Slow Burn (5 page)

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 didn’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.