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