New Year's Resolution: Romance!: Say Yes / No More Bad Girls / Just a Fling

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 (#ulink_8b36a5aa-69a0-5aa6-871b-189f98b16daf)

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.”