standby, only his parents, Doyle and Danielle were returning to Boston. Based on her mascara stained face, his sister would probably go home and continue her high, a worry for another day.

On his own, he texted Danielle who had been dealing with the wedding which didn't happen. His text was simple: going skiing. Then he packed his bags, texted the caretaker, and climbed into the car he had asked the concierge to rent. As he drove away, he whispered, "Good riddance."

The quiet drive was just what he needed. Being behind the wheel was a freedom he rarely experienced, because their chauffeurs drove him around Boston. When he traveled, he used a car service, unless he took the time to go to Aspen. The Kane's spent Christmas in Aspen, but returned to Boston for New Year's Eve. They used the house infrequently throughout the winter. As children, the family would go to the mountains for school holidays. Since he started his career, Baxter had only managed one or two weekends a year. He liked the house best when he was alone. After one text message, there was enough food for a week in the fridge. Baxter cooked, but it was something he rarely had time for at home.

As he drove, memories of his childhood swirled around. The mandatory household internships were his mother's idea. She wanted her children to be capable, and her grand scheme was Saturday internships with the household staff. They each had their favorite. His was in the kitchen with Mrs. Moran, their cook, at least until their old chauffeur offered to teach him to drive.

By the time he reached Aspen a few flakes were falling. Snow was common in March, but he hadn't bothered to check the weather forecast. The first thing he noticed when he stepped inside was the heat wasn't high enough. He had forgotten to turn it up from the app on his phone. Sixty-five degrees. The caretaker must have turned it up when he delivered the food. Baxter adjusted it to seventy. The high ceiling and glass made the house feel cold at anything less.

In the kitchen, he checked the fridge and thought about dinner. With the snow falling, he craved something hearty. Steak and potatoes. He pulled a bottle of red from the wine rack and opened it to breathe. Satisfied with his plan, he went upstairs to change. Baxter should have taken off his suit before the drive. His drawers contained extra clothing. Wearing comfortable jeans, he left his dress shirt on, but rolled up the sleeves. Barefoot, he went downstairs again. He froze when he heard the TV. Had it been on when he arrived? The volume was low. A body was curled up on the sofa. Not just any body, but long legs, curvy ass and perfect breasts.

"Sinclair!" He groaned. His friend had ordered an escort, probably as a joke. Baxter wasn't laughing. He wanted to be alone, even as tempting as the pretty girl looked. Did he order the girl next door? She looked wholesome for an escort. Baxter's fantasies involved the one type of woman he could never have, sweet, shy women and not the barracudas he met at social events.

He went into the kitchen to cook. The clanging would wake her without him having to touch her. Despite the unwelcome guest, he whistled softly as he poured the crimson wine into a Bordeaux glass. The flavors made his tongue dance. Although he was known for drinking scotch, wine was his secret love. Maybe not a secret, but no one knew he had developed a discerning palate.

As he put the steak on the grill, the imposter appeared. "What? Who are you?"

He took his time scanning her from head to toe. The worn, faded jeans weren't typical for an escort. Occasionally, he had hired dates, but legit ones unlike the ones who were callgirls in disguise. She looked nothing like a call girl or an escort, but she was fucking hot. He made a fist to get rid of the itch to run his palm from her narrow waist along the curve of her hip.

She repeated her question. His eyes reached her annoyed face. He looked at her pert nose avoiding her vivid chocolate brown eyes and perfect pink lips. "I'm the guy my friend paid you to entertain." His dick already liked the idea.

"Paid to what?"

"To entertain. Sinclair hired you."

She frowned. "How much do you think a girl gets to entertain a guy like you?"

He shrugged. "At least five hundred."

"Dollars! You would pay that much for sex with me?"

"I would, but there has been a misunderstanding. My friend ordered you, not me."

"So I'm not worth it."

Baxter felt himself sweating and blamed it on the grill. "No. I didn't say that."

"Why is it so hot in here?" She lifted her sweater over her head. As she did, her shirt underneath showed her midriff. Doyle always showed hers off, but his sister's had the opposite effect on him. He felt like a teenager standing in the kitchen with a hard on. With Tate two years younger than him, he spent years getting turned on by her friends.

Distracting himself, he turned the steak before chopping vegetables for a salad. What the hell. "You're here now. Do you want to eat?"

She stared at him. "You still haven't told me who you are."

"I'm Baxter. This is my house, so I should ask you the questions." She mumbled and bit her lip. Did she have any clue who he was? "Have dinner and I'll pay you a grand to spend the night with me."

Her eyes grew wide. "A thousand dollars?"

"Fine. Fifteen-hundred, but nothing is off the table." He poured a glass of wine and put it on the counter. She still stood a distance away, but eyed the glass. He would pay twice what he offered just to hold her perfect body all night, but his cock would revolt. Slowly, she stepped towards the wine. "What's your name?" He prepared himself for a tacky fake name.

She gulped air. "Ivy?"

"Is it your real name?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

He shrugged. Up close, he stopped himself from moaning when he saw the dusting of freckles under her eyes. Perfection. Clearing his throat, he said, "So Ivy, do you like the wine?"

"It's, um, good."

He chuckled. "Good? It's two hundred a bottle."

"That's insane. That's more than a weekly grocery bill for a family of four."

He waved his hand. "I wouldn't know."

"No, I wouldn't expect you to know anything about how the other half lives."

He smiled at her accusations. It wasn't his fault he had been born into wealth. "I contribute to charitable organizations."

"Fifteen-hundred a plate."

He chuckled. She was quick-witted. "Occasionally."

Baxter took out two plates and cut the large porterhouse into two pieces and put each on a plate. Then he took the baked potatoes out of the convection oven. Luckily, he had cooked two.

"Sit. Eat. I promise I can cook."

"I'm surprised a guy as rich as you can cook."

He smiled. His mother would correct the word rich to wealthy. "I have many talents." He swirled his wine and breathed in the bouquet before sipping.

"Like wine. I pegged you as a whisky guy."

"I enjoy a finely aged scotch, but there is nothing like the right wine with good food."

He cut into his steak. It pleased him to see the perfect amount of pink. "Perfection."

"You are very confident."

He shrugged. "Going through life unsure isn't successful." Doyle lacked confidence and turned to drugs. Kasper showed off his confidence in games for publicity. Only Tate was like him. He frowned. He should check on her.

"What's the matter?" Her eyes were soft.

"Just worried about my sister."

She paused. "This is very good." She took a small piece of meat.

"Now add some wine."

She followed his instructions. "The flavors mingle."

Baxter smiled, pleased with her response. Sitting near her at the counter, he took in her feminine scent. He wanted to taste the wine on her lips. It had been a long time since he wanted a woman so badly. Maybe it was because of the emotions of the day. He kept reminding himself not to be glad Duncan and Dickie Dawson were out of their lives, but Tate would recover.

Baxter had learned control young. His lack of emotion allowed him the upper hand when negotiating for a property. But the woman beside him challenged his restraint. After their meal, as she slipped off her stool, he caught her in his arms. Before she could resist, he pressed his lips onto hers in a searing kiss. The grill wasn't as hot while the beef sizzled. Her perfect pink lips caressed his and parted without resistance. His tongue probed and tasted the wine and beef, but also her sweetness. Everything about her seemed too good for her to have been a call girl, high class or otherwise. She didn't pull away when he pressed his erection against her

In a raspy voice, he whispered. "Do we have a deal? Fifteen hundred for the night."

Her soft brown eyes looked into his hazel ones. His gut clenched fearing she would turn him down the longer she considered his offer. He kissed her again, hoping to seal the deal.

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