Slow Burn

by Ednah Walters

  Her eyes narrowed. “Of course, I do. But first, I’d like to know what you’d want in return.”

  He touched his chest. “A selfless offer and you think I have an ulterior motive?”

  “Don’t you?” she challenged.

  A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “Of course.”

  How predictable. She hated predictable men. “Okay, out with it.”

  He leaned forward, his movements languid and graceful, like a timber wolf on the prowl.

  Ashley swallowed. “Tell me what you want, Ronald Noble.”

  “The satisfaction of knowing I’ve helped a friend.”

  What kind of a half-baked answer was that? What about his investigation? Ashley studied his expression. He was plotting something. It was a good thing she had no intention of asking him for help. She’d rather take her chances with his mother. Still, it never hurt to have all her bases covered.

  “A friend, huh?” she said slowly.

  He leaned back and gave her a slow perusal. “Haven’t you ever had a male friend before?”

  Ashley laughed. “I did. A long time ago. His name was Silas Hendricks. He broke my heart.”

  Ron scowled. “You must have cared about him.”

  “I adored him. It was the first time my parents put roots anywhere long enough for me to make friends. When he caught chicken pox, I swore to never touch chicken again, and it was my favorite dish.”

  Ron’s expression grew suspicious. “Exactly how old were you when you and Silas were friends?”

  “Four.”

  He chuckled, cobalt blue eyes flashing. Laughter softened the chiseled planes of his face. She grinned back at him. “He was five, dumped me when he started kindergarten. Said he was a big boy and couldn’t hang out with a preschooler.”

  “So how long has it been since Silas?”

  “Twenty-one years.”

  “Well, I most certainly won’t give you chicken pox. And I promise not to break your heart.” Before she could comment on his outrageous statement, his gaze shifted to something behind her. “Excuse me.” He uncrossed his legs and stood.

  Ashley followed his gaze to find Connie Wilkins standing behind her.

  “Pardon the interruption, Ms. Fitzgerald,” the woman said. “Just want to borrow Ron for a few seconds.”

  “Excuse us, Ashley,” Ron said again, following the woman out of the room.

  Left on her own, Ashley studied her surroundings. Glamorous green velvet damask on the over-stuffed sofa, a tuft ottoman and the subtle, neutral wool upholstery used on three comfortable armchairs complemented the green and gold silk draperies. An eighteenth century English writing desk occupied a wall, right below a carved giltwood mirror. Combined with Persian rugs on parquet floor and strategically placed collectibles, the effect was an understated elegance that was pleasant and comfortable.

  Then she heard Nina Noble say, “Did I hear you promise Carlyle House to that girl? I’d rather give it to Doyle for a pittance than have her set foot in it.”

  Ashley’s breath caught. If the older woman had no intention of selling her the house, why had she asked for a meeting?

  ***

  Ron scowled and reached for his mother’s arm. “Come with me, please.” She refused to budge, her gaze fixed on the entrance to the living room. “Mother.”

  “Don’t mother me in that patronizing tone, Ronald.” She allowed him to lead her away from the living room and Ashley. “Where are we going?” she hissed.

  “Away from here.” He led her toward the stairs. “I told you I’d take care of the situation with Ashley.”

  “And this is how you mean to do it? With laughter and silly childhood anecdotes?”

  He meant to gain Ashley’s confidence first. He couldn’t guarantee it would work, but it was better than pushing her to see things his way. Besides, they’d reached an impasse—he wanted her help with his investigation and she wanted Carlyle House.

  “I want to know what happened the night of the fire, Ron, and I want to know now.” Tears danced in his mother’s expressive grey eyes. “Go back in there and ask her for every detail.”

  Ron sighed. For years, she’d rejected the rumors that his father, her husband, had started the fire at Carlyle House. The same couldn’t be said for his grandmother or uncle—the two had never approved of his father. And once Ron started receiving the anonymous letters, his mother’s patience had grown thin.

  “There’re other ways of finding out what Ashley saw that night without antagonizing her, Mother. She’s not the enemy.”

  “Isn’t she? She lied, didn’t she? Remember the photos?”

  How could he forget? Another anonymous envelope was found at the gate last night. This time, there were photographs along with another note with cutout letters, but more detailed than the previous two, which had prompted his mother to call him back to L.A. from the firefighters’ convention and reschedule her meeting with Ashley.

  “She was fifteen years old at the time and traumatized by the death of her parents. She might have gotten her facts mixed up.” He glanced briefly toward the room Ashley was in. He needed to go back to her. Ron beckoned Connie forward. “Mom, go back upstairs and rest. Let me handle things my way, okay?” He squeezed her arm and waited until she and Connie were halfway up the stairs before he went back to rejoin Ashley.

  He’d chosen not to bring up the events of ten years ago because he knew his mother would eavesdrop on their conversation and interrupt if she heard something she didn’t like. He wanted answers just as much as she did, but the timing had to be right. Ashley needed to be persuaded to see things his way. The woman gave a new meaning to the word stubborn.

  One minute blushing and the next challenging him, she was beginning to fascinate him, which was bad in his book. Not that there was anything wrong with a captivating woman…physically. But intellectual fascination was a different ball game all together. It meant delving into how her mind worked, which could lead to unwanted complications. His priority right now was clearing his father’s name, not getting involved with any woman at a personal level.

  Ron paused in the archway separating the foyer from the living room and studied Ashley. How much of the conversation had she heard? She was looking away from him, her body seemed relaxed.

  Suddenly, she arched her back and stretched her neck. Her posture pushed her breasts against the silk top, drawing his attention and sending desire rippling through him again. Hell, he was lusting after a woman he hardly knew.

  He cleared his throat and stepped into the room. “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s okay.” Ashley picked up her purse and stood. “Since I won’t be seeing your mother, I think I’d better head back to work.”

  She’d heard his mother. He could tell by the way she avoided looking at him and her jerky movements. Unfortunately, now would be a bad time to explain things to her. “Work?”

  “The new children’s museum. I’m working on the wall murals.”

  “Oh, yeah. I recall reading somewhere that you’d won the contract to paint it. How is it going?”

  A sparkle entered her eyes briefly, then disappeared. “Great. I have two very talented and hardworking, young artists assisting me. We might finish earlier than I’d anticipated. Anyway, I’d better be going.”

  She looked ready to sprint out of the mansion, and he didn’t blame her. Still, he didn’t want her to leave yet, not like this.

  “I must stop by sometime. Or aren’t people allowed to see them yet?” he asked.

  Ashley gave him an uncertain smile and took a step back. “No, they’re not, but just ask for me at the reception desk in the old children’s museum.”

  “I most certainly will.” He didn’t need to touch her or be so close, but the urge to connect was there, and he acted upon it. Her rigid frame stiffened even further when he cupped her elbow. He wanted to step back, but changed his mind when he felt her relax. As he led her out of the room, a heady rush of lust washed over him. He d
idn’t know what was happening to him. Something about Ashley filled him with a sense of urgency. Despite her attempt to hide it, she was attracted to him. He saw it in the rapid pulse beating at the base of her neck, in her eyes when he caught her looking at him. What if she was dating someone? Would that stop him from pursuing her? Never did before.

  When they reached the door, he opened it and escorted her to her car. “I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by with my grandmother’s pictures. Now that I’m back in town, is it okay if I drop them off?”

  She appeared undecided about something. Then she nodded. “Sure. I’ll be at home Saturday morning.”

  “Saturday it is.” He held the car door for her to get in. From his position, he had a clear view of her perfect breasts. His stomach muscles knotted as desire hit him hard. He swallowed and shifted his gaze to her face, but she was staring at the house. He followed her gaze to the second floor balcony. His mother in red flowing pants and a matching duster jacket, her curly hair falling over her slender shoulders, stared at them with smoldering eyes. How long had she been watching?

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk to your mother,” Ashley said softly. “Maybe next time.”

  Not if he could help it. He didn’t know where the thought came from, but once it took root, he knew it was true. His mother could be very vicious when pissed.

  “Sure. I’ll see you on Saturday.” On impulse, he leaned down and kissed her cheek.

  “What was that for?” she asked, the smile on her face a little uncertain.

  “A friendly gesture, that’s all.” He pushed off from where he’d been leaning against the car. “As in I’ll see you soon. You know, friends. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  “Right,” she whispered and started her car.

  Ron stepped back and watched the car head toward the gate.

  “I want you to remember one thing while you’re busy coddling that girl, Ronald.”

  Ron turned. His mother leaned against the balcony, her eyes blazing.

  “Your father would still be alive if it weren’t for that girl.” She turned and marched back into her bedroom.

  CHAPTER 3

  A cold lump had settled in the pit of Ashley’s stomach when she’d heard Nina Noble’s scathing words. She hung on to the steering wheel until she cleared the Noble’s gate. Down the tree-lined road, a fair distance from the security guard’s watchful gaze, she pulled up on the shoulder. Her hands shook so much she had trouble switching off the engine. When she finally did, she just sat there, trying to come to terms with what she’d learned.

  She wasn’t the only one needing closure. The pain in Nina’s voice had been real, the hatred in her eyes on the balcony unadulterated. A vague memory flitted in Ashley’s head. Nina had worn the same expression the night Carlyle House had nearly burned to the ground. It was obvious the actress still blamed her for the death of her husband.

  What about the letters they’d exchanged? She’d poured her heart out in the letters she sent Nina after the funerals. Without the kind responses she’d received from the actress, she might never have dealt with the guilt of causing Robert Noble’s death. Why then did the woman still hate her?

  She tried to recall the details of that night, but as usual, very little came to mind. A worried face or two, gentle words from strangers amid the chaos of fire engines and firefighters. Why couldn’t she remember what happened before the firefighters arrived? The clear memories were the loss of her loved ones and one brave firefighter. Yes, her stupidity had led Robert Noble to his death, but she’d grieved for him just as much as she had for her parents.

  What if Ron’s investigation was meant to help him and his mother come to terms with their loss? She was preventing that from happening by being difficult. Ashley looked back toward Nina’s home just as a black stretch limo zoomed past her. Maybe she ought to go back and talk to them. It might help all of them to start the healing journey together.

  I’m beginning to think like my shrink.

  Nina’s emotions were too close to the surface right now for talks to accomplish anything. As for Ron, it was hard to tell what was going on behind his charming smile. That quirky grin could be hiding all sorts of malevolent feelings. Not that she was a saint. Wanting to tear down a house with historical significance to a city wasn’t heroic. Maybe she needed to stop thinking of herself. Maybe she should call Ron and tell him she was willing to help him. But could she survive reliving that night?

  The sound of a slamming car door caused Ashley to turn her head. The limo had stopped ahead of her and a uniformed driver opened the back door for its passenger. Was it Ron? She hoped so. She could tell him she was willing to answer whatever questions he might have.

  Wing-tipped shoes and charcoal-grey pants appeared first before a man stepped out from the back seat. A sigh of disappointment escaped Ashley’s lips when she realized it wasn’t Ron.

  Whoever he was started toward her with even, unhurried steps. The expensive suit enhanced his wide shoulders and long legs. With his fair hair brushing his collar and dark sunglasses, he could have stepped off the pages of some popular men’s magazine. Ashley frowned. Up close, he looked a lot younger than his bearing indicated, probably around her age. He flashed a smile, revealing a perfect set of teeth.

  “Is everything okay, ma’am? You looked a little distressed,” he said politely.

  Ashley frowned then touched her cheek. A mortified groan escaped her when she realized a few tears had welled up in her eyes. She swiped at her cheeks, angry with herself for losing control in public. Worse, he called her ma’am. She must really look haggish and pathetic with tears and mascara stains. Just as she resigned herself to hiding behind her sunglasses, a crisply folded, white handkerchief appeared in her periphery.

  Ashley stared at it and the hand holding it and then leaned back to glance at the man. Not only did he catch her indulging in self-pity, he was very much aware of her present predicament. No tissue. Served her right for leaving her studio bag at home.

  “I promise you it’s clean,” he said, misunderstanding her hesitation.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the piece of cloth, dropped her chin to lift up her sunglasses and wipe her eyes. “This is very kind of you.”

  “No problem.” He stepped away from her car.

  Ashley scowled when he pulled off his glasses. A vague sense of having met him before washed over her then quickly disappeared. Must be her heightened senses playing a trick on her. She’d have remember such a handsome man if their paths had crossed. Then he removed his jacket, gave it to his driver and went to stand in front of her car.

  “What are you doing?” she asked when he removed his cuff links and started to roll up his sleeves.

  “Getting ready to inspect your car.” He loosened his tie with his left hand, his gaze alternating between her and the hood. “It’s the thing to do when a car stalls. Did it stop by itself or just refuse to start?”

  “No. No please.” Ashley gripped the dashboard and pulled herself up until she could rest one knee on the driver’s seat. “It’s not the car. I…uh…” She thought of a way to explain the situation without appearing even more pathetic. “I got something in my eye, and I pulled over to, you know, take care of it. But I’m okay now.” When he squinted and continued to study her, she nodded. “Really. I’m fine.”

  “If you’re sure.” He stopped fiddling with his tie and shoved his hands in his pockets.

  “Thank you for the use of your hanky, though. It was kind of you.” She wasn’t sure whether to give it him or offer to mail it after washing and ironing it.

  “My pleasure.” He flashed another boyish smile and moved closer to her. “May I at least know your name?”

  “Ashley. Ashley Fitzgerald.” Surprise flashed in his eyes, but it happened so fast she could have been mistaken.

  “Vaughn Ricks.” They shook hands. Instead of letting hers go, he held on to it and added, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Fitzgerald.”
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br />   Ashley grinned. “Oh no. The pleasure is mine. It’s not often someone charges to my rescue with handkerchief in hand.”

  “Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it?” He laughed, sounding even younger than she’d thought.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Ricks,” the driver interjected. “Beg your pardon, ma’am. You’ll be late for the meeting if we don’t leave now, sir.”

  “I know, Manning,” he answered without taking his eyes off Ashley. But he finally let go of her hand. “I hope our paths cross again.”

  He was nice, but she doubted that would happen. “Is there a way I can send this back to you?” She waved his handkerchief.

  He shook his head. “Keep it.” There was a pause as though he was debating with himself. “Or you can give it to me when we meet again.” He smiled again, pivoted on his heel and started for the limo.

  ***

  Ron paused in mid-stride to stare at the security booth in disbelief. He changed directions and hurried toward the gate. “What are you doing, Johnson?” he asked the guard.

  The man jerked and turned to face him. “Just doing my job, sir.”

  He indicated the high-powered binoculars the guard was holding. “Spying on the neighbors is now part of your duties?”

  “Mrs. Noble asked me to watch the activities at the house down the street.”

  What the hell was his mother up to now? Ron glanced at the envelope with photographs he still held in his hand and grimaced. Things were complicated enough without antagonizing her with questions about binoculars and spying on her neighbors.

  “Put it away,” he instructed the security guard. “I’m sure there’s a law somewhere against doing that sort of thing.”

  “What do I do if I notice any funny business at Mr. Doyle’s residence?”

  A frown crossed Ron’s brow. “Doyle?”

  “Yes, Ryan Doyle. Your mother said something about not liking him living too close to her. Wanted to know what he and his son were up to.”

  When did Doyle buy a house in the neighborhood? After his father died, Doyle had tried to hit on his mother, appearing everywhere she went and stopping by the house uninvited. The man even tried to use Ron to get to her. Ron wasn’t sure what Nina told him, but Doyle disappeared from their lives. “Regardless of what my mother told you to do—”