The Camden Cowboy. Victoria Pade

fact, she thought it was probably very nice. And maybe her excitement was over getting to see her new place of residence, she told herself. Not over getting to see Seth Camden again.

      Lacey went halfway around the fountain and parked directly in front of the house, turning off her engine. She left her suitcases and the rest of her belongings in her car and went up to the front door.

      A lengthy moment passed after she rang the doorbell and she checked the time on her cell phone. She’d fully intended to get here earlier, but work had kept her away. She hoped she wasn’t so late that Seth had given up on her getting there at all and gone to bed.

       Seth Camden in bed …

      Why was she suddenly wondering what he slept in?

      Then the front door opened and there he was, looking nothing at all like the Lord of the Manor.

      He might not have been in a silk smoking jacket—in fact, he was wearing jeans and a simple white polo shirt—but the shirt showed hints of his muscular chest, and the short sleeves were tight around his mouthwatering biceps. The man still looked good. Really, really good …

      “I was beginning to wonder if you changed your mind about this,” he said in greeting.

      “No, I’m sorry I didn’t get here earlier and I’m so glad you’re up—I was afraid you might have gone to sleep,” she answered.

      “Oh, I was betting that evening to you was going to be later rather than earlier, so I was just waiting.”

      Why was he betting that? And why did he sound as if the worst had been confirmed?

      “I got held up in meetings and then still had a dozen things that needed to be done before I could get back to Hutch’s place to load my things, and I lost track of time. When I realized how late it had gotten I thought about calling, but I didn’t have a number to reach you and it seemed like I’d just be wasting more time to try to find one. But I am sorry,” she repeated.

      “No big deal. Like I said, it’s what I expected. I was just doing some paperwork myself.”

      “Paperwork? Did you want me to sign a lease? And we didn’t talk about a damage deposit,” Lacey said, just in case the paperwork he’d been doing had something to do with her using his guesthouse.

      That put a curious frown on his brow, and from there Lacey’s gaze went to his hair. No hat-hair tonight, either. The deep, dark, rich brown locks were neat and clean. There was a casualness to the style, as if all it needed in the way of combing was for him to drag his fingers through it.

      Sexy. It was very sexy-looking.

      And Lacey reprimanded herself for that thought.

      “I honestly wish you’d just be my guest and forget the whole renting thing,” Seth Camden said.

      What might she owe a Camden if she didn’t pay rent—that was what worried her.

      “No, I insist. I did some research on what it would cost to rent a small house in town and came up with an amount—tell me if you don’t think it’s enough …” Lacey took a check she’d already written out of the pocket of her slacks.

      Shaking his head to convey his disapproval, Seth nevertheless took the check, gave it a cursory glance and said, “Fine,” before he jammed it into his own jean pocket as if it were scrap paper. “And no, I don’t want a lease or a damage deposit.”

      He gave a slight roll of those amazing blue eyes of his before he added, “Let’s go through here—the guesthouse is out back. I’ll show it to you and then we’ll take your car around.”

      “Okay,” Lacey agreed.

      Seth stepped out of the doorway and motioned for her to come in. He was freshly shaven and smelled of a cologne that was reminiscent of the outdoors itself—woodsy and clear and crisp and clean. Lacey liked it so much she took a small, subtle deep breath as she crossed in front of him.

      And then she was inside of the Camden house.

      Wow! was her first thought as she went into the entryway. Lacey’s father had money, and all the Kincaids lived very well. But it was nothing compared to this.

      The place was as astonishing inside as it was outside. The entry was the size of a small house and reached up past the second floor to an enormous domed skylight that was like the ceiling of a planetarium, except that the stars glimmering beyond it were real.

      Lacey glanced around in awe at this country mansion. Elegance and grandeur literally surrounded her in an opulent staircase that curved from one side of the entry all the way up to the second floor and swept around to the front again in the balustrade that bordered the staircase and the entire upper level.

      From where she stood, Lacey could see a formal living room to the right, and a formal dining room beyond that. Straight ahead was a wide hallway with openings to the left and what she guessed was the kitchen at the opposite end.

      “This place is … Wow,” she said, at a loss for words. “You could probably put all of Northbridge in here.”

      “It’s a little much for me. My great-grandfather had it built to show off. He grew up in Northbridge, got his start here. He wanted the people to know how well he’d done. I think it was an in-your-face kind of thing. I’m the only one here most of the time and I only use a handful of rooms on this floor, so the rest is just a waste unless the whole family comes out for some reason.”

      He didn’t offer to show her any more of the place. Instead he pivoted on the heels of his cowboy boots and led her down the hallway. “I’ve actually considered moving out to the guesthouse myself, but my office would have to stay here so I just do, too.”

      Lacey stole glances into areas they passed along the way. There was a recreation room, a media room, and what she assumed was the office Seth Camden mentioned because an enormous desk was the centerpiece among shelves, file cabinets, three computer stations and various other office equipment.

      “This is the kitchen,” he announced, as they went into the restaurant-sized space that was well-appointed enough to excite a professional chef. But it also had a homey feel to it in the oak pedestal table and chairs that occupied an alcove, and in the six bar stools that lined the granite counter topping the U-shaped island in the center of the room.

      The entire rear wall of the kitchen consisted of a series of French doors. Seth led Lacey through one of these to the outside onto a wide, covered terrace, which stood two steps above a tiled patio that was framed by lavish gardens and more tall trees.

      In the far, far distance Lacey saw the three barns she’d discovered the previous day when she’d been looking for him, and an eight-bay garage. But closer in, just at the edge of the patio, was a swimming pool and a pool house. On the side of the pool was a small structure nestled in one of the stands of trees. It was single-storied and built of the same stone and in the same style as the main house, with identical windows and shutters.

      “Your home away from home,” he told Lacey, crossing the terrace and leading her down the steps onto the patio.

      “It’s so cute,” Lacey said spontaneously, as she followed him around the pool to the little bungalow.

      Seth opened the guesthouse door for her and flipped a switch to turn on the lights inside but waited for her to go in ahead of him.

      Lacey did, entering a large, open space. A third of that space was taken up by a kitchenette complete with appliances and a round table with two chairs. The other two-thirds of the space accommodated the living room where a sofa, an easy chair, a coffee table, matching end tables and lamps faced a fireplace and an entertainment center.

      “Those French doors open onto a little private patio in back,” he informed her, raising his chin at the paned glass doors directly across from the front door. “The fridge has some staples in it that are yours for the using. There’s coffee and tea and cereal in the pantry. The key to the lock is on