Slow Burn Read online

  He leaned his thumb on the doorbell, held it longer than necessary. When there was still no response, he sucked in a breath and pivoted on his heels. Two steps away, the door opened and a low, throaty voice hit him from behind, sending a jolt through his system.

  “Quit with the ruckus. You’re, uuh….” Her voice tailed off.

  He turned and took in her creamy, flawless skin, the pert nose and lush lips. Her almond-shaped eyes the color of honey drops flashed and the glossy, abundant auburn hair with coppery highlights struggled to burst free from whatever pinned it back.

  Could this gorgeous woman be the frightened girl of ten years ago? The image of her from that night had stayed with him over the years. He couldn’t even explain why.

  “Ashley Fitzgerald?”

  “You’re late,” she said in a cool, impatient voice.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I am?”

  She thrust a delicate wrist under his nose. Her gold watch caught the overhead light and sparkled. “It’s after nine-thirty. You were due at an hour ago.”

  Her feminine scent drifted to his nose. Something flowery. Roses? He frowned, annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander.

  He cleared his throat, readying himself to explain his present. “I believe you’ve mis—”

  “Never mind,” she said, took a step back, and with her other hand clutching a cell phone, gestured him into the loft. “You’re here now. Come in.”

  She was obviously mistaking him for someone else. But after the obstacles he’d encountered in the past two weeks, he’d be a fool not to take the advantage of the situation. Being invited inside her home was one step closer to achieving his goal.

  “Thank you.” He flashed a grin as he strode into the loft.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, closing the door.

  “Ron.”

  “Make yourself comfortable, Ron.” She waved in the direction of a leather lounge. “I’m on the phone. I’ll be with you in a sec.”

  He watched her sashay towards the kitchen, the phone at her ear, and found himself enjoying the way the silk one-piece outfit shifted and flowed around her curves.

  Ron tore his gaze away, shook his head to rattle his brain back in place and grimaced. He needed to get a grip, quick. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Ashley knew a lot, but from the stubborn gleam he’d glimpsed in those eyes, she wasn’t going to roll over and spill her gut just because he asked.

  The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled him farther into the room. He took a deep breath and looked around with interest. The sheer numbers of cloth-draped canvases along the walls combined with the effect of the light pouring inside the loft from large windows were startling. He wished he could see some of the pieces. The ones he’d seen around town, including the two his grandmother owned, were truly magnificent.

  A piece on the easel drew his attention. It was facing backward, but something about it pulled him closer. He tilted it for a better look and sucked in his breath.

  Carlyle House was unmistakable. Its massive front door was missing, flames leapt from every window and a face…no, a pair of large eyes watched from the smoke billowing over the turrets.

  “Excuse me. What do you think you’re doing?”

  He let the canvas go, backed away from the painting and shifted his gaze to meet hers. Her hand was on her hip, drawing his attention to its enticing curve, and her hazel eyes smoldered. He’d be damned if he didn’t admit she looked glorious.

  “I apologize. I shouldn’t have looked at your work without asking you first.” He waited, his gut tightening with each second that passed. Way to go, Noble. Now she’ll kick you out, and you’ll have no one to blame but yourself. He gave her an apologetic smile.

  She looked ready to read him the riot act. Then the anger seemed to drain out of her. She leaned against the counter and let out a long breath.

  “There’re two things I will not tolerate from a model—tardiness and peeking at my work.” Her voice was firm, but neither rude nor angry. “Dee told me you’ve done this before, so undress there.” She pointed at a partitioned area in the corner. “Since you were late, I’ll just do a few shots. We’ll start with upper torso, so the shirt goes and the pants stay for the moment. If you want to listen to music, I have classical, jazz, rock…whatever you wish. We’ll work there.” With a nod, she indicated the black leather chaise lounge near a window and the easel. “If we have time, I’d like shots of you in briefs. What?”

  “Briefs?”

  Ashley ignored his incredulous expression. Why had her request for a mature male model been filled with this six-foot mass of male arrogance? Beautiful to look at but trouble to work with. Dee already apologized for the man’s tardiness during their brief telephone conversation, but swore he was a joy to work with. Yeah, right.

  “Yes, briefs.” She pushed off the counter and approached him, taking in his sun-kissed skin, which screamed outdoorsman. But the combination of Monet’s cobalt blue eyes and short-cropped hair the color of midnight was more suited for a corporate office with a view. He was a contradiction, and her fingers longed to pick up a paint brush and immortalize him on canvas.

  Slowly, she circled him, eyeing his tall, well-built body from every angle, wondering if he was tanned all over. The black T-shirt and blue jeans didn’t do much to hide the lean muscles beneath. She wasn’t into men with facial hair, but the shadowing on his jaw contrasted with his golden skin and gave him a sexy, rakish look. A tattoo of something was partially visible on his upper left arm. Did he have more on his torso? Not that it mattered. She easily imagined him with nothing on but a red, silk sheet draped across his hips. With her paintbrush, she could turn him into every woman’s fantasy. She smiled at her thoughts. But that was for later, now she wanted him in briefs. No boxers or cutoffs. Just briefs. The smaller and tighter the better.

  “I hope that’s not going to be a problem because later, I’ll need nude shots.” Her smile deepened. “Lots of them.”

  “I have no problem with being nude.” He turned until they were facing each other. A quirky grin played on his sensuous lips. “I just don’t strip for money.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll do it for free, if I know the lady.” Blue eyes twinkled above arched eyebrows. “I don’t know you…yet.”

  She smothered a groan. “Look. Dee told me you were a pro and pros know the rules. No personal remarks or cheap come-ons. And FYI, buddy, I’m not interested in you knowing me, I just want your body.” The corner of his lips lifted and her cheeks warmed. “Uh, I mean I want to use it.”

  When he crossed his arms and continued to grin, Ashley sighed. “You know what I mean. Be nice. Take off your shirt.” She needed coffee, now. Maybe she would offer him some later, if he behaved. Right now, she was too bothered even to look at him. Dee was so dead for doing this to her. A professional indeed. He was a menace.

  Ashley turned and marched toward the kitchen.

  “Who’s Dee?” Ron asked from behind her.

  “What?” Ashley stopped and spun around. “Deirdre Packard, the owner of Dee’s Artistic Expressions. Aren’t you the model she sent?”

  He smiled. “No. I’m not a male model, but thanks for the compliment.” He moved to stand in front of her, the smile disappearing from his lips and his eyes growing serious. “I’m here to see you about an entirely different matter. We spoke earlier…Ronald Douglass.”

  Ah, the sweet man with a dying grandmother. Although ‘sweet’ wasn’t exactly what she’d dub him this up close and personal. Arrogant came to mind, thinking he could waltz in here and lie to her. Too handsome for his own good was another. It irritated her to admit she’d been looking forward to capturing his square, raw-boned face and those electrifying blue eyes.

  Ashley sighed. “I told you I was too busy to meet with you this morning. And why didn’t you tell me who you were the minute you realized I’d mistaken you for my model?”

  “I apologize. It’s not often a woman asks me to
strip immediately after meeting her.” A disarming smile flitted across his sensuous lips.

  Now he was a comedian. Ashley pinned him with narrowed eyes. “Do you even have a dying grandmother or need her portrait done?”

  A guilty look crossed his face. “She’s as healthy as a horse, and that’s the truth. But I’d like to present her with her portrait on her next birthday. Listen, I hoped you’d spare me a few minutes.” A lost puppy look settled on his face.

  Definitely too sure of his charms and used to getting his way, she concluded. Either case, he was a total stranger. Although there was nothing threatening about him, Ron was a big man. How fast could he move? The panic button on her cutting edge security system was by the door, and he stood smack between her and it. She took in the Rolex and the designer jeans, groomed hair and those eyes. Something sizzled between them, but Ashley disregarded it. Good looks and expensive tastes didn’t mean jack. She had two choices here, tell him to get out or hear him out.

  Ashley moved until the kitchen island was between them. Only then did she indicate the stool across the counter from hers. “Okay, Ronald Douglass, you have my attention.”

  He approached her slowly. “I appreciate that.”

  “Would you like some coffee?” she asked.

  “That would be nice, thank you.” He smiled.

  “How do you take it?”

  “Black.” He watched her as she pulled out mugs from a cupboard. “What I told you earlier was true. My grandmother really likes your work, and I do need a portrait of her done. Do all your subjects have to sit for you?”

  “No. I often use photographs. You see that one,” she pointed at the uncovered painting she’d finished the night before. “I used several pictures of both the young man and the horse.”

  “May I?” Ron asked.

  “Go ahead.” She filled two mugs of coffee and added hazelnut creamer to hers. From the corner of her eye, she watched Ron study the painting, his smile quick and appreciative.

  A quirky smile. She was a sucker for anything unusual. Her gaze followed his jaw-line to his ear, the hollow beneath his jutting cheekbone and the arched eyebrows above an arrogant nose. She’d painted her share of beautiful men, but there was something about Ron that made her want to pick up a sketchpad, a paintbrush and palette.

  “This is amazing…so real,” Ron said, making her realize she was staring. “The pony looks as though it might step out of the painting and prance around.” He laughed, and she smiled. “I can almost hear the boy yell, ‘giddy up.’ He must love horses.”

  “Yes, he did.” Sadness crept through her voice and her throat closed so she had to swallow hard to clear it. “He died two months ago in a road accident.” She heard him swear softly under his breath as she carried the mugs to the island counter and sat down on a stool.

  “It must be hard to work on a piece like that.” Ron’s gaze locked on her face when he joined her.

  He didn’t know the half of it. “Yes it is. But I understood the love that prompted his mother to want to do something special in her son’s memory. Here you go.” She placed the second coffee in front of him.

  “Thanks.” He sat down opposite her, took a sip of his drink and cradled the cup in his large palms. “Ashley, I want your help with something very important to me.”

  “I know…your grandmother’s portrait. I need to know how soon you want it. I can work from a few recent pictures, unless you’d prefer when she was younger and….” Her voice trailed off when she saw the bleak look on his face. “What is it?”

  He hesitated before saying, “I want to talk to you about Carlyle House.”

  Ashley bit her bottom lip, her insides tightening. Had Toni given out her name despite their earlier conversation? “Are you Nina Noble’s agent?”

  “No, I’m her son.”

  “But you said your name was Ronald Douglass.” Her voice was accusatory, but she didn’t care.

  “Both are my names, I just omitted my surname. Every time I give out my full name, doors get slammed in my face.”

  “Excuse me?”

  His gaze shifted to the painting on the easel, then back to her face. “I’m investigating the fire at the house ten years ago.”

  A chill snaked up her spine. She opened her mouth to ask him why, thought better of it and decided she didn’t want to know. Instead she pushed her stool back and stood. “Sorry, I can’t help you. You need to leave.”

  Ron scrubbed his face and let out a deep breath. His gaze, when he looked up, was direct, almost pleading, but she wasn’t completely sure about that. Still, she could not take any more craziness, not on top of the nightmares and everything else.

  “I really need your help,” he added softly.

  She stepped back from the counter and away from him, her insides churning. “No.”

  He scowled. “I’ve been receiving anonymous letters with a list of names. One has firefighters, all friends of my father, all retired after the fire. I was curious enough to get in touch with them. Yet as soon as I mention the fire, they don’t want to talk. It’s almost as if they know something, as if they’re afraid. What if the fire was deliberately set and someone wants me to find out the truth? The people responsible could still be out there. That would mean your parents—”

  “No.” She flung her arms as though to stop his words from reaching her ears. Not that it mattered. She already knew what he was going to say. “I don’t want to hear it. My parents’ death was accidental, I’ve accepted that. The Fire Marshal said it was faulty wiring.” She swallowed, refusing to entertain the possibility that someone had started the fire, that her parents had been murdered. She’d mourned and accepted her loss. All she needed to move on was to get rid of Carlyle House, not relive that horrific night.

  “I want you to leave now, Ron.”

  “Ashley—”

  “Please, just go.” She wrapped her arms around her body and refused to meet his gaze, but she could still feel it on her. After a moment, he got up.

  Her head pounded with tension and her teeth hurt from too much clenching, but Ashley held it in. She followed Ron’s lean, muscular frame to the door. A few days ago, she’d been ecstatic to see the house on a listing, and her decision to buy and demolish it had seemed so feasible. Now this.

  Ron opened the front door, stepped out into the hallway and turned to face her. Before she could speak, he reached out and touched her arm.

  “Think about it,” he said.

  “There’s nothing to think about.”

  “I’ll be in touch about my grandmother’s painting.” He turned and sauntered away.

  Ashley stared after him, unwanted images from the past flashing in her head. When he entered the elevator and the door closed on his unsmiling face, she sagged against her doorframe. Her body was shaking. She no longer wanted to do his grandmother’s portrait. He’d only used it as a ruse to get inside her home, she was sure. And for what? To fill her heart with dread, to dare ask her to relive her worst night. The man was out of his mind.

  CHAPTER 2

  Ashley placed the brush on the palette, wiggled her fingers and arched her back, careful not to make sudden movements. Her position on top of the ladder was precarious to say the least. Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she turned her head to study the mural on the wall to her left.

  Seventy-five feet long and ten-feet high, animals grazed in the savannah. Vivid blue skies contrasted sharply with the brown earth and Jacaranda trees. The tall grass seemed to sway gently in the breeze, an illusion created by her two talented assistants. Gazelles appeared ready to leap from the wall and into the room.

  She smiled. The thematic scenes in each room would mesmerize kids. They’d gone the whole nine yards, from prehistoric to science. The last room would feature artwork by selected elementary students from schools across the city. She couldn’t wait to work with them.

  “Hey, don’t you have a two-thirty meeting today with Ms. Noble?” a voice called from below her.


  Oh no, she completely forgot.

  “Thanks, Josh.” This was the result of that arrogant woman changing their meeting time from tomorrow to today. Ashley shifted to get down, and the paint palette, brushes and sponges fell off her lap. They tumbled down while she watched helplessly. A curse escaped her lips.

  “That brings the total to five dollars.”

  “What?” Ashley glowered at the bare-footed, mocha-complexioned man below her. Josh Keller was busy airbrushing the shadings and shadows on an animal, his dreadlocked hair held back in a ponytail.

  “You used a swear word,” Josh said.

  “So?”

  “So your cousins told us to keep count. Right, Micah?”

  Far to her right, on a different wall, Micah Walden was working on a rainforest scene. His long, wavy, blonde hair brushed his bare, tattooed back as he nodded.

  “Yep. A dollar a word,” he said.

  She wrinkled her nose. Her aunt had started that rule to curb her sons’ use of four-letter curses. Somehow, the girls came in under her radar when she heard them slip up during family get-togethers.

  “Tattle-tell on me and you’re both fired.” She stepped down from the ladder.

  “And where would you find talents such as ours to finish the murals?” Micah asked without an ounce of shame.

  “Yeah,” Josh added.

  Ashley couldn’t help smiling. They were young, gifted and knew it. She couldn’t fault them for being cocky. And they were right; she couldn’t complete this job without them.

  “Shameless. Whatever happened to modesty?” she muttered, but they heard her.

  “Became obsolete—” Josh started.

  “In the new age phenomenon of self-promotion,” Micah finished.

  “There’s a thin line between self-advertising and bragging, and you two are very close to crossing it.” She untied her apron and placed it on a table. Her gaze bounced between the two men. “I’ve got to make this meeting or lose my chance at getting the house. If you guys don’t see me by five, lock up.” She picked up her purse. “See y’all later…or tomorrow.”