A brief pause, and then she turned, presumably heading back to her domain. But another movement caught his attention, and he narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to get a better look. Someone was in Mrs. Erwin’s wake. She had a glossy head of espresso-dark hair and wore a sort of robe thing that didn’t detract from a pair of excellent legs dressed in decadent lace.

“Who was that?” Brianna asked, her voice suspicious. She craned her neck to see where he’d been looking.

Perhaps that niggle of interest he felt was showing on his face. He wiped it clean. “The caterer.” And someone else. An employee of Mrs. Erwin? No matter, he thought, dismissing the minor mystery. He was trying to smoothly detach from one woman, not get entangled with another.

It took several more minutes to usher Brianna from the house. She finally ended up throwing her clothes back in her suitcase with ill grace. Chase hunted up a couple of bungee cords to keep the thing together since the latches had broken on its tumble. As he carried the luggage out to the car, he endured her parting shots.

It wasn’t pleasant, but then it was over.

As the car disappeared down the drive, he tried to scare up a holiday mood. His guests would arrive soon and they’d expect him to be a genial and entertaining host. But the scene with Brianna lingered in his mind as he climbed the steps to the front door. His gut had let him down, he decided, and that wasn’t good. It should have been talking to him from the beginning with her, sending out warnings on a regular basis.

Stifling a sigh, he turned the knob and pushed on the paneled wood to let himself into the house. His gaze instantly caught on a pair of lace-wrapped legs climbing the staircase. Their owner’s thick, wavy hair bounced against her shoulder blades with each step. The clean, enticing scent of flowers lingered in the air.

His gut began clamoring. Follow that one. Find out who she is. See where she’s been all our life.

Oh, sure. Now it started talking. Which just went to prove the current out-of-whack state of his instincts. With a busy week ahead, this was not the time to be distracted by a pretty pair of legs. Even a stupendous pair of legs, which hers actually were.

Deliberately turning his mind from that fact, he wheeled left and headed toward the office on the first floor. It was time to go over the guest list and the plans his mother had laid out for the week. His phone vibrated and he pulled it free from his pocket, grinning when he saw the photo his brother-in-law had texted. His new niece, Larissa Larue. Leave it to his sister to come up with such a fanciful name—she took after their mother that way.

He texted back, A beauty! And she was, even with that scrunched little face and the pink stocking cap pulled down nearly to her nonexistent eyebrows.

Feeling more upbeat, he settled behind the big desk and pulled up the files he wanted on his laptop. The house party would total twenty-four—no, twenty-three now that Brianna had decamped. Eleven couples and himself. Mrs. Erwin would be in the kitchen every day, ensuring they all were well fed. A handful of servers in her employ would help at the meals. A local cleaning service would send a daily crew to take care of the housekeeping.

He wondered if Lacey Legs was attached to either the caterer or the cleaners. Would he have the opportunity to see her every day? Would her front be as attractive as her back?

On a silent groan at his own lack of control, he spun his chair to look out the mullioned windows at the view overlooking the lake. It was nearing dark, but he could still make out the winter blue of the water. At this time of day, it was almost slate-colored, with the fir trees a dark contrast against the white slopes of the surrounding mountains. It never ceased to amaze him that a couple of hours away were LA’s famous beaches and graceful palm trees, while here it was craggy peaks and towering conifers. His mind wandered again. Had Lacey Legs grown up in the mountains?

All right. Time for a better distraction. Good smells had made their way from the kitchen, and he decided he had very good reasons to check in with Mrs. Erwin. The bar should be set up in the great hall shortly and he could ask her about that, too, though a bartender would do all the heavy lifting once the guests arrived.

In the kitchen, he found the caterer bustling about, instructing servers in black pants and white shirts about where to find the serving trays. Two of them were young men. The young women had their hair in neat ponytails. None of them wore lace or had that shiny hair that he couldn’t free from his thoughts.

Mrs. Erwin turned to him. “Is there something you need?”

“The bar—”

“George is just getting on it,” she said, pointing to one of the men. George gave him a two-fingered salute.

“Okay. Great.” He glanced around at the other three young people. “You have enough helpers?”

“Oh, yes,” the older woman was quick to assure him. “Ruth, Carl and Ellen will handle it just fine.”

Chase nodded. So Lacey definitely wasn’t part of the waitstaff. So why was she here?

As if to answer his question, she came through the mudroom and into the kitchen. Well, he assumed it was her, because he could see the legs. The rest of her was obscured by an immense flower arrangement in cool blues and white. Long, thin curling stick things gave it even more drama. Chase leaped forward. “Here, let me get that,” he said, taking it from her grasp.

The action gave him a view of her face.

He felt as if he’d been hit in the solar plexus. He stared at her, breathless, until he coughed to get oxygen moving into his lungs again. With a little more effort, he managed a smile. “I’m Chase Bradley.”

Her face was heart-shaped, and as he watched, pink color infused her cheeks. She had a snub of a nose, thick lashes, a full mouth and eyes the same slate blue as the lake water. “I, um...” Her hands dipped into the pockets of the apron/coat thing she wore over a black dress.

He smiled at her again. “You’re, um...?” he prompted.

The color on her face deepened. “Sorry. Ashley Walker. From the florist.”

“Ah,” he replied, and hefted the flowers. “That’s a surprise.”

A brief smile flashed over her face, but her gaze danced away from his. “Oh, I guess not.”

Who knew he could be charmed by shy? “Where should I put this?” he asked.

“I can take it. Really,” she said.

“You’ll trip over your toes. It’s bigger than you are.” She was a petite thing, and the hell of it was it only served to make him feel more...protective. Or was that predatory? Bad Chase.

In an attempt to dial down the attraction, he made his tone brisk. “Why don’t you lead the way? I’ll follow.”

She did just that. But losing the front view didn’t diminish his interest in her one bit. The tap-tap-tap of her heels on the floor only drew his attention to those incredible gams of hers. The fragrance of the flowers in his nose only made him wonder what she smelled like. He wanted to press his mouth to her throat and breathe her in. He wanted to bury his face in that glossy hair and determine if it was as silky as it looked.

His gut was nagging at him again, and Chase didn’t think it was going to shut up anytime soon. Follow Ashley Walker, it ordered. Find out where she’s been all our life.

CHAPTER TWO

ASHLEY WISHED SHE’D done her job and gotten out of the house before drawing Chase Bradley’s attention. As she proceeded down the hall, the man carrying the massive arrangement behind her, she could feel his presence like a warm tickle on the back of her neck. When facing him, she’d felt his magnetism elsewhere.

He had the kind of looks that heated a woman.

His face was all planes and angles: sharp cheekbones, blade of a nose, square jawline. His broad brow was revealed by the business cut of his nearly black hair. His eyes were gray, surrounded by inky lashes. His very white smile flipped her stomach and filled her with an odd, wild yearning.

That was the kind of effect he likely encountered—and expected—from all females.

It vexed Ashley to acknowledge that. She’d never liked being one of a crowd. Not that she enjoyed standing out, either. That had been her husband, Stu. Cocky, reckless, flashy Stu. Thinking of him no longer tore at her heart. It just informed her head, reminding her to go slow, be cautious, take her time. Even if Moose turned out to be The One—fat chance, because Moose—she figured she’d casually date the next man in her life for a few years before even contemplating something the slightest bit serious.

It was possible that she’d never fall in love again, and the idea of that didn’t make her feel as lonely as it might. It felt...smart. Safe.

They’d reached the foyer.

A round table, gleaming from a good waxing, sat precisely in its center. She pointed to it. “There,” she said.

He placed the ceramic pot with its profusion of flowers in the middle and stepped back.

“Thank you,” she said, moving forward without looking at him. She began fussing with the stems and leaves, hoping he’d read her actions as a polite dismissal.

He didn’t move.

Without wanting to, she glanced over her shoulder. He wore gray jeans, a light blue dress shirt and a darker blue slim-cut, suit-styled jacket over it. What every successful young executive wore to greet guests at his vacation estate. She tore her gaze off him and went back to working on the arrangement of white roses, miniature irises and muscari.

“Lovely,” Chase murmured.

“Thank you. I’ll pass along your compliment to my boss, the owner of the shop.” Another few seconds passed and he was still there and she was still pretending to be conscious of only the flora in the room when the male fauna nearby was completely derailing her thought processes.

What should she do? How could she get him to go away? For some odd reason, she didn’t want to face him again.

“Is there anything else you need?” she asked, still with her back turned. “Otherwise, I’m on my way.”

“You must have big plans for tonight.”

Since he couldn’t see her face, she grimaced. Moose. “Sure. It’s New Year’s Eve.”

“And you’re already dressed for a party. I like the lace stockings.”

She fought the urge to cross one leg over the other. But a flame shot up the back of both, like a fiery seam. “Um, thank you.” How could she begin to conclude this conversation? “I hope you have a nice time tonight yourself.”

“It’ll be all right, I suppose, even though I lost my hostess.”

There was no way she couldn’t respond to the comment. She turned around, because it would seem inhuman and impolite not to. “I’m sorry. Your goodbye seemed...”

“Awkward? Uncomfortable?” he supplied, grimacing. “Inconvenient?”

She offered her own suggestion. “Hurtful?”

He shook his head. “Not to me. And if Brianna’s pain goes beyond her pride, I’d be surprised. Yet I’m still sorry I didn’t see that she was taking us much too seriously. I guess I’ve been too caught up in my work.”

“Your kind of job must require a lot of focus.” She didn’t know exactly what it entailed, but she figured investing other people’s money would make a man sober and prudent. Unlike Stu, Chase Bradley would look before he leaped.

“I’m getting used to my new role in the company,” he said. “I hope this week goes off without a hitch.”

“So do I,” she said. She’d always liked his mother and his father, the few times she’d interacted with them, and Chase...well, she was a trifle more accustomed to him now, even though she could almost taste his masculinity on her tongue. It was coming off him in waves. “I wish your family well.”

“Do you?” One of Chase’s brows arched.

Ashley got a funny feeling in her stomach—not quite queasy, but close. “Sure.” Deciding there was nothing more to say, she gave a last glance at the flowers, then strode toward the hallway that would take her to the side entrance and from there to her van. Chase got in her way.

Halting, she pressed her palms against the thin cotton smock, and dared to look at his face. A black ring surrounded the gray of his irises. It gave the impression of being looked at through binoculars, or maybe dual microscopes, she decided, and felt her stomach take another woozy turn. With a hand, she made a vague gesture. “I need to get to my party.” When he just continued to look at her as if he could see through her skin to her racing blood and her jumping nerves, she cleared her throat. “I’m making dip.”

“What kind?”

Surely, he didn’t care what kind of dip she made. It wasn’t anything fancy, like he was undoubtedly accustomed to. But she humored him, because otherwise she’d have to push past him and run down the hall like a spooked rabbit. “You mix a packet of stuff into sour cream. Stir. With a fork, a spoon, a knife. I’ve even used my finger,” she said, demonstrating.

“That sounds...messy.”

“Not so.” Before she even knew she was going to do it, she had the digit in her open mouth and she was pretending to lick it clean.

Pretending to lick it clean!

The heat of a thousand suns burst over her face and she quickly pulled her finger from between her lips and tucked both hands into the pockets of her smock. Where had that move come from? It was pure...flirtation, and she’d never been coquettish. Stu had been her boyfriend before she’d been old enough to learn any flagrant moves. Since his death, the only way she could have picked up any would have been through osmosis, those few times she’d met Suze at bars before the woman married Jackson.

Ducking her head, she made to scoot around Chase. “I’ve got to go,” she mumbled.

“Wait.” He caught her arm. His touch hummed along her nerve endings, vibrating from wrist to shoulder as the tiny hairs on her skin stood at attention. “I have a proposition.”

Her head jerked up.

“Not that kind of proposition,” he said, humor putting new light in his eyes. “Unless—”

“No, thank you.” She drew back her elbow, freeing herself from his hold. This time, she managed to skirt his big body, and then she clack-clack-clacked out of the foyer, her high heels moving even quicker than her pulse.

She breezed through the hall, sped along the kitchen floor, and was then out in the brisk air, where she breathed in great gulps of calming oxygen. Her hand was on the cold chrome of the door handle when he spoke from behind her.

“I’m serious,” Chase said. “I need a hostess. Could you help me out?”

“You’re joking,” she said without turning around.

“No.” He came close enough that she could smell the expensive cologne he wore—or maybe it was just expensive soap because it was a clean scent and not a clingy one. “I’ll pay you well.”

Now she chanced a glance over her shoulder. “For what, exactly?”

His eyebrows shot toward his forehead. “Why, Ashley, we’ve only just met. Nothing indecent, okay? I’m a businessman, and this offer is entirely on the up-and-up.”

It wasn’t disappointment that sluiced through her. “You’d better spell it out.”

“Come live here for a week. Even out the numbers of men and women at the house party. Smile. You might even have a little fun.”

“Why would you want me?” she asked, finally turning to face him.

“It’s not such a crazy impulse, I promise you. The thing is, you’re dressed for the occasion.”

“Well, true,” she acknowledged with a slight nod of her head. “Though it’s for an entirely different party.” With chips, dip and Moose.

“Are you married?” Chase asked.

Stu. With his streaky blond hair and his snow tan. He’d burned through life too soon. “Not anymore.”

“Boyfriend?”

She shook her head.

“Well, there you go. I need a single female pretty much immediately, and you’re already here. Plus, I’m a generous employer.” He named a sum.

She nearly gasped. “I couldn’t accept that.”

Chase frowned. “Now I see you need to take me up on this. Your negotiating skills are severely lacking. I can teach you a thing or two, I’ll bet.”

A shiver tiptoed down her spine. Ashley ignored it. “For all that I’d be grateful for it,” she said, her voice sugar-sweet, “we both know that a big, bad businessman like yourself can handle a week on his own just fine.”

“Also true.”

A laugh bubbled up from her belly. He was confident, all right.

“But...” He drew a fingertip along her cheek, and when she shivered, unable to hide it this time, he frowned and stripped off his jacket. Dropping it over her shoulders, he tugged the lapels close beneath her chin.

Though his warmth instantly enveloped her, she still had to fight another betraying shiver. “But?” she prompted.

His serious gaze caught hers. “Here’s the thing, Ashley. I guarantee if I don’t have a woman by my side, one of the clients will feel as if she has to step up. And this week isn’t about requiring any of those who work with us to take on responsibilities. It’s about shedding them. They’re supposed to have a good time and relax in the capable Bradley hands. It makes them feel more comfortable with our firm.”

That actually made sense, Ashley thought. It was a logical, very legitimate, business-backed argument. Hadn’t she already supposed a man with his kind of success in his line of work would make rational and shrewd decisions?

Maybe she should let that rub off on her. And if she did... Well, she had two free weeks. Grabbing up this opportunity to make a fistful of cash during one of them would give her some cushion in her bank account. At the very least she could buy outfits other than T-shirts and jeans for that shell-stepping-out-of she’d said she’d be doing in the new year.

In her year of yes.

She hauled in a breath that smelled of lake and snow and just a little bit of Chase Bradley. It was an intelligent choice, she thought. Not a crazy impulse, as he’d assured her. She would be taking no kind of risk at all, really.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

* * *

CHASE CONGRATULATED HIMSELF a few hours later for his powers of persuasion. Ashley Walker had been a fine snap decision. And even though she’d started a fire inside him by that little mime with her finger—something he’d noted she’d instantly regretted—he’d managed to come up with a sensible argument that got her to agree to be his hostess.

It had paid off.

She’d greeted his guests smoothly, helped to make sure everyone had drinks during the cocktail hour, kept talk flowing during dinner with those closest to her at the table. While not a loud, lampshade-on-her-head, life-of-the-party type—thank God—her shyness seemed strictly reserved for him. With everyone else she was easy with her smiles and her conversation.

As the only local in the group, she was called upon to dispense nuggets of the area’s history and to suggest nearby attractions. The party was made up of people who possessed a high degree of wealth, but she didn’t appear intimidated nor did she pretend to be anything but a woman who worked with her hands and enjoyed doing so.

She fascinated him.

And it wasn’t lost on Chase that he’d have an opportunity to kiss that fascinating mouth of hers at midnight. It was tradition, right? And he wanted to taste her in a way he found most distracting. So he figured getting that taste out of the way as soon as possible would be beneficial for his plans for the rest of the week. He’d satisfy his curiosity and then get on with the more important task of cementing integral business relationships for another year.

But it also wasn’t lost on him that the locking of lips wouldn’t happen unless he got her more comfortable around him.

His mother had arranged for a pianist to play on the grand piano in the great hall after dinner. Muted TVs in other rooms were tuned to the big countdown shows, but most people opted for getting another drink from the bar and enjoying the live music. The musician played a classy selection of tunes: Gershwin to Billy Joel, Sinatra standards to Broadway songs.

When a handful of couples took to the dance floor while the man played “New York State of Mind,” Chase looked for Ashley. She stood alone by the windows, sipping sparkling water as she stared out at the view toward the lake. Fairy lights had been strung through the trees and wrapped the rail surrounding the deck. The light snow on the ground glittered. A winter wonderland.

“Pretty, huh?” he asked, coming up behind her.

She started, glancing around. “Sorry, I was woolgathering.”

“The beginning of a new year is conducive to deep thought,” he said, aware that she edged away to put more inches between them. “Were you working on world peace or a solution to global hunger?”

“You’re giving me much more credit than I deserve.”

“So, what were you thinking about?”

Her pretty mouth pursed. “What I’m going to have to do to make up my absence to my best friend, Suze. It was her party I was going to tonight.”

“Think she’ll understand?”

Ashley shrugged. She’d taken off that robe thing before the guests arrived. Underneath it was a ladylike party dress that still made him sweat because it was so damn proper. It revealed slender, bare arms, and combined the creamy flesh of them with her lace-covered legs... “You should dance with me,” he said.

She appeared not to hear him. “It’s worse because of Moose.”

“She has a moose?”

“Moose is a man. She asked him to be my date tonight.”

“You’d date a man named Moose?”

“I’d do just about anything for Suze. She...she’s gotten me through tough times.”

At her now-worried expression, Chase could tell she didn’t want to elaborate on the “tough times.” So he found her hand and pulled her toward the music. “Dance with me.”

She made some sounds of protest, but he ignored them. The pianist had segued into “You’ll Never Walk Alone” and when he drew her against him to lightly sway to the music, her body was stiff in his arms. “I wanted to talk to you about the coming week. Your duties,” he lied.

“Oh.” Ashley relaxed a fraction.

Chase wished she’d look at him like a man, not an employer, but clearly that wasn’t to be just yet. “So far, you’ve done a great job.”

“Thank you.”

“If you’d continue in this same vein for the rest of the week I’ll give you a bonus.”

“Chase...”

Now it was his turn to ignore her. “Just continue being yourself and seeing to the comfort of the guests.”

“I can do that.”

“Each day has a theme that my mother settled upon and an activity or two to support that theme.”

The corners of Ashley’s lips quirked upward. “Your mom.”

“Yeah.” He smiled back, moving his feet so it was more like dancing and not just shifting. “Her imagination is a little offbeat, but everyone ends up enjoying her ideas.”

Ashley was following along, letting him lead. “So what do I need to do?”

“Like I said. Be yourself. Be relaxed.” With his palm at the small of her back, he nudged her closer to him. Once he’d been at a wedding where the guests were given fresh rose petals to throw at the bride and groom. His handful had been slightly bruised, and that was what she smelled of—crushed, clean sweetness.

“I can do that.” But wariness had overtaken her expression again, and she pulled back to put more room between their bodies.

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