Claiming Her Billion-Dollar Birthright by Maureen Child Page A

whiskers and his mouth was still curved in that half smile as he added, “It’s the Jarrod family jet. You’re family.”
    She laid her free hand against her abdomen in an attempt to still the butterflies that had suddenly decided to swarm inside her. It was a wasted effort. With excitement came nerves and she didn’t expect either to let up anytime soon.
    â€œHow about a quick tour of Aspen before we go to the resort?”
    â€œI’d like that,” she said, tearing her gaze from his really gorgeous dark chocolate eyes long enough to look around her. Once she did, she gasped.
    She glanced around the small—compared to San Francisco—airport and the mountains surrounding them. The sky was so blue it nearly hurt to look at it and the white clouds scudding across that sky could have been painted on, they were so perfect. The air was sharp and clean and the relative quiet was nearly deafening to a woman used to the sounds of a city.
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” she whispered, staring out at the mountains that towered over them like guardian angels.
    â€œYou know,” he said, and she turned to catch him looking at her, “it really is.” Then he shook off whatever he was thinking, and gave her hand a tug. “Come on, city girl. Let me show you around.”
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    She was too damn beautiful; that was the problem, Christian told himself. He’d hoped that his memory of her was exaggerated. That she hadn’t really had eyes the color of finely aged whiskey. That she didn’t smell like peaches. That her softly layered hair didn’t really lift in the wind until it looked like a halo around her head. He’d hoped that his desire for her would be something he could tuck away and ignore.
    But just touching her hand had set off explosions of want inside him and now Christian knew exactly what he was up against. Temptation.
    He kept her hand tucked into his as he led her toward his car. The top was down and it was a perfect day for her to see her new home. When he opened the car door for her he took an extra second to enjoy the view. She wore white linen slacks, a dark blue shirt and black leather flats, and managed to look more beautiful than any woman had a right to. Oh, yeah. He was in deep trouble.
    He closed the car door and said, “We’ll drive through town, let you get your bearings.”
    â€œWhat about my luggage?”
    â€œThey’ll deliver it to the resort.”
    â€œRight.” She nodded. “Okay then.”
    He hopped in on the driver’s side, fired the engine and drove out of the airport.
    â€œI can’t believe the mountains are so close,” she said, pushing her windblown hair out of her face.
    â€œI’ve lived here my whole life so I guess I don’t really take the time to look up at them much.”
    â€œI don’t know how you could do anything else,” she admitted.
    He followed her gaze briefly, allowing himself to admire the sweep of green that climbed up the mountains ringing Aspen. Like most citizens of Aspen, he more or less took the natural beauty of the place for granted. When you grew up in the middle of a painting, you tended to think everyone else lived with those kinds of views, too.
    Christian gave her a quick grin. “I give you two weeks before you stop noticing them, just like the rest of us.”
    She glanced at him and shook her head. “I’ll take that bet.”
    As he drove into the city, he rattled off the names of the businesses crowded along the streets. On Galena he pointed out the old brick buildings, several of the shops and Erica noticed the flower boxes lining the walkways between stores. Down Main Street, he showed her the Aspen Times, one of the town newspapers, and she smiled at the small blue building adorned with old-fashioned gold lettering across the front.
    He knew what she was seeing, but he had to admitthat like the mountains, he tended to take for