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
