THE NEXT NIGHT, ASHLEY headed toward the dining room, pleased with how well her plans regarding a certain houseguest were going. She’d managed to avoid him the remainder of the night before and hadn’t encountered him once today. She’d found that taking note of an odd prickling at the base of her neck allowed her to leave a room bare moments before Mac entered it. That and keeping an ear out for the odd way he tended to whistle softly through his teeth as he made his way through the halls kept her one step ahead of him and let her know which knocks on the door to her rooms to ignore.
Having spent the majority of the night before overloading on cinematic stud-muffins, she felt she was suitably immune to Mac’s animal magnetism and could dine with him tonight. Thankfully her grandmother would be there as a buffer.
Stopping right before she reached the open double doors to the dining room, she smoothed the front of her pink satin, sleeveless shell and checked the fall of the matching chiffon palazzo pants. She stopped herself and let out a disgusted sigh. She did not care what Mac Wild thought of the way she looked, so there was no point in fussing. She didn’t even know for sure if he’d be eating with them. She’d had a plate sent up to his room the night before, and he might prefer to dine that way again.
Determined to put an end to her foolishness once and for all, Ashley stepped into the doorway of the dining room muttering The Three P’s. She forced herself not to pause for more than the barest of seconds at the sight of Mac. He stood facing her on the other side of the long table that ran parallel to the doors, his big, tanned hands resting casually on the back of one of the Chippendale side chairs. His hair looked as if he’d finger combed it back from his face, which added to the casual, and disturbingly appealing, style set by his white cotton shirt, the long sleeves of which he’d shoved up on his muscular forearms.
Reminding herself that she’d effectively squashed any and all physical effect he had on her, she stopped on the opposite side of the table and smiled genuinely. “Good evening, Mac.”
His brows went up. Then his gaze traveled over her. “Whoa, look at you. Going out to some charity function?”
“No. I—” Dressed up to impress you. She struggled not to frown at the impertinent voice in her head. She had not dressed to impress him. “I prefer to adhere to tradition and dress for dinner.” She inwardly cringed. Her reasoning sounded lame even to her own ears, but she refused to admit that she had tried to look her best for this, this guy.
“Boy, did I miss that memo. Though I can’t say that I’m surprised.” He glanced down at himself. “I hope zip-off pants won’t get me tossed out on my ear. Like I told Harrison, I kind of packed light for this trip.”
She thought of the surprise she had for him and a spurt of satisfaction pushed aside the fear that she had craved his admiration. “I believe I can help you with that. But first, please, do sit down.”
“Ladies first.” He pulled out the chair in front of him. “The little name thingys really help a guy out when there are so many chairs.”
He had indeed pulled out the chair at the place setting bearing her name placard. His sarcasm was unmistakable. What had possessed her to have Donavon lay out a formal table?
Raising her chin as if everything was as it should be, Ashley rounded the table and took her seat. She was careful not to look at Mac, keeping her focus on the fine bone china set atop a brass charger in front of her. But she could do nothing about the goose pimples that erupted on every inch of her when he bent low, his breath minty smelling and warm on her neck, to push her chair forward.
He had to be doing it on purpose. He just had to be. There was no way a man like him didn’t know exactly how he affected women.
The thought gave her the bravado she needed to look over her shoulder and give him a raised brow.
Obviously getting her step back, please message loud and clear, he straightened away, though his smile was smug.
He made a grand show of perusing the remaining placards, which was silly since there were only two others. His had been set directly across from her, with her grandmother at her side.
He went around to his place, but eyed the one next to her. “Hmm. Well, I guess this is okay. Though I have to admit, the thought of rubbing elbows—among other things—with you does appeal. I’m a lefty, you know.”
Ashley swallowed as delicately as possible, unable to pull her gaze from his. “No, I didn’t, actually. But now that I do, I’ll be sure to seat you at the end next time.” She pointed to the distant end of the table, her smile masterfully sweet.
He raised a brow of his own, and she knew he realized she meant far away from me. Any retort he might have made was withheld when Donavon, in his standard white dress shirt and black slacks, came in through the butler’s pantry from the kitchen carrying appetizer plates of arugula and shrimp. Thank goodness he hadn’t dressed more formally. Then their guest would have reason to think she had a need to impress him.
She much preferred being in control of the situation with Mac, and smiled broadly at Donavon when he set their plates in front of them. “Donavon, since Grandmother appears to be running late—” darn her anyway “—would you please bring me the package that arrived this afternoon?”
“Of course,” Donavon replied.
She watched the tall, slender man who’d been their houseman for as long as she could remember, yet never seemed to change, leave the room before she looked back at Mac. The expression on his face oozed suspicion. What did he have to be suspicious of?
Before she had a chance to consider the question, Donavon returned with the large, rectangle box. She’d already inspected its contents when it arrived via overnight delivery service and made sure nothing was missing or could garner complaint from its recipient.
She stood, bringing Mac out of his seat, and accepted the box from Donavon so he could get back to helping Marie in the kitchen. She rounded the table to Mac’s side and set the box on his chair, her heart pounding with excitement over giving him a gift. No, she was excited about fulfilling her brother’s wishes, that was all.
She avoided Mac’s gaze nonetheless. “Now, before he left, my brother expressed his desire to have you attend what will be a very special event for our family, Nathan’s christening. With the goal of fulfilling my brother’s wishes in mind, I ordered you a suit from the tailor we use exclusively.” She lifted the darkbrown, summer-weight wool suit jacket from the box and held it up to him. “Granted, it’s off the rack, but it’s from an excellent designer and I think the tailor was able to alter it to fit you based on my estimates of your measurements.”
Mac looked from the jacket to her. “My measurements? As in my inseam?” He took a step forward until her knuckles were touching his hard chest as she held the jacket up for him, his topaz eyes lit with sensual mischief. “Tell me, Miss Ashley, exactly when did you take an estimate of my inseam?”
Ashley’s face caught fire with the knowledge that she had indeed looked enough at his body to feel quite comfortable guessing at his measurements. She became extremely aware of the heat seeping up her arms from where her knuckles touched his chest.
She stammered, “I…you…you’re similar in height and build to my brother, and having ordered clothing made for him on more than one occasion…I…well, it’s just something I’m good at.”
“Ah. But next time, promise me you’ll take the measurements the old-fashioned way. One inch at a time.”
The image of running a measuring tape up the inside of Mac’s naked leg flashed vividly in Ashley’s brain. She draped the jacket across his broad chest and took a desperate step back. So much for taking control of the situation.
Mac grabbed the jacket to keep it from falling to the ground, his initial annoyance at her pulling an end run