Slow Burn (4 page)

“Not bad. Not bad at all,” she murmured.

She put on the skirt and studied her image. A
little tight around the hips, but it would have to do. She patted
her tummy, checked her backside one last time and murmured, “Knew
that late night chocolate chip mint ice-cream had to be going
somewhere.”

She put on the top and stared in the mirror.
The gentle swell of her breasts above the décolletage elicited a
frown, then a sigh. She couldn’t do much about her well-endowed
chest if she tried. This was as good as it was going to get.

As she sat down to apply make-up, her
thoughts turned to the past week. Working on the murals at the new
museum had kept her busy. Unfortunately, she had done nothing on
her exhibition pieces. She’d already gone through three male
models, but none had inspired her to create a masterpiece. At this
rate, she’d have to cancel the show.

She checked the time, smothered a curse and
jumped up from the dresser stool. Grabbing her high-heeled, black
sandals and purse, she hurried down the stairs. She stopped briefly
to scribble a reminder note to herself on a Post-it, slapping it on
the fridge door before she exited the loft.

***

Ashley made it to the Noble’s home just as a
silver Jaguar drove through the gate. A tall, buffed guard marched
from behind the security booth, raised his massive arm and signaled
her to stop. The sun reflected on his brown skinhead as he stared
at her suspiciously from above dark glasses.

“Wait here,” he said when she gave her
name.

She watched the guard walk back inside the
security booth and resigned herself to waiting. From what she’d
seen while driving, the homes in the area were huge, beautiful and
well maintained. But she couldn’t admire Nina Noble’s home while
she waited. Trees obstructed the house. Sighing, she turned her
attention to the rear view mirror.

There was a thin sheen of sweat on her
forehead and upper lip. Convertibles were great when they were in
motion, but when parked, the sun was relentless. She turned up the
AC and cool air fanned her face. She would have loved to pull the
top up but she didn’t think her nerves could stand the confined
space—a phobia she could never explain. No need to fret over it,
though. She always found a way around her demons, choosing
convertible instead of a normal car, an airy loft instead of an
apartment, rarely taking the elevator unless she absolutely had to.
The list was long.

Not liking the direction of her thoughts,
Ashley pulled out her powder and blush to repair damages to her
make-up. It was another five minutes before the guard finally waved
her through. She gave him a stiff smile and drove up the curving
road to the cobbled, circular driveway.

Several cars were in the driveway, including
a dark green pickup truck. As soon as she parked beside the truck
and switched off the engine, the sound of piano music reached her
ears. If she weren’t so tense, she would have enjoyed the lovely
tune and Nina Noble’s beautiful home. Instead, she gave the
well-tended lawn and colorful patches of flowers a sweeping glance
as she hurried to the pillared entrance. Before she could knock, a
tall brunette in navy-blue pants and a pink shirt opened the
door.

“Ms. Fitzgerald, Connie Wilkins.” They shook
hands. “Come in, please.”

Ashley glanced with awe at the two-story
foyer with its gleaming staircase. Two earlier works of Francis
Bacon shared a wall with a Chagall, and preserved plants were
strategically placed around the room. The beautiful music she’d
heard earlier appeared to come from a room to her right.

“This way, please,” Connie said.

Ashley followed Nina’s assistant across the
foyer, past an arched entrance and into what was either an
entertainment or a living room. A tall, lithe figure rose from a
chair.

“Ron,” she whispered. Her heart skipped a
beat, then thundered away.

Their eyes locked and time seemed to
disappear. An electrifying sexual charge zipped between them. She
struggled to breathe. For a beat, he didn’t move, then his sexy,
quirky smile appeared.

“Ashley. It’s nice to see you again.” He
closed the distance between them and engulfed her hand with his
large one.

His scent, musky and male, teased her senses.
Her temperature went up a notch and her breath lodged in her
chest.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” she
managed to say. Her voice was steady, thank goodness.

“I hope you don’t mind. Please, join me.” He
took her arm to lead her to a chair beside the one he’d occupied. A
bottle of Heineken was on a table beside it.

She turned to thank Connie, but the woman had
long since disappeared. It was just the two of them. The thought
was exciting and a little discomforting.

She freed her arm and clutched her purse with
both hands. “There must be a mistake, Ron. I’m supposed to be
meeting your mother.” She caught herself fidgeting with the clasp
of her purse and forced herself to stop. It was bad enough having
his presence throw her off but quite another to make him aware of
it. “The meeting was supposed to be tomorrow, but her assistant
called and changed it.”

“I know.” A slow grin settled on his mouth,
then spread to his cobalt blue eyes. “My mother is not feeling too
well, so I hope you don’t mind if you and I talk instead. Would you
like something to drink?”

A drink would steady her nerves, but that
would mean spending time in his company. The speech she’d prepared
was meant for his mother, not him. His agenda didn’t exactly
coincide with hers. Plus, there was the attraction between them. It
kept catching her off guard.

“No, thank you. I’d rather—”

“Come on, Ashley. One drink. I promise I’ll
be a perfect gentleman.”

As if that had anything to do with why she
was wary. “Okay. White wine, please.”

While he walked to the bar to get her drink,
she sat down and took a fortifying breath, then another. He’s just
a man, one that I can handle. The word ‘handle’ brought to mind
images that had nothing to do with Carlyle House. She found herself
peeking at the way he filled his jeans and the ease in his
swagger.

Focus, Ashley. She was supposed to be
thinking about what she would say once he brought up his
investigation not how he would look bare-chested. This was so
insane, so unlike her.

“Here you go,” Ron said as he handed her a
crystal glass.

“Thank you.”

He picked up his Heineken bottle and touched
it to her glass. “Here’s to friendship.” Then he waited and watched
her as she took a sip of her wine. His gaze lingered on her lips
before snaring hers. “Is it okay?”

“Perfect.” She studied him from above the rim
of her glass as he sat down and took a swig of his beer. She would
never have guessed he was a straight-from-the-bottle beer drinker.
But then again, she knew nothing about him. The blue shirt he wore
played tricks with his eye color, making them appear darker than
usual, and the faded jeans couldn’t hide his muscular thighs or
strong legs.

He shifted, drawing her attention back to his
face. The smile on his lips indicated he’d been aware of her
scrutiny. Heat suffused her face and she rushed into speech.

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Carlyle House.”

The man was direct if anything. “If this is
about your investigation, then you should know I have done a little
of my own. I stopped by the Public Records Office again a few days
ago and picked up a copy of the fire report on the house. Faulty
wiring was the verdict. Also my aunt and uncle hired a detective to
check into it right after it happened. The P.I. never found
anything to indicate foul play.”

Ron leaned back against his seat, stretched
his long legs and studied her from under lowered lids. Her gaze
stayed locked with his.

The silence grew tense, unnerving. Whoever
was playing the piano stopped, and the house became eerily quiet.
Ashley started to sweat. Hoping her hand didn’t shake, she lifted
her glass to her lips and took a sip of her wine. Swallowing was
damn near impossible but she managed it.

“Well?” she asked, cocking her eyebrows.

Admiration flashed in his eyes, then quickly
disappeared. “I wasn’t talking about my investigation although I’m
happy you took what I said seriously. With my mother flying back to
New York tomorrow, I’m in charge of Carlyle House. Anyone
interested in it must now deal with me.”

That was the last thing she needed. “When
will she be back?”

He shrugged. “Next weekend, perhaps. She’s
producing a play, so I don’t know for sure. Can I ask you
something?”

“Sure.”

“Why Carlyle House?”

Ah, the dreaded question.
Here goes.
“It’s location near Culver City Art District makes it perfect for
an art center. It was what my parents had planned before they died.
They made their first public appearance at the old Carlyle Club and
spoke about it with nostalgia.” She smiled, remembering. “You know
they used to say to work, sweat and dance in Carlyle Club was to be
part of a tradition. A tradition an aspiring artist should be
honored to be a part of.”

He smiled with approval, and Ashley wondered
how he’d react to her next words.

She swallowed and took a deep breath. “I plan
to demolish it and rebuild.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding,
right?”

“I’m not. It’s old. With its asbestos, lead
and fire-safety problems, it wouldn’t pass the building codes.”

“Why not just refurbish it? It is
cost-effective.”

She’d checked into that and didn’t have a
good enough excuse except, “Meeting the new fire codes would cost
me a fortune. As a part-time firefighter,” oh yeah, she’d checked
and knew about his volunteer work with the Kern Valley Hotshot
wildfire crew, “you know the city requires sprinklers systems in
commercial buildings rather than the old fire-escape routes from
upper stories.” She knew she got him when his eyes grew thoughtful
and he leaned forward, his gaze not wavering. “Also, I wouldn’t
want anyone developing cancer years from now because of asbestos.
They used it in everything prior to the seventies—flooring, ceiling
spackle, roofing, siding, pipes, ducts, walls, gaskets, even
soundproofing. But I plan to use the original architectural designs
to recreate a replica of the house.” She held her breath and waited
for him to say something, anything.

Ron released a deep breath and leaned back.
“Sounds like you’ve thought this through.”

She’d picked her cousin’s brain. Without
Lex’s expertise, she wouldn’t have known where to start when it
came to old buildings. “I mean to fulfill my parents’ dream.”

“I can understand that, except there’s a
slight wrinkle in your plans.”

“What?”

“There’s another person interested in the
house.”

Her eyes widened. “Who?”

His eyes were watchful as he added, “Ryan
Doyle of Doyle Enterprise.”

Ashley’s heart dropped. Ryan Doyle was a real
estate shark with rumored connections to organized crime. Born and
raised in Los Angeles, he was street smart and ruthless. Rumor had
it he made his first million at thirty by questionable means,
billion at forty and was now worth a lot more than was usually
reported in magazines. Despite his wealth, he was still considered
a thug by the business world. There was no way she could win a
bidding war against him.

“What could he possibly want with Carlyle
House?” Ashley asked.

“According to my mother, he’s moving his
headquarters to Los Angeles. He intends to have his main office in
the downtown area and in Culver City. He owns a large slice of
undeveloped property nearby, a situation he means to rectify, and
he wants to restore Carlyle House. Why, I don’t know.”

Ashley sunk back into her seat. Whatever
offer she made, Doyle could easily top it or double it without
putting a dent in his bank accounts.

“I’m not getting the house, am I? I mean, how
could I possibly win a bid against Doyle?” And he wanted to revamp
it, damn it. How could she even begin to compete?

“No one is starting a bidding war, Ashley.
Besides, you can have me on your side.” He wiggled his eyebrows as
a naughty smile curled his mouth.

“That would be unethical. Kind of like
insider trading.” And tie a noose around her neck? She knew exactly
what he’d want in return.

He laughed, the sound deep, warm and
rich.

He knew he had her cornered. She scowled at
him. “Fine. I do want you in my corner. I deserve to get the house
since I offered first. Besides, I intend to pay market value. No
fuss, no negotiations.”

He winked at her. “Then feel free to use me.
All you have to do is ask and I’ll make sure you get the
house.”

So cocky, so sure he’d get his way. She ought
to decline his offer but she wouldn’t achieve her goals by being
bull-headed. What if she waited for his mother to come back? Would
that hurt her chances of getting the house?

She stole a glance at him through lowered
lids. Ron gave the illusion of being relaxed, yet there was
edginess in him that was part exciting and part unsettling. Despite
his casual attire and relaxed manners, he projected an air of
authority and self-confidence few men possessed. She didn’t know
how old he was, but she’d bet he was only a couple of years older
than she. The polished veneer of sophistication was probably due to
growing up among showy jetsetters. And the way he carried himself
and the calm in which he spoke exuded a rare sensuality that was
hypnotic.

His head lifted and their gazes locked. Raw
desire sizzled between them, and for a moment, Ashley couldn’t
think or breathe. When he arched an eyebrow, annoyance coursed
through her. He was enjoying toying with her.

“Well? Do you want my help in getting the
house?” he asked.