DeLeina, Maya - Veil of Seduction [Ambrose Heights Vampires 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (2 page)

Chapter One

Of the seven properties that made up Ambrose Heights, Ryan Evans purchased the smallest home in the exclusive gated community.

But what his home lacked in size, it made up for in its architectural presence.

Covered in stone and stucco, visitors were welcomed with intricate carved designs in the wooden doors at the vaulted entrance. The home was built on stilts, offering the illusion of balancing precariously on the edge of the mountain. Floor-to-ceiling windows created unobstructed views of the neighboring mountain vistas and the city below. Yet, the striking feature of the home was the portion of the mountain that protruded through the framing and the large boulder that seemingly jutted up through floor.

Careful attention to incorporate the mountain terrain translated into a truly unique home.

Ryan had first laid eyes on the property when he happened upon a copy of a local architecture magazine. Lingering in the smooth finish of a rusty nail at the lakeside bar in his favorite hotel in town, the magazine cover caught his eye. The home was the feature story. With each page turned, Ryan couldn’t believe his eyes. The magnificent home was the first glimpse he ever had into Ambrose Heights.

Ambrose Heights was a bit of an enigma in the town. It sat secluded, access restricted only to residents, with very little activity seen on the only road leading to and from the mountainside neighborhood. Even the locals in the area didn’t know much about the place or its residents. In fact, most would swear that the community seemed to just appear overnight. All that was known of Ambrose Heights was it loomed above picturesque Manitou Springs, vigilant of the eclectic and spirited ambiance of the town.

And it was this, the
exclusiveness
of the neighborhood, which captivated Ryan. It drew him in like a moth to a flame. He wanted to be a part of the status, seize its prominence and distinction.

He tucked the magazine in his brief case and immediately went to work, feeding his latest obsession.

No matter the price, the home would be his.

* * * *

Ryan exhausted his time in relentless research of the property. He poured through public resources for information on the owner, land zoning, builders, anything he could tie to Ambrose Heights. He even resorted to locating the author of the magazine article and was thrilled to learn that the owner was known to entertain proposals to purchase the property from time to time.

This was the fuel Ryan needed.

Soon, Ryan’s persistence and determination paid off. He landed a face-to-face meeting with Vaughn, the caretaker of the property.

Ryan spent the next few weeks communicating with Vaughn at the mercy of the guard post station. When Vaughn finally agreed to present the owner with a purchase proposal, Ryan found himself making multiple visits to Ambrose Heights, more than he could count. Vaughn always insisted on daytime visits, without a single offer to enter the home for a private tour. Instead, he offered Ryan rides in a golf cart down the long street that made up the community as the negotiations played out.

On one visit, Vaughn freely shared information about Ambrose Heights residents as they stopped to admire the home that sat in the bend of the crescent-shaped road.

This home was quite different from the others in the community. This was an
estate
.

The residence had a definite old-world charm, drawing inspiration from medieval European designs. It was clad in stone and boasted ornate oriel windows and two tower steeples. Vines climbed the walls of the towers that flanked a large Juliet balcony. Perched high on the hill, the castle-like estate was surrounded by a manicured garden that created a labyrinth design on the sprawling front lawn. Two long cobblestone driveways lined each side of the lawn and led up to the circle courtyard at the staircased entrance. And while Ryan was still seated in the golf cart on the street, he could make out a stately tiered fountain in the courtyard and a four-car garage accessible by a glass, enclosed breezeway.

“This was the first home built. It is also the largest,” Vaughn stated plainly. “The owner had originally purchased all of this land and worked with a developer to create this private community. Originally, the plan called for thirteen homes. If I am correct, he finally decided to keep it a close-knit community with fewer homes but still owns most of the undeveloped land up here.”

“And am I to assume that
this
home is not for sale?” Ryan asked.

“You are correct. An offer would never be entertained for this home.
He
resides here.”

“He?” Ryan looked curiously at Vaughn.

“He.” Vaughn stated with a sense of authority in his eyes.

“Interesting. So, the residents here, are they celebrities, neurosurgeons, infamous attorneys?” Ryan asked, deciding this was his only opportunity to inquire about the wealth and status of the residents of Ambrose Heights without sounding crass.

“Old money.” Vaughn winked at Ryan. Vaughn exited the golf cart and Ryan followed suit. They leaned against the cart’s frame, admiring the grand home from the street.

“I’m not of old money. And, I know how people of that stature are. They are very
particular
of their social circle,” Ryan declared in a troubling tone.

“The residents have been briefed on your proposal to purchase a property and are quite interested in you. It is certainly not a bad deal to have a highly successfully hedge fund manager in their community.”

Vaughn stared at Ryan, waiting for him to bring up a subject they had yet to discuss. “And in case you were wondering, I do have an option to work for another family here if my owner decides to sell to you. I won’t be out of a job.”

“Sorry, Vaughn, I didn’t even think about that.”

Truth told, although Vaughn had been nothing but amiable and receptive to his requests to visit the area, there was still something uneasy about him. Vaughn stood about five foot nine, the same height as Ryan. He was a little overweight, and Ryan determined his age to be around fifty years old from the gray in his hair and wear on his face. Still, Vaughn wielded some undefined creepiness that Ryan couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Tell me something.” Vaughn stepped back around the cart to the driver seat as Ryan slid into the seat next to him. “Why do you want this so bad? My employer is not even willing to let you tour the home, yet you still pursue this. You do very well for yourself. Certainly someone of your stature would already own a magnificent home.”

“I do
very
well for myself,” Ryan said sharply. He scanned the neighborhood as he shook his head in veneration. “And, I do have a nice home. But this is Ambrose Heights. Being here would be different for me. This is the epitome of prestige and stature. To live here means recognition, distinction from everyone else out there. Just look how many homes are here, how exclusive this community is. How many people make this drive, sit up here looking over the town, and call this place home? Not many.”

“Not many,” Vaughn said, confirming Ryan’s assessment.

“I can’t get this living anywhere else
but
here. I want recognition. I want status. I
want
Ambrose Heights.”

“Well-crafted response, well crafted,” said Vaughn as he nodded. He started the engine and maneuvered the cart leisurely along the cobblestone street.

“So, why is the owner entertaining my proposal?” Ryan asked, his gaze fixated on the homes.

“For the right price, anything is negotiable.” Vaughn slowed the cart to a stop and turned to Ryan. “And, for the right individual, Ambrose Heights is negotiable, too.”

Vaughn’s last line echoed in Ryan’s head as a smile slowly materialized.

For the first time, becoming a resident of Ambrose Heights felt promising.

Ryan slid back in his seat and absorbed his surroundings. He remained silent as Vaughn steered his way back to the gated entrance.

Every visit to Ambrose Heights renewed Ryan’s desire to live there. Every detail—the entry gates, the AH-monogrammed sign, the personnel uniforms and landscaping—was always pristine and immaculate.

And the streets were always quiet.

No activity. No noise.

Perfect setting for my retreat,
Ryan thought as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the tang and sensation of the crisp mountain air.

* * * *

“Ryan, I hope are you are sitting down. Vaughn called. The offer is being accepted.”

“Alan White, my attorney extraordinaire, I knew you could do it!” Ryan said with enthusiasm.

“There are conditions.”

Ryan stood up slowly from his desk and paced his office, anxious expectancy coiling throughout his body. He treaded lightly across the black concrete floors, his movement reflecting in the high, polished sheen. The walls were black, the leather furniture supple. An old-world globe cabinet tilted open, displaying a collection of glasses and expensive liquors. The intricate details etched in its antiqued shell paired nicely with the rich cherrywood.
René Magritte’s
The Son of the Man
painting sat prominently above the granite fireplace as the orange flames radiated from the graphite and alpine fireplace crystals.

He’d spared no expense.
The office was posh, the essence of masculine extravagance.

“What are the conditions?” Ryan asked, his eagerness firing little bits of lightning in the room as he engaged the speaker phone.

“First, the house is to be sold as is. No inspections,” Alan responded, a slight wavering ringing in his words.

“And let me guess…there is a second condition, right?”

“Yes. They also rejected our proposal option to buy the land. Apparently the Matthews family owns title to all the land and they intend on keeping it that way. This means the property would be sold as a leasehold. The bright side is they are willing to set a lease contract for twenty years.”

Ryan settled at the window and gazed at the mountain range where Ambrose Heights stood. “Meaning I just have to wait twenty years before they can fuck me over with inflated lease payments. Doesn’t get brighter than that, I guess.”

Alan sighed. Ryan could hear him shuffle through the papers on the other side of the line.

“Well, there is one more thing…a third condition.”

“What is it, Alan?”

“They want to complete the deal within forty-eight hours.”

A long pause sounded on the line, airy and unsettling. “Since you are not securing a mortgage on the property, technically, the inspection counter is not a problem. But Ryan, I would strongly advise against the deal. I know the owner is thought to be an eccentric, but this stipulation is absurd! It’s Ambrose Heights, yes, but to give up your right to an inspection? Ridiculous!” Alan waited a second before continuing. “And closing within forty-eight hours—”

Interrupting Alan, Ryan snapped in response, “Alan, do you not see that this is
my
moment? That
I
can have Ambrose Heights? I’m not going to pass on this! I have been beyond hopeful, beyond prepared for this very news! All of these months of moving money here, transferring assets there—all of the painstaking efforts, and now the funds are successfully in place. You know this, yet you are advising against it? I pay you a lot of money to take care of the legal issues, not for your opinion.”

“Actually, I make a good living for exactly that…my opinion,” Alan said bluntly.

Ryan took a deep breath in, reining in his outburst as he leaned against the window. He closed his eyes tightly as he spoke, “Look, you said the guy is eccentric. True. But most of all, he is a control fiend.” Ryan paused and opened his eyes. “Don’t you see his game? These drawn-out negotiations, numerous changes to the contract, days without calls, calls in the middle of the night? They’re all methodically crafted to fulfill his need for dominance. This closing stipulation of two days and no inspection…it is just his last effort, a means to dangle me by his strings one last time. I’ll play his game if it means my ass will be perched on top of the mountain, in that house, sipping champagne and looking down at all of the fucking people in town. They will envy me!”