Midnight, January 1: time for a big change. Time to make a New Year’s resolution to find romance—or else!

Say Yes by Christie Ridgway

Cautious florist Ashley Walker is excited to embark on her “Year of Yes” no matter what happens. But accepting a surprise job offer leads to an awkward discovery: she’s hot for her millionaire boss, Chase Bradley!

No More Bad Girls by Leslie Kelly

Scorched by a string of nightmare ex-girlfriends, Lex Rollins resolves to date only nice women…then is lured by siren Lia before midnight! But Lia is really Amelia, a good girl playing naughty for a night. Can a blind date as their real selves uncover their true desires?

Just a Fling by Tanya Michaels

Shy, insecure Erin Cross makes two bold resolutions: (A) get on a plane, and (B) have a fling. In pursuit of Option A, she’s mistaken for a key witness in a mob trial and whisked away by a sexy FBI agent! Which just leaves Option B…

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author Christie Ridgway

“Emotional and powerful…everything a romance reader could hope for.”

—Publishers Weekly on Bungalow Nights

“An awesome start to the Cabin Fever series! Ridgway’s latest is heartwarming, extremely romantic and one of those books that will make you feel tingly all over.… An all-around great read that will have you wishing you were curled up by the fire in a mountainside cabin.”

—RT Book Reviews on Take My Breath Away

Praise for New York Times bestselling author

Leslie Kelly

“Sexy, funny and a little outrageous, Leslie Kelly is a must read!”

—New York Times bestselling author Carly Phillips

“Kelly succeeds with this sexy story, keeping the tension high.”

—RT Book Reviews on Waking Up to You

“Kelly employs a great deal of heart and humor to achieve balance with this incendiary romance. Great characters and a vibrant narrative kept this reader glued to each and every word.”

—The Romance Reader’s Connection on Overexposed

Praise for New York Times bestselling author

Tanya Michaels

“Tanya Michaels…[takes] the reader on a joyous, sexy, heartbreaking ride.”

—RT Book Reviews

“One of the most talented romantic fiction writers on the market today.”

—WritersUnlimited.com

“Tanya Michaels launches her Colorado Cades series with this emotionally complex tale… Arden and Garrett have wonderful chemistry, and readers will be pulling for them all the way.”

—Affaire de Coeur on Her Secret, His Baby

CHRISTIE RIDGWAY is a USA TODAY bestselling author of more than thirty-five contemporary romances. Known for her stories that make readers laugh and cry, Christie began writing romances in fifth grade, inspired by the Mills & Boon books she loved to read. Later, after marrying her college sweetheart and having two boys, she left the geeky field of computer programming and returned to what she loved best—telling stories of strong men and determined women finding their happy-ever-afters. Christie lives in California. Visit her on the web at christieridgway.com.

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author LESLIE KELLY is known for her delightful characters, sparkling dialogue and outrageous humor. Since the publication of her first book in 1999, Leslie has gone on to pen dozens of sassy, sexy romances for Mills & Boon Temptation, Blaze and HQN Books. This award-winning writer lives in New Mexico with her hubby Bruce—her real-life romance hero—along with their children. Visit her website at lesliekelly.com and look for her on Facebook and Twitter.

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author TANYA MICHAELS writes about what she knows—family, community and lasting love! Her books, praised for their poignancy and humor, have won numerous awards and honors. Tanya is an active member of Romance Writers of America and a frequent public speaker, presenting workshops to encourage aspiring writers. She lives near Atlanta with her husband and two children plus a household of quirky pets. Check out her website at tanyamichaels.net.

New Year’s Resolution: Romance!

Say Yes

Christie Ridgway

No More Bad Girls

Leslie Kelly

Just a Fling

Tanya Michaels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise

About the Authors

Title Page

Say Yes

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

No More Bad Girls

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

Just a Fling

Dear Reader

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

Say Yes

Christie Ridgway

Dear Reader,

The new year seems a natural time for new beginnings. The heroine of “Say Yes,” Ashley Walker, is ready to start anew after four lonely years as a young widow. But she’s thinking of putting on dresses again and going to parties, not taking the scary risk of falling in love. When she meets wealthy money manager Chase Bradley, she figures he’s as cautious as she is, until he seeks a midnight kiss…and then more.

If you’ve not visited the setting for this story, Blue Arrow Lake, through my Cabin Fever series for HQN Books, I hope you’ll enjoy this glimpse of peaks and pines just a couple of hours from Southern California’s stunning beaches and sunny glamour. It’s where the celebrated rich go to relax and where the more humble mountain men and women exult in their incredible natural surroundings. It’s a clash of types that causes sparks that result in passion that just might possibly end in love!

Wherever you are, whenever you’re reading this, I wish for you health, happiness and great reading.

All the best,

Christie Ridgway

CHAPTER ONE

ASHLEY WALKER STEPPED out of the florist’s van and shivered in the New Year’s Eve air. Though this was Southern California, the five-thousand-foot mountain elevation meant real winter weather. An unusual white Thanksgiving had made for happy times at the nearby ski resorts, and the numbers of skiers and snowboarders lining up for the lifts continued to surge. The wealthy patrons who owned second homes surrounding private, posh Blue Arrow Lake had been flocking up the hill from their usual Los Angeles environs to celebrate the holidays before roaring fires and on powdery slopes.

With a quick glance at the Tudor-inspired mansion she’d visited on this same day for the past three years, Ashley snatched a knee-length smock from the passenger seat and slid her arms through the cotton sleeves. As a coat, it didn’t provide much warmth, but it would protect the little black dress she’d put on in advance of her evening plans.

Before she could get to those, however, she had to deliver the arrangements for the Bradleys’ traditional house party, which was why she’d pulled up beside the side service entrance. They hosted the weeklong event every year, inviting couples who were also favored clients of their financial firm to enjoy a vacation in the luxurious lakeside home. It was a massive place, with twenty bedrooms and more bathrooms than that, set in the middle of expansive grounds that butted up to a sandy beach and double docks on the water. Ashley always enjoyed her little peek into how the other half lived—something she never grew accustomed to even though her job in a florist shop in the nearby village meant she often visited the premier showplaces in the area. As a mountain woman born and bred, she accepted that their peaks-and-pines economy needed the überrich Angelenos so the full-timers here could make a living in this area of stupendous natural beauty.

Her phone rang as she walked to the rear of the van. She fished it from the smock’s patch pocket, checked the screen and then held the device to her ear. “What’s up, Suze?”

“What are you wearing to my party tonight?”

Ashley glanced down at the strip of fabric revealed by the flapping sides of the garment she wore over it. “Borrowed a dress from my cousin. Black, knee-length, sleeveless. Has a full skirt with a black lace overskirt.”

“Really?”

Her friend’s surprise rankled a little. “I know how to dress up. I have on black lace stockings, too, and my black heels.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but jeans and T-shirts in more than four years.”

“I work in a florist shop. A business suit would be impractical.”

“You know what I mean,” Suze said.

Yes, Ashley knew what the other woman meant. She hadn’t had an occasion to wear anything besides jeans and T-shirts in more than four years because she hadn’t gone anywhere but to work and the grocery store since her husband, Stuart, had died. Now, as a twenty-seven-year-old widow, she’d decided it was time to get out more. “I told you, Suze. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’m making a resolution. This is going to be my year of yes.”

“If I get you drunk enough tonight, I may have it tattooed on your forehead. That way you’ll see it every morning as you brush your teeth.”

“I’m not going to get any kind of drunk tonight.” Ashley pulled open one of the van’s back doors. The combined scent of various flowers wafted out, the fragrance dominated by the deep sweet smell of the roses with just a hint of cinnamon from the carnations.

“Oh, you might want to reconsider that,” Suze said, in an airy, casual manner that put Ashley on high alert. Suzanne was her best friend since fourth grade, and she knew all her moods and sneaky subterfuges.

“What have you done?” The ensuing pause was long enough for Ashley to take inventory of the flowers stowed in the back of the van. There were arrangements for every bedroom and bathroom and others for the living areas. Mrs. Bradley had called in her order and left it up to Ashley to make decisions when it came to the particular flowers and greenery.

“I trust your judgment,” the older woman had said. “And you’ll set them around for me, won’t you? My older daughter is expecting her second child soon into the new year so I’m staying with her until the very last minute.”

Ashley reached in to tweak a bit of Queen Anne’s lace that was out of place and put a stern note in her voice. “Suzanne Janice Reynolds, don’t think I can’t detect the guilty vibrations coming over the line.”

“Isortofarrangedadateforyou.”

She said it so fast Ashley couldn’t separate the syllables. “What?”

“Isortofarrangedadateforyou.”

This time her brain managed to decipher the sentence. She dropped to take a seat on the back bumper as heat bloomed on her nape and over her face, dissipating the late-afternoon chill. “Suze!” she said in an irate tone. “You promised—”

“And you promised me that you were ready to climb out of your shell.”

“I can’t do a date. You know that. It’s too soon—”

“Four years,” Suze pointed out.

Four years and seventeen days. “Still—”

“Climbing out of your shell,” Suze said again.

“A date on New Year’s Eve is more like...like...bursting out of a birthday cake!”

“Calm down,” her friend advised.

Ashley pressed her hand to her stomach. “I feel sick. I don’t think I can make it to the party after all.”

“Coward.”

“Cautious,” Ashley countered. “Who is this guy anyway?”

“A gym friend of Jackson’s.”

She groaned. “It’s going to be one of those men who stares at himself in the mirror, grunting with every biceps curl.”

“That’s not so bad.”

“Haven’t you ever noticed how they dead drop the free weights so that everyone in the room looks over? I hate that type.”

“When was the last time you were in a gym?”

Guilt nibbled at Ashley. She supposed she had no choice but to come clean. “Um...look. I’ve been taking classes every morning. Alternating between spin and Pilates.”

There was another long silence on the other end of the phone. “We have a pact,” Suze finally said with a lacing of hurt. “You broke the pact.”

It was true. When they were fourteen, they’d taken a solemn vow to tackle any new exercise or diet regimen together. There’d been those four days when they’d eaten broiled bologna at every meal. The training for the 10K that had gone well until Suze sprained her ankle. The weeklong cabbage soup cleanse that upon mutual disgust they’d ended after seven hours. If one was going to commit to concerted calorie restriction or sweat production, they were supposed to do it together.

Ashley hung her head. “Suze, I’m sorry.”

“My fat behind is sorrier.” Her friend blew out a sigh over the phone. “Well, as payback, you’ll make an effort with Moose.”

“Moose?” Ashley nearly shouted the word. “He’s called Moose?”

“It’s just a nickname.”

“I don’t only feel sick to my stomach,” Ashley said. “Now I have a migraine.”

“That’s no excuse to avoid the first stop on your year of yes.”

Ashley thought hard, hoping to come up with something better than feigned illness. Because...Moose!

“When are you going to get here?” Suze demanded. “I have all the ingredients for your special dip—you know, the one Jackson loves—and I need you to make it.”

Ashley rolled her eyes. “You rip open the packet, pour it into the sour cream container. Stir.”

“With a spoon or a fork?”

“Suze—”

“It’s past time for a change, honey, and that change starts with tonight’s party. Come concoct the dip.”

“I’m at the Bradley estate now. I have to deliver the flowers. After that—”

“It’s yes time.”

With a sigh, Ashley slowly nodded her head, though it felt as if she was agreeing to disaster. Moose. “All right. It’s yes time.”

* * *

ASHLEY DREW OUT a rolling cart from the van and filled it with the first round of arrangements. She cast a glance at the mansion’s side door, certain it was unlocked. The caterer’s truck was parked nearby, the one that read Fare by Fanny on the side. She knew Fanny. Ashley’s stomach growled a little because even as she thought of the other woman, the smell of her famous beef bourguignonne tickled her nose. Maybe she could beg a bite or two after she finished up with her own duties.

The cart rattled across the flagstone drive toward the immense house made of rock, stone and wood. She ducked under an arch and found the door she wanted indeed unlocked. More delicious smells were drawn into her lungs as she entered an expansive, rectangular mudroom. As Ashley continued into the kitchen, pushing her flower arrangements in front of her, Fanny glanced over.

“Happy New Year,” the older woman called out. She wielded a wooden spoon, and a butcher apron was wrapped about her apple-round middle. Her gaze inspected the profusion of floral beauty. “Those look wonderful.”

“Just my first load,” Ashley said. “Everything going all right with you?”

“Well...” Fanny grimaced. “I’m afraid this isn’t going to be like other Bradley parties,” she began, only to be interrupted by the musical ring of her cell phone. One finger went up as she half turned to take the call.

Not like other Bradley parties? The warning made Ashley’s brows rise a little, but she shrugged off her concern and kept moving her cart forward. There was dip in her future. Moose. Suze, whom she couldn’t in good conscience disappoint. And after today, two weeks off from work. The florist shop always closed in January to accommodate the owner and her family’s ski vacation.

So Ashley needed to take care of the task at hand and then move...

...on with her life.

Ignoring the uneasiness that idea brought on, she began looking for signs of the Bradleys’ arrival. Nancy had said she and her husband, Arthur, would be arriving only shortly before their guests, but she was an attentive hostess, and Ashley wouldn’t be surprised to find her fussing with the position of the furniture or reviewing the calendar she had planned for the week ahead. A whimsical and charming woman, she was known for the unique parties she organized every year.

The place seemed deserted, however. Ashley strolled about, her heels clicking on the wooden floors as she tucked small arrangements on bathroom windowsills and larger ones on the occasional tables in the cavernous room with the forty-foot ceilings that was referred to as the great hall. Then she moved to the dining room, where she placed centerpieces along the massive dining table that could seat thirty. For all its size, the home still felt...well, homey, with its velvet-upholstered furniture in muted shades and the lovely, mantel-topped fireplaces. There was one in the dining room and another in the library. The third in the great hall took up an entire wall and was big enough to roast an ox. Flames leaped and jumped in them now, splashing golden light to counter the growing dusk.

Cart empty, she pushed it back toward the kitchen. She’d load up and finish the first floor. After that, she’d take the service elevator to the second and third. Another twenty minutes or so and she’d be back on the road.

Fanny was still on the phone when Ashley exited, but was finished with her call when she returned with another round of flower arrangements. She paused, still curious about the caterer’s earlier comment. “So...what’s going to be different about the party this year?”

Okay, so the question was kind of Downton Abbey of her, but face it, wondering and gossiping about the owners of the estate was nearly impossible to resist.

It didn’t help that Fanny cast a look around as if they might be overheard by the lord of the manor. “The Mr. and Mrs. won’t be here this year.”

Ashley blinked. “Arthur and Nancy?”

Fanny nodded. “Grandbaby came early.”

“Well, that’s nice,” Ashley said. “But...they didn’t cancel the party?”

“Nope. It’s an especially important one this year. They just announced Arthur Bradley’s retirement. They want to show their best clients that things aren’t going to change under the tutelage of the new head of the firm.”

“Oh,” Ashley said. “And the new head of the firm is...?”

“Chase, of course.”

Of course. Chase Bradley, Arthur and Nancy’s son. Dark-haired, lean-bodied Chase Bradley, who strolled about with a bone-deep confidence that no woman could fail to admire. She’d never met the man, but on the occasions she’d delivered flowers to the house, she’d caught glimpses of him. While she wasn’t normally a timid titmouse of a person, she’d always found herself scurrying away from his oh-so-masculine presence.

This time she’d do no different, she thought, putting her weight behind the cart. It was time to finish her duties and skedaddle. Then a horrible noise had her drawing up short. Her gaze flew to Fanny. “What the—”

The blood-curdling sound of female frustration and rage came again. Ashley jumped. “Should we call the police?” she wondered aloud.

Thumps sounded, as though a body had been pushed and was now tumbling down the grand flight of stairs. Her hand rose to her throat. “Oh, my God,” she said, and ran toward the sound with Fanny at her heels.

They stopped in the hallway, peering around a corner to the staircase. It wasn’t a body broken at the bottom, but a suitcase, its contents spilled in a profusion of bright colors. A beautiful, sleek woman was on the landing, hands on her hips, the red talons of her nails standing out against her navy peg-leg pants. She was staring at the mess of clothes as if her gaze could ignite them on fire. Then she glanced up to the top of the stairs and hissed.

“This is all your fault.” Her malevolence was now aimed at the calm man standing above her, one shoulder propped against a wall and his ankles crossed, as if he had all the time in the world for the murderous little drama the blonde was clearly preparing as her starring vehicle.

“Who’s that?” Ashley whispered to Fanny.

“Apparently the woman on her way out of Chase’s life.”

* * *

CHASE BRADLEY COULD only blame himself for the current situation. Not that he hadn’t always made his non-intentions very clear to Brianna, but he’d realized quite early in their short relationship that she suffered from selective listening. She simply didn’t hear anything that would counter her world view—the world that revolved around her.

He frowned. What did it say about him that he’d continued to see her for three months after coming to that conclusion?

It said he’d been too consumed with the changeover in the family business to take care of personal business. Hell, he should be smarter than that.

He tuned back into Brianna’s rant. She was stabbing her arm in the direction of the exploded suitcase. “Who?” she demanded. “Who is going to take care of this?”

Since he wasn’t the one who had kicked the piece of luggage down the stairs, it wasn’t going to be him. “Brianna, calm down,” he said mildly.

Her face turned a mottled shade of red. “You do realize I’m leaving?”

“It’s what you shouted right after I said I wasn’t planning on proposing.”

Brianna slammed her arms over her chest. “But I told you New Year’s Eve would be the perfect time for an announcement,” she fumed.

Chase shook his head. Where had she gotten the idea that they were marriage bound? That he hadn’t seen this coming only made him curse himself more. “Brianna, I’m sorry. Truly. I’m sorry if you had the impression we were aiming toward the altar. That’s not going to happen.”

“Then I’m really leaving you!”

To be fair to himself, until today, she’d been mostly undemanding and understanding. Self-centered, maybe, but he’d actually appreciated the email she’d sent with links to the Christmas presents she’d expected him to give her last week. Chase abhorred pretense, and he’d counted her honesty about that list as a feature, not a defect. “I’ll have Gregory bring the car around. He’ll be happy to take you back to LA.”

Though Chase usually avoided all the car-and-driver nonsense, this time he’d taken one of the company limos, thinking it might come in handy for his guests during the week at the lake house. Now it was coming in handy for him.

The expression on Brianna’s face indicated she wasn’t mollified by the offer. Chase watched her haul in a large breath and he braced for the next onslaught. “I’m not going without my clothes,” she declared in a strident voice.

“I wouldn’t dream of suggesting you should,” Chase replied, and he could see his reasonable tone was only further infuriating her. “I’ll let Gregory know to be ready if you’ll tell me how long it will take you to repack.”

“Me?”

Wow. Now she was acting as if she regularly had a handmaiden to attend her. Chase held on to his own kindling temper. “Brianna—”

“Mr. Bradley?”

He turned his head slightly in the direction of the hesitant voice. Peeking around a corner downstairs was the caterer. “Yes, Mrs. Erwin?”

“Is there something I could do to help?” There was a look of concern on her motherly face.

“Thank you, but no,” he said firmly. “I’m sure you’re quite busy as it is in the kitchen.”

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.

So, not ready for a kiss, Chase thought, and decided to change tactics. “Hey, I want you to meet a couple of people. They slipped in during the second course, and I don’t think you’ve had the opportunity to speak with them.”

Stepping away from the other dancers, he took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. He scanned the room and found the Sargeants just turning from the bar, each of them with a glass of ruby wine. With a smile, he drew her in their direction.

“Arch.” He moved from Ashley to give his old friend a back-thumping half hug. “June, beautiful as ever.” She got a kiss on the cheek.

“We’re so sorry we were late,” June said, her curious glance sliding to Ashley and then back to his face.

“She had to go back to her parents’ house twice in order to say more goodbyes to the twins,” Arch said.

His wife bumped her elbow against his ribs. “If I recall correctly, it was you who needed to make sure that my dad knew how to install the car seats in his SUV.”

Grinning, Arch rubbed his side. “We’re disgustingly besotted with our offspring,” he confessed, his eyes bright with good humor and fixed on Ashley’s face. “I’m Arch Sargeant,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Ashley Walker. And anything I can do to make your stay more pleasant, please let me know.”

His friend’s wife looked ready to burst with curiosity. “I’m June.” Her glance shifted to Chase. “So...I thought Brianna was going to be here. Glad to see she isn’t.”

Arch groaned. “So much for subtle, sweetheart.”

“Brianna had to leave unexpectedly,” Ashley put in smoothly. “Chase hired me to take over as hostess.”

“Hired you?” Her eyebrows climbed high on her forehead, and her gaze darted between Chase and Ashley.

“I work for a local florist,” Ashley explained. “And I happened to be at the right place at the right time—meaning here at the house—when Chase found a need for someone to help out.”

“Found a need,” Arch echoed.

At the smirk in his voice, Chase sent him a quelling look. “Ashley, Arch is my former college roommate. And June—”

“Has this sudden need for some girl talk.”

Ashley looked alarmed. “Oh, I—”

“Actually, I need help pinning a strap,” June said, plucking at the silk of her slinky red dress. Her smile beamed wide and guileless. “You’ll help, won’t you?”

And with that, Chase saw his hostess head off into the metaphorical sunset with his best friend’s wife. Frowning, he glanced over at Arch. “I don’t want her scaring Ashley away.”

“She’ll just pump her for all her personal information,” Arch said in a cheery tone.

Chase groaned. “That’s what I mean.”

“What else do you mean?” his friend asked. “Brianna takes off and an hour later you’ve got Ashley moved in?”

In less than an hour, Chase thought. “Just for the week,” he assured himself and his best buddy. He shrugged one shoulder. “I saw her and it...it seemed like a simple solution.”

Arch was gazing at him.

“What’s with the pitying expression?” Chase demanded.

“Nothing’s simple when it comes to women, you should know that.”

“Hell,” Chase said. “Don’t go there, please? Sure, she’s pretty and all.” Beautiful. “But I asked her because I needed the assistance.”

Not true. What he needed was that midnight kiss he was planning, just to satisfy his curiosity and so he could neutralize this odd fascination she held for him. Once that was out of the way, he could devote his attention to the important business of the rest of the week.

He managed to get Arch onto other topics and then included some others in their light conversation as the musician continued to play. It was when the servers began circulating with trays of crystal flutes filled with liquid bubbles that Chase realized midnight was nearly upon them. June was standing near her husband, her arm around his waist as they swayed to the music.

Ashley was nowhere in sight.

As the countdown began, he was torn. Leave his guests or seek out his hostess? It would be better to stick with the crowd, he decided, ignoring a spurt of disappointment. Foolish to feel it, especially when the last time he’d been so eager for a New Year’s kiss he’d been thirteen years old. At Tammy Martin’s house, he remembered. Her parents were out for the evening and she’d been babysitting her little brother and sister.

“Ten,” the people on the dance floor chanted, arranging themselves in a circle.

Ridiculous to want to look into Ashley’s upturned face as the clock struck twelve.

“Nine.”

No, it wasn’t imperative that he dive his fingers into her flowing hair.

“Eight.”

Would her breath hitch as his mouth neared?

“Seven.”

He’d trace his nose across her warm cheek, drawing in her crushed-petal scent.

The voices of the people surrounding him rose. “Six.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he rooted his feet to the ground, even though his gaze wandered, looking for any sign of her.

“Five.”

He recalled Tammy’s kiss—his first—and hadn’t that changed his life? A boy taking his first step to becoming a man.

“Four.”

Move, his gut piped up. Find out where Ashley’s been all our life.

On the crowd’s roar of “three,” he bolted from the great hall.

At “two” he saw movement in the library at the end of the passage.

“One” sounded in the distance when he breached the doorway. Ashley, who had been standing contemplating the small fire burning in the grate, whirled. The notes of “Auld Lang Syne” drifted into the room, wrapping around them like ribbons, he thought, then instantly shoved away the fancy.

Still, her big eyes and her tense posture drew him forward. Her fingers clutched the lace overlaying her skirt. Chase hauled in a slow breath as he came to a halt before her. “You’re missing midnight,” he said softly as if his voice might spook her.

She smiled a little. “The clock ticks on without me.”

It seemed to come to a standstill to Chase as he stared down at her upturned face, her sooty lashes a perfect frame for her expressive eyes. There was wariness in them.

“Don’t be afraid of me,” he whispered.

Her gaze slid to the side. “Of course not,” she scoffed.

“Or shy.”

Her gaze flicked back to his for a moment. “I’m not.”

Only with him, he thought, and for some reason he liked the idea of that.

The last notes of the song died out. The guests’ voices stopped singing and they went back to chatting. In the background, the pianist continued playing the traditional song, embellishing the original melody. Chase stepped closer to Ashley and cupped her bare shoulders in his hands. “Happy New Year,” he said, and, bending his head, placed his lips on hers.

She tasted like champagne and roses. But it wasn’t that which got him. It was the tremble that racked her frame. Something moved in his belly, lust and another emotion that reached up to clutch his heart like a fist. His tongue touched her bottom lip, and even as she trembled again, she opened her mouth. He took a tender foray inside, not pressing but trying to please instead.

When her hand came up to wrap around his wrist as if she had to hang on for dear life, it was Chase who shuddered. Sweet, he thought. So damn heady and sweet.

Because he was desperate, suddenly, to move closer, he drew back. She stared at him with those big eyes, her mouth still damp from his. That fist around his heart tightened.

His curiosity was not sated, Chase knew. His fascination with her not put to rest. It would take more than a kiss to do that. Much more.

Chase Bradley wanted Ashley Walker in his bed.

CHAPTER THREE

WALKERS WERE NOT COWARDS, Ashley reminded herself, sitting in the back of a limo that was taking her from the florist to her own small house. She’d dropped the van in the parking lot behind the business. Now, once again in her New Year’s Eve dress but sans the stockings, she was headed home to pack a bag for her week at the Bradley estate.

She could do this, she assured herself again, despite that midnight kiss.

Her gaze slid toward the man sprawled on the seat beside hers. “You didn’t need to escort me, you know,” she said.

He’d been looking out the window and now turned his head. “Maybe I was afraid you’d change your mind.”

“We made a deal.”

“Right.” He crossed his legs at the ankle. Today he wore a pair of black boots, black jeans and a cashmere sweater the same gray as his eyes. At least she thought it was cashmere. She’d have to touch it to be positive about that, and she sure as heck wasn’t going to be reaching out and fondling him anytime soon.

Last night she’d squeezed his hard arm as he’d taken her mouth in the softest, yet most carnal kiss she could imagine. Her toes curled just thinking about it, and she quivered.

Chase’s hand went to the climate controls. “Cold? I’ll edge up the heat.”

Exactly what he’d done the night before. Edged up the heat.

But she said nothing as warmer air blew through the vents. “Over there.” She leaned forward to speak to the driver. A driver! “The bungalow with the wreath on the door.”

The man pulled into the rutted driveway alongside her little house. She didn’t have a garage, but the one-bedroom was spacious, and she didn’t cringe too much when Chase followed her inside. Sure, it wasn’t a fancy home like he was used to, but it was hers.

He looked around as he stood in the tiny foyer, taking in the living room that opened to the updated kitchen. “I like this,” he said, and walked toward her fireplace, his gaze trained on the photos sitting on the mantel. None of Stu or of Stu and her. She’d put those away years ago in a fit of self-preservation. These were black-and-whites of the Walker ancestors, posing with shotguns, wearing low-slung hats and the wooden expressions typical of the times.

“They seem nice,” Chase commented, glancing over his shoulder with a small smile.

Even that quick flash of white teeth made her knees soft. She slipped out of her shoes to pad toward her bedroom at the back of the house. “The Walkers came to the mountains a hundred and fifty years ago, traveling up the hill with oxen and wills of iron.”

Behind her bedroom door, she quickly slipped out of her dress and hung it in her closet. In seconds she was in jeans, a sweater and a pair of suede boots. Chase’s mother had taken her themes for the house party from the designated “holidays” of the month. Besides being New Year’s Day, Ashley had been told, January 1 was “Daydreamer’s Day.” Before they’d left the Bradley estate that morning, Chase had led her to a room on the third floor, an immense space she hadn’t been instructed to fill with flowers. Instead, table after table held buckets of plastic bricks, wooden blocks and hundreds of pieces of railroad systems, including houses, trees, people and locomotives. The plan was to encourage the guests to “play” to their heart’s content by creating worlds from their imaginations.

As Ashley gathered clothes and toiletries in stacks on her bed, she smiled at the idea of it. Where one would find all those toys for a temporary period she didn’t know, but she knew she’d enjoy experimenting with them. Wasn’t that what she did with flowers every day? Creating things from the pictures in her head was a delightful way, she’d found, to make a living.

And to escape.

She ventured back to the kitchen and the utility closet there. “I won’t be much longer,” she called to Chase. “Just have to get my suitcase and fill it.”

He strolled into the room, distracting her. How could he look so good? A quarter-inch of the ribbed neckline of a blinding white T-shirt showed at his throat. The sleeves of his sweater were pushed up to expose powerful forearms she didn’t think he’d achieved by merely working a calculator on a daily basis. His attention was on the framed photo in his hand.

She stared at him, noting the bristle of whiskers on his jaw. He hadn’t shaved that morning. If he kissed her now, the small, scratchy hairs would leave a telltale trail of reddened skin in their wake. Then she’d be able to see proof of the meeting of their lips. When she’d been in her assigned bedroom the night before, she’d studied herself in the mirror.

There’d been no overt sign of the first kiss she’d experienced in more than four years. But she’d touched her mouth with her fingertips, aware her lips felt puffy and oversensitized. Thinking of that, it had taken her a long time to fall asleep in the nightshirt that Chase had unearthed from somewhere. His sister’s, he’d said of the utilitarian flannel. Thank goodness it hadn’t been something silky or sheer she’d have to assume was left behind by an old girlfriend.

He looked up now and almost caught her staring. She let her gaze drop to the frame he held and she drifted closer to glance at it. “Uncle Handlebar,” she said. “Aunt Clunky Shoes.”

“Not their real names, I take it,” he said, grinning.

“Mustache,” she said. “Clunky Shoes is obvious.”

“They’re really part of your family?”

“Oh, yeah. We go way back at Blue Arrow Lake. Came early, have scrambled for years to keep our toeholds in the mountains.”

“Something we have in common,” Chase said. “You have a family history in a place. I have a family history in a business.”

“Oh?”

“Bradley Financial was established by my great-grandfather.” He narrowed his eyes as if thinking. “Based on photos I’ve seen, I think we can call him Grandpa Potbelly.”

“A fan of beer?” she guessed.

“No idea. More likely he enjoyed whiskey and cigars. But he definitely had the expansive midsection.”

Ashley couldn’t help but take a quick glance at Chase’s lean hips and flat abs. “You’re not carrying on the family tradition.”

His slow smile appeared gratified. “Not in that particular way, I hope.”

With a quick turn, Ashley directed herself away from him and his ever-so-attractive features. “Did you feel pressure to take that on?” she asked, pulling open the pantry door. “Your position in the company, I mean.”

“No.” She could feel him coming up behind her. “I have a head for numbers. I like the game of finance.”

Frowning, she glanced at him. “Surely it’s not a game. In your business I’d think you have to take it all quite seriously. Be levelheaded at every moment. Ponder all the possibilities before making your decisions.”

“Whatever you say,” he murmured. “Here, let me get that.”

On tiptoe, she was reaching for the suitcase hanging from a heavy utility hook overhead. “No, I can...”

But he was already crowding her farther into the corner closet, his chest brushing her back. As she turned to protest again, he shoved the picture frame into her hand and stretched to lift the piece of luggage down. “Where should I take this?” he asked.

He was so close she could smell his skin, his toothpaste, a hint of laundry detergent. The T-shirt, she figured, because the cashmere sweater was too refined to have any kind of odor at all. With the photograph against her breasts like a shield, she just gaped up at him. The quarters were too close...but deliciously so.

Chase’s eyes heated. “Ashley...”

The note of desire in his voice snapped her out of her trance. “I’ll take it to my room,” she said. “The suitcase.”

“I’ll carry it.” He strode across the kitchen with her following behind. “This way, right?”

“Mmm,” she said, distracted again by the wide pair of shoulders that made the narrow hall that much more constricted. Come to think of it, no man had ever been in the passage leading to her bedroom. She’d had Jackson and Suze and a few others over for dinner sometimes, but no male had gotten so close to her inner sanctum. She’d moved to this house after Stu’s accident. The room Chase just stepped into had always been her private place.

Her retreat.

It would never be the same, she thought with a sudden clutch to her stomach, now that he’d brought his tall and broad presence into her feminine space. Feigning calm, she gestured toward the bed. “You can set it there. Then maybe you can go, um, wait in the living room. I’ll bring it out when I’m done packing.”

His brows came together. “I’ll wait here. Take it for you once you’re finished.”

No one had ever carried her luggage for her, she realized. Well, maybe her dad when she was a little girl. But Stu hadn’t. He’d considered her perfectly capable of carting things around, whether it was when she was hauling in groceries or lugging her snowboarding gear about. “I’m not a weakling,” she told Chase now, thinking of how he’d grabbed the flower arrangement from her yesterday afternoon.

“It’s not a question of muscles, Xena.”

She shook her head at the reference to the warrior princess.

“I don’t mind doing things for you,” he continued. “I like doing things for you.”

What to say to that? Ashley didn’t try to come up with anything. Instead, she wished she hadn’t spent the past four years home alone nearly every night. If she’d gone on a date or two, maybe she’d be able to handle Chase’s smoothness, his charm, his sophistication with a bit more aplomb. As it was, he just bowled her over in every way.

Or maybe no experience could provide her with the skills to manage the way this man made her feel.

“Ashley,” he said now, his voice quiet. “Will you look at me?”

See? Even now he overcame her reluctance. Though she didn’t want to, she found herself turning to face him. “What?”

“You don’t have to come back to the estate,” he said. “If you don’t want to go through with our deal, I won’t hold it against you.”

But it would go against her resolution! She couldn’t say no to the first thing that came along during her year of yes, right? Walkers weren’t cowards. “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m fine. I’m not afraid or anything. A deal’s a deal. Walkers don’t renege.”

Her face heated. She was babbling, right? He had to realize she was babbling.

His eyes were doing that binocular/dual microscope thing again, giving her the feeling he was watching every doubt flash through her brain, every desire cross her heart. “Ashley?” he said, his voice so soft it was almost tender. “Should we talk about last night’s kiss?”

She jolted, the backs of her knees hitting the end of the bed. “Oh, no. Not necessary. Not at all. New Year’s. Just a midnight kiss.” Then she whirled to toss her clothes into the case.

Her palms were sweating and her heart was hammering, as they used to do when she was poised at the top of a black diamond run. It was then Ashley realized that though the Walkers might be brave, it didn’t mitigate the bad feeling she had that all the courage in the world wouldn’t keep her free from danger.

* * *

CHASE DESCENDED ON the breakfast buffet the next morning in a cheerful mood. His guests had enjoyed themselves the day before, settling in and then venturing to the third floor to check out the goings-on in the playroom. Even the most reserved of them had ended up devising elaborate communities from the bricks, blocks and railroad parts. A contemporary of his father’s, Declan Hart, had talked another man into a joint development, and Chase couldn’t help but laugh when they decided to charge a fee to anyone wanting access to the amusement park they’d built.

The fourteen dollars that had been collected was promised to charity, but Chase wouldn’t be surprised if Declan didn’t consider his pocket a legitimate 501(c)(3).

Ashley had seemed to have a good time, too. She’d constructed a fantastical skyscraper upon which butterflies built of plastic blocks had decided to roost. It reminded him of her flower arrangements: colorful, eye-pleasing and worth a second look.

As was she, of course. He hadn’t dropped his intention of getting her into bed.

But yesterday he’d left her mostly alone, allowing her a chance to catch her breath. He’d known she was nervous after their New Year’s kiss, so his strategy was to back off. Just a little.

His conscience wasn’t bothered in the least by making this play. At her house, he’d given her ample opportunity to back out of the hostess deal. She could even have lied and expressed distaste of his kiss. He wouldn’t have pushed any further then.

But he remembered her taste and her trembling body at midnight. And he’d watched her pack her bag and come with him anyway. This attraction wasn’t one-sided.

As if to underscore that fact, when he entered the dining room, his gaze went directly to her, standing by the sideboard. Her eyes hit his, too, and he saw her twitch at the same time that becoming color flushed her face. She was dressed in tight dark jeans and brown boots. A long, oatmeal-colored thin-knit sweater covered her torso, but when she turned back to continue filling her plate, he saw that the loose garment buttoned up the back. It was half sliding off one shoulder, revealing more creamy skin and parts of a skinny-strapped tank top.

“Good morning,” he said, strolling up to her side. As yet, they were the only two in the room.

“Morning.” She kept her head down as she scooped up Mrs. Erwin’s famous egg-and-potato scramble.

“Again, great job last night. Thanks for getting the washer and dryer going when Lynn wanted to take care of that spill on her corduroys.”

“No problem.” As she sidestepped to get to the next chafing tray, the ends of her hair swept across her shoulder blades and he wondered what they would feel like tickling his naked chest.

Then he wished he hadn’t wondered, because the idea of nakedness and him and her was leading to other thoughts. Before breakfast. When they were in the dining room and both fully clothed.

Damn, but she got to him.

He cleared his throat. “Still, I didn’t expect you to take on laundress duties.”

She peeked at him through her thick lashes. Her eyes were still that winter-water blue. “No problem.”

“So accommodating,” he murmured, and smiled at her with a wiggle of his brows.

A dimple poked a little dent in her cheek. Triumph! he thought. His small foray into flirtation didn’t immediately turn her shy.

“What’s the agenda for today?” she asked.

He followed her to the table, where he placed his plate beside hers. Then he reached for the nearby carafe and poured her a cup of coffee. “Did you know it’s National Science Fiction Day?”

There was that dimple again. “I had no idea.”

Seated, she unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap. He liked how she moved, precise and controlled. The man in him wanted to destroy that precision, wreak havoc on that control. If he brushed aside her hair and nuzzled her neck, would she drop her fork? Would he taste the heat on her skin?

“...Chase?”

Taking the chair beside hers, he forced his mind away from fantasy. Take it easy, Bradley. You’ve got hours before you can get her alone to do what you’ve been dreaming of. “Sorry. Say again?”

“What are we doing on National Science Fiction Day?”

Lifting his coffee, he blew across the top, hoping it would cool him down some, too. “Not that much, really. The library has been raided for all the Ray Bradburys and Ursula K. Le Guins, etcetera. They’re upstairs, along with an easel and an oversize pad of paper. For those to whom inspiration strikes, we’re to try our own fiction story, one sentence at a time.”

“How?” She frowned, putting a crease between her brows.

He rubbed at the little line with his forefinger, and a jolt transferred from her flesh to his and back again. When she gasped, he just said, “Yeah,” and dropped his hand.

“Chase...”

His steady gaze met her anxious one. “Yeah,” he repeated with a little more force. “I felt it, too.”

When she shifted her glance to her plate, he continued on as if the moment hadn’t happened. “To answer your question,” he said, “one person writes a sentence, then a second person picks up the pen. I think there’s a rule that there must be three additional sentences before the first author can write another, but I’m not going to count.”

Because I’ll be too busy counting the minutes until bedtime, when I intend to escort you to my room where we’ll take care of all this wanting and wondering.

“I’m not sure how good I’ll be at that,” Ashley said.

He shrugged. “Critiquing is outlawed.” Leaning close, he put his mouth an inch from her ear and breathed in the cool, sweet fragrance of crushed roses. “And for the record, I think you’ll be very good. As a matter of fact, I’d bet on it.”

She froze, and then her chin lifted. “You’re very practiced at that,” she said, her little smile communicating she wasn’t taking him seriously.

“I—” But he was forced to break off before his denial could be fully uttered as a handful of couples wandered into the room, calling out greetings.

Ashley moved into hostess mode, and the moment was lost. People began peppering her with questions about the nearby ski areas.

“I’m guessing most everyone will hit the snow today,” he said.

“Arch and I are going snowboarding for sure,” June put in. “What about you, Chase?”

Drawing his friends’ cups closer, he poured them coffee. “Not this time. I’ll stick around and entertain anyone who stays at the house.”

June turned her attention to Ashley. “How about you?”

She shook her head. “I don’t.”

“Don’t?”

“Hit the snow.”

June’s brows rose over her pretty brown eyes. “I would think everyone who lives in the mountains skis or boards.”

“Nope.” Ashley’s lips curved, but it wasn’t a smile.

What it was, Chase thought, was weird. But before he could give it further thought, more guests arrived, and he was drawn into other conversations. A few hours later, he’d sent the bulk of the visitors off with gear or with directions of where to rent gear, and the house had quieted. He found Declan and his wife, Miriam, playing cards in the library. Another older couple was perusing the books arranged on the tables upstairs in honor of National Science Fiction Day.

It didn’t appear he was needed.

Maybe now he could get to work on his own agenda: Ashley in his bed.

No daytime nookie—he still had enough hold on himself to wait until the cover of darkness—but he could seek her out. Soften her up a little.

Tease her in preparation for the night to come.

But she’d disappeared. It wasn’t until afternoon, when the first of the guests returned to the house, that she made her way down the stairs and went about offering up the hot tea, coffee and cookies that Mrs. Erwin had prepared for a snack.

Delicious smells of dinner cooking were drifting from the kitchen, and Chase and the bartender were setting out glassware in the great hall when the house’s landline rang. He strolled toward the phone in the library. Ashley was closer, and he nodded to her when she glanced his way.

“Bradley residence,” she said into the receiver. Then she grabbed the back of her desk chair as her face drained of color.

Alarmed, Chase rushed forward. “What—”

She held the phone his way. “The ski patrol. Asking for you.”

He continued to watch her with concern as he took the call. The information imparted relieved him somewhat, but he remained puzzled by Ashley’s wan face as he set the receiver back in its cradle. “Are you all right?” he asked, placing his hand on her stiff shoulder.

“What’s happened?” she asked, her voice low.

“David Albright,” he answered, naming one of the guests. “He fell, and in doing so sprained an ankle and busted his cell phone.”

“He’s okay other than that?” She searched his face with anxious eyes. “You’re sure?”

“He’ll be fine. I’m going to the ski resort in the limo and I’ll settle him into the rear seat. Then I’ll take the wheel of his car and drive it here. Can you handle drinks and hors d’oeuvres until I get back?”

“Sure.” She released her death grip on the chair and managed a weak smile. “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

But he did, both going to and returning from the Mountain Magic Resort. At the Bradley house, David managed to get himself into the great hall just fine on a pair of crutches. As a matter of fact, he looked better than Ashley, who still appeared shaken. She soldiered on through dinner, though, only to disappear on Chase again.

Carrying a snifter of brandy in each hand, he searched the house for her as most of the guests tromped up the stairs toward the playroom in order to try their hand at science fiction. Chase was interested in storytelling, too—but Ashley’s story...the one that had caused her distress.

Maybe he should question this protective side she brought out in him. But instead, he wanted to question her.

It took him several minutes to discover her hideout. As a matter of fact, he’d walked past the half-lit kitchen three times, presuming it was empty because Mrs. Erwin and her staff had left an hour before. But finally he found Ashley, seated at a banquette in one corner of the large kitchen, tucked behind the table and sitting in near-dark.

“There you are,” he said, keeping his voice soft so as not to startle her.

She started anyway, and then glanced over. “Did you need something—”

“Only to find you,” he said, and realized it was true. Skirting the table, he seated himself on the cushioned bench beside her. Not touching, but close enough to settle his unease a little. “I was concerned.”

“About me?”

He took a sip of one brandy and placed the other snifter in front of her. “Why do you sound so surprised? You’ve seemed...off since this afternoon.”

“I didn’t think anyone would notice.”

“I don’t think ‘anyone’ did. Just me.” Another truth. From the moment he’d seen Ashley, he’d been attracted. But upon talking to her, he’d somehow...found her wavelength. Or she operated on the same as his. Chase didn’t know. He’d never experienced this with any other woman, this heady rush of recognition.

He recalled a night out with Arch, very soon after he’d met June. The other man had been drinking heavily, and Chase had come to understand it was because he’d been so knocked on his butt by the brown-eyed woman whom he’d been introduced to at the wedding of mutual friends.

We just...worked from the first moment, Arch had said, as if he could hardly believe it. Our edges line up. She fits with me like a baseball in that old glove of mine.

At the time, his friend and his baseball analogy had amused Chase. He wasn’t laughing anymore.

Slightly unnerved, he focused on Ashley once again, nudging the brandy toward her. “Have a drink of this.”

Maybe she was getting sick, he thought, and lifted his hand to press the back of his fingers against her cheek.

She drew away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking if you have a fever.” Good God, he wasn’t going to admit it was the same move his mother had made when he was a kid. What was it about Ashley that made him want to care for her so? He looked about the room. “Are you cold? Should I get you a blanket?”

“I’m fine.”

“You hardly ate any dinner.” Now he really did sound like his mother. But the thought didn’t stifle his concern. “Ever since that call...” His voice petered out as he realized there was his answer. Since the ski patrol had phoned, she hadn’t been the same. “What’s going on, Ashley?”

She shook her head.

He struggled against his impatience. “Okay. Let’s start over.” Whatever was wrong, he’d fix. “Are you sick?” Whatever it took, he’d make her well.

She shook her head again.

“No? You’re not sick?” He might have growled. “Ashley, talk to me. Your silence is making me nuts.”

“I’m not sick,” she said, looking down at the snifter she was cradling in her hands. Lifting it, she took a sip, then set it down as she shifted her gaze to his. “What I am...is a widow.”

“A widow,” he repeated. A widow? How could someone so young have been married and then...not?

“It happened four years ago last month.”

“I’m—” no, he was never speechless “—so sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I’ve had time to get used to it.”

“But something about today...”

He saw her fingers tighten on the snifter. “We only had a season together.” She glanced up at him again. “We have those here, you know, not like in other parts of Southern California. We have four true seasons. Stu and I had an autumn of married life.”

“His name was Stu.” Maybe Chase should tell her he didn’t want to hear any more, but of course he did.

“Stuart Phillips. Mountain kid, like me.”

“You loved him.”

“Of course,” she said, lifting her hand. “My first and only love.”

Those words felt like five separate stabs. And he asked for more pain when he questioned her again. “What happened?”

“He was an avid snowboarder. That year...it wasn’t like this one, when snow came early. The white stuff didn’t come down for the first time until mid-December. We were both excited to get on the slopes. Stu couldn’t wait.”

Ah. “You used to go with him? Snowboard?”

“Yes, though not that last time. The conditions weren’t good and I was willing to postpone gratification until another day.”

“But not Stu.”

She smiled a little. A sad smile. “Stu was not about postponing gratification.”

“What was he about?”

“Flash. Fun. Speed.” She sipped from the brandy again. “Everyone loved him.”

Chase decided not to tell her that he didn’t because it was ridiculous to feel like this—jealous, he could admit only to himself—about a dead man. “You like the reckless type.”

“Not anymore. I’ve learned my lesson.” She sighed.

Tossing back the rest of his brandy, Chase decided he had to know everything. “So what happened?”

“He was racing with a friend. Those two were always egging each other on.” Her finger traced the rim of the snifter, going around and around and around. “It was nearing dark and they should have headed back much earlier. They took a short cut... He hit a rock and ended up slamming into a tree. The impact caused a massive head injury.”

“He wasn’t wearing a helmet?”

“As you said, reckless.” She addressed the brandy instead of Chase. “Today, when I took that call...I was reminded of when the ski patrol phoned me.”

Chase couldn’t stand the inches of distance between them. Reaching out, he drew her close. She went stiff for a moment before relaxing against him, her cheek to his chest. Her warmth and her willingness did little to assuage the ache in his heart. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “And I’m sorry you took that call today.”

Her arms came around him, their light weight propped on his shoulders. She lifted her chin. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I—”

His mouth came down on hers, stifling anything else she might have said. Chase told himself it was a kiss of comfort, like the hug, but that was only so much baloney. Not when he traced his tongue over the seam of her lips. Not when his heart exulted when she opened for him. The taste of brandy combined with the light scent of roses evaporated his good sense. He hauled her closer, into his lap, as his mouth ate at hers.

Greedy. He was greedy for her.

She made a noise deep in her throat. A moan? He cupped her cheek in one palm to change the angle of her head. His thumb brushed over her soft, heated skin and he felt wetness. No. God, no.

Breaking the kiss, he stared at her. There were tears on her face. As he watched, another rolled over the rim of her eye, caught for a moment in her bottom lashes, then trailed toward her chin.

Oh, God, he thought again, as knowledge hit him like a snowplow knocking over a mailbox. As much as he might want her well, it wasn’t in his power, was it?

Although she wasn’t “sick,” she was definitely hurt. And how could he possibly fix that? Chase was helpless when it came to healing Ashley’s heart.

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