Bachelor CEO. Michele Dunaway

      “THIS IS BEAUTIFUL,” Miranda breathed as they stepped into the great room. “I love it.”

      She’d seen pictures of fancy homes in upscale magazines. But they’d always looked cold and sterile. This was far less pretentious. It had a rustic, aged feel, like a timeless classic from a bygone era where life had been simpler.

      The place was designed to be lived in. The hardwood floors showed wear from years of use. This was a family home, not an ostentatious attempt at showing off how much money the McDaniel family had. The room was friendly and inviting.

      “So what do you think?” he asked.

      She walked to the nine-foot-high, floor-to-ceiling windows at the front, and gazed out across the water. She’d grown up in an apartment building where large families were crammed into small units, and the next building was only a sidewalk width away. This room, with a ceiling that soared from nine to twenty-five feet high, was massive.

      “It’s lovely,” she said.

      He seemed pleased by her compliment. “Not too outdated?” he pressed.

      She shook her head. “How can you even ask that? I think it’s perfect.” She gestured at the mission chairs placed strategically for the best lake view. “I could sit there for hours.”

      “I often do. When I was younger I remember my parents loving these chairs. I’d wake up, run downstairs and find them sitting here.”

      “It must be nice to have memories like that.”

      They stood near each other and watched a small sailboat cross the water. The lake wasn’t deep enough to handle cabin cruisers and it wasn’t long enough to attract huge Scarab-type boats. Because of that Lone Pine Lake catered to the pontoon boat and smaller runabout crowd, making it perfect for families. Below, a few of the older kids played on the paddleboats and a few kayaked. A canoe waited, overturned on the bank. The place screamed home.

      “You’re very lucky to have grown up here,” she told him, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat.

      Chase arched an eyebrow. “Even though there’s no swimming pool in the backyard?”

      She frowned. “Why would you need one when you have a lake?”

      He shrugged. “An ex-girlfriend thought we should have a pool. Needless to say, she never visited. Seemed she wouldn’t swim in anything that has fish poop.”

      Miranda made a disgusted face. “That’s silly. I love going to the beach, and there are great ones as close as Lake Michigan.”

      “So you’re not one of those girls afraid of getting your hair wet?”

      She resisted the urge to tuck her short hair behind her ear, a nervous habit. “No. What good is the outdoors if you don’t fully enjoy it? If you’re dating people like that, no wonder you’re all messed up.”

      “Me? Messed up?” He cupped her elbow, guided her down the hallway and gave her a peek at both the master suite and Leroy’s office before showing her the other first-floor bedroom suite, where Chris, his wife and children stayed. “You didn’t answer me. So I’m a disaster?”

      “Yes. Of sorts.” Better to be on the offensive. Anything to keep him from knowing the effect his light touch was having.

      He led her back into the great room and then up the staircase to the second floor. “I’m injured.”

      She knew he was poking fun, and played along. “Don’t be. Perhaps you should simply date better women.”

      “Such as you? You turned down my offer of lunch.”

      She ignored the bait. “Yes, because I’m not like the lingerie model wannabes I’ve seen you with.”

      His brows lifted. “I looked you up on Google,” she admitted, “images and all. I wasn’t too impressed. The media called you Iowa’s heartthrob.”

      He covered his heart with the palm of his hand. “Ouch. You wound me further. That was years ago.”

      “Sure. You know, they call those kind of girls plastic for a reason. They look good, but that’s about it.”

      “Maybe you’re right.” Chase leaned against the wall, and the hallway seemed to shrink. He was a big, sexy man. “That must be the reason I can’t find true love. I’m dating the wrong kind of woman.” His eyes dropped to her mouth.

      “Could have something to do with it,” she replied, her breath catching in her throat.

      He edged nearer. “So what type of woman would fit me? You looked me up on Google. You saw all my past mistakes, my bad boy reputation. What do you think?”

      He’d put her on the spot, but Miranda hadn’t gotten this far without being able to think on her feet, despite her brain short-circuiting from his nearness. She stepped back. “If a woman’s got any sense at all she’ll know to steer clear of you.”

      “I’m really a great guy.” He winked before continuing down the hallway.

      He showed her his sisters’ old bedrooms and then pushed the door to his open. Though the rooms on the first floor were larger, his wasn’t shabby. It easily fit a queen-size bed, a dresser, a desk and a sitting area that overlooked the lake.

      “Nice,” Miranda said, hovering in the doorway while Chase went to look out the window.

      He glanced over his shoulder and held out his hand. “I’m not going to throw you onto my bed and have my way with you. Come on. It’s safe to step inside. This isn’t a den of sin.”

      “I know that,” she snapped, feeling slightly foolish.

      What was the big deal? It was just a bedroom. His stuff was in the drawers. A wet towel hung in the bathroom. A dirty pair of white socks lay on the floor by some running shoes. A pair of plaid pajama bottoms peeked out from under the rumpled red comforter.

      As much as she might want to step into the room, it was just too personal. Chase’s magnetism overwhelmed her. He made a tsking noise, as if disappointed she wouldn’t take a risk.

      Chemistry was a—She cut off the mental expletive. Men like Chase should be outlawed. Their mere presence was lethal.

      “You’re missing a great view of the lake,” he cajoled.

      “I know.” She shook her head and opted for safety, and a few minutes later they were back downstairs.

      Chase opened the front door, led her down some steps and out onto the front lawn. “We’ll tour the boathouse and then head back to the party.”

      “Okay,” she said, following him along a narrow stone path down a gently sloping hill. The boathouse wasn’t actually over the water. Instead, the cedar frame building sat back about ten feet from the edge of the lake. They entered through the side door. “Wow,” she breathed.

      She’d expected a square room filled with life preservers and oars. The room contained those, but everything was neatly organized in cubbies. Rather than being the storage shed she’d expected, the boathouse functioned almost like a den. There was a bar and stools. A few tables. A dartboard, a foosball game, a billiard table and a small television set.

      “This is where we used to hang out all the time.” Chase made a sweeping gesture. “This was teen central.”

      “I noticed there didn’t seem to be any video games or TVs up in the lodge.”

      “Never have been. The lodge is a place to get away from the world. The boathouse is a place to play and have fun. Imagine four kids plus all their friends. It got wild. We would move up here with our grandma the moment school let out, and friends would come and go all summer.”

      “What about