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.
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