Chapter 1

Ashley Satchel was his only hope.  The little fact was very sobering. 

Ron fought the tension knitting his gut, combed his fingers through his hair, and took a deep breath.  Then he pressed on her doorbell.  He waited a few seconds, then angled his head to listen for movement from inside.  Damn, not a whisper.  He shot an impatient glance at his watch.  No way was he too early to call.

Annoyed, he leaned his thumb on the doorbell, held it longer than necessary, then released.  After another few seconds, he pulled an envelope from his jeans pocket, scowled as he double checked the address.  He had the right loft.  And the security guard downstairs wouldn’t lie to him.  He knew she was home.  Once again, he pressed the bell, held it, and released.  When there was still no response, he sucked in a breath and pivoted on his heels.

Two steps away, the door opened and a breathless, irritated voice hit him from behind.  “Quit with the ruckus.”  He turned to look at her.  “You’re, uuh….”  Her voice tailed off.

The kick-in-the-gut feeling hit him hard.  Damn. He froze in place.  In a heartbeat, he took in her creamy skin and sleek raven hair.   Her exotic, jade-green eyes fringed with curly lashes, luscious lips ripe for kissing.  He couldn’t stop his gaze from shifting down. She had a curvaceous body and a pair of well-sized breasts her silk kimono failed to hide.  A woman designed to make a grown man drool.  Fast and unexpected, desire pulsated through him.

Was this…could this be the frightened little girl of twenty years ago?  The image of her from that night when Carlyle House nearly burned to the ground had stayed with him over the years.  He didn’t know why.  The little, brave girl was now a gorgeous woman.  Now she wanted to purchase Carlyle House, a puzzle he was here to solve, then crush.  The thought snuffed his sudden desire.  “Ashley Satchel?” 

“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 nine o’clock.  You were due at seven.”

Her feminine scent drifted in his nose.  He scowled.  “No, I wasn’t.  I believe you’ve mistake—”

“Never mind.  You’re here now.  Come in.”  She took a step back, and with her other hand clutching a cordless phone, gestured him into the loft.  “What’s your name?”

She was obviously mistaking him for someone else.  But after the obstacles of these past weeks, being invited inside her home was one step closer to achieving his goal.  He flashed a grin as he strode into the room.  “Ron.”

She hesitated, then closed the door.  “Make yourself comfortable.”  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 area, the phone at her ear.  Found himself enjoying the way the silk kimono shifted and flowed around her curves, visually undressing her.  It didn’t help that it had side slits, giving him a glimpse of smooth, shapely calves.

Ron tore his gaze away, shook his head to rattle his brain back in place, and grimaced.  Get a grip, Noble.  How the hell could he convince this woman to help him solve a twenty-year old mystery when her curvaceous body kept distracting him?  He couldn’t afford to screw this up.  She was his last hope and that meant treading carefully.  So far, his haste to uncover the truth had gotten him nowhere.

He’d been sure Ashley wouldn’t let him inside her home.  Yet here he was, harboring lustful thoughts instead of deciding how to get her to lay off Carlyle House and work with him.  From the stubborn gleam he’d glimpsed in those sexy eyes, she wasn’t going to roll over and play tickle-my-tummy just because he asked. 

The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulled him further into the room.  He took a deep breath and looked around with interest. 

It was a spacious loft with a high ceiling. Large, low windows on the west wall looked over the back parking lot while smaller, higher windows faced the street.  Metal stairs led to what was probably a bedroom. Against the east wall cloth draped canvases competed for space with boxes, a bookshelf, and a display case chocked-full of photographs. Once in Pasadena, he’d seen several of her murals at a club, truly magnificent.  He moved closer and lifted the cloth from one.  A boy on a horse grinned up at him. 

“Excuse me.  What are you doing?”

Her voice, low and throaty, sent a jolt through his system.  He dropped the cloth, backed away from the painting, and shifted his gaze to meet hers.  Her eyes, cool and irritated, locked on his. 

From ten feet away, Ron raised a brow as she eased onto a stool, leaned her weight against the counter, and crossed her legs.  Holding a pencil between them, her teeth gleamed white and flawless.

He flashed a grin.  “Admiring your work.”

Her eyes narrowed and glittered.  After a long breath, she pulled the pencil from her mouth.  “Dee told me you’ve done this before.”  She pointed at a partitioned area in the corner.  “Undress there.  Since you were late, I’ll just do shots.  We’ll start with upper torso, so the shirt goes.  Leave on the pants for the moment.  If you want to listen to music, I have classical, jazz, hip-hop…whatever you wish.  We’ll work there.” With a nod of her head, she indicated the black leather chaise lounge near the front window and easel.  “If we have time, I’d like pictures of you in briefs.”  Then she saw his incredulous expression.  “What?”

“Briefs?”

Ashley felt heat spread up her neck.   How could one look from the man reduce her to a blushing nitwit?  Maybe it was the bad-boy twinkle in his eyes, or his sheer magnificence.  The man was so male that words like gorgeous or handsome seemed too bland a description.  His tanned complexion made the perfect backdrop for a square, rawboned face with jutting cheekbones.  Slashes of black eyebrows above an arrogant nose drew attention to his eyes and those perfectly sculptured, sensuous lips.  Ashley’s gaze wandered.  Big and tall with broad shoulders, he was totally yummy. 

She stiffened when his gaze imitated hers.  As his eyes roamed over her body, every female cell in her body tingled.  Why had her request for a mature male model been filled with this six-foot mass of arrogant, male perfection?  Beautiful to look at but trouble to work with, she just knew it. 

“Yes, briefs.”  She eased off the stool and approached him.  Slowly, she circled him, eying him from every angle.  The black T-shirt and blue jeans didn’t do much to hide the flawlessness beneath.  Unlike her previous models, she would love to paint him with nothing on but a red, silk sheet draped across his hips.  Legs, thighs, and bare torso.  With her paint brush, she could turn him into every woman’s fantasy.

She smiled at her wanton thoughts.  That was for later, now she wanted him in briefs. No boxers or cutoffs.  Just briefs.  The smaller and tighter the better.  “If you’re uncomfortable with nudity, keep on your pants.  I’ll shoot only upper torso until you’re more at ease.  Also I’d also like to make sketches.”  Her smile deepened.  “Lots of them.”

“I’m not uncomfortable with nudity.  I just don’t strip for money.”

“But—”

 “I’ll do it for free, if I know and like the lady.”  He gave her a hooded look.  “I don’t know or like you…yet.”  

Ashley’s mouth dropped open.  “Look. Dee told me you were a pro and pros know the rules.  No personal remarks or come-ons.  And FYI, buddy, I’m not interested in you knowing or liking me, I just want your body.”  Her cheeks warmed again. “Uh, I mean I want to use it.”

When he raised an arrogant eyebrow and crossed his arms, Ashley sighed.  “You know what I mean.  Be nice.  Take off your shirt.”  Needing coffee, she turned and headed back toward the kitchen.  Maybe she would offer him some later, if he behaved.  Right now, she was too bothered even to look at him. 

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

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

“No.  I’m here to deliver to you two messages.”  After tugging an envelope from his pocket, he moved to stand beside her.  “I’m not a male model, nor have I ever had the desire to be one.  Nude or otherwise.”

Ashley didn’t know whether to laugh or pout in disappointment.  It rankled a little to admit she’d been looking forward to sketching him. But at the same time, she’d known the intense way she reacted to him would make it difficult to concentrate.  “Too bad.  You’d look good on canvas.”

A conceited smile flirted across his lips. “Thanks.  Maybe I’ll let you convince me to moonlight.”

Ignoring the come on, she took the envelope from his hand, but her gaze remained locked with his.  Something sizzled between them. “You’re a bit old to start modeling.”

“Ouch.”  He flashed a quirky grin.  “You know how to bring a man down a peg or two.”

She dropped her gaze to the envelope.  Mouth pursed, she noticed the initials A.S. boldly written across the front.  “Didn’t intend to,” she murmured absentmindedly. 

He didn’t respond.  Frowning, Ashley ripped the envelope open and pulled out a monogrammed peach piece of paper. 

At the sender’s name, something shifted in her stomach. Quickly, she read the note, then looked up, meeting Ron’s eyes.  “You’re Nina Noble’s son?”

“Guilty.”

Anger, swift and hot, surged through her.  He was the one against the sale of Carlyle House, the man standing between her and her dream.  What the hell was he doing in her home?  Come to gloat?  Honestly, she ought to kick him out.  “What’s the other message?” 

His brow shot up at her cool tone.  “Carlyle House is not for sale.”  His tone matched hers.  “It never was.”

Like hell it wasn’t.  “That’s not what the mailing said.  Or the listing on ForSaleByOwner.com.  Your mother—”

“Made a mistake.  I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you.” 

Sorry?  Her eyes narrowed as a sudden realization took hold.  He had no idea who he was dealing with.  Neither did he have a clue as to what was in his mother’s note.  The woman wrote of wanting them to meet. Of discussing the sale—a clear contradiction to her son’s pig-headed assertions.  A smile crossed Ashley’s lips.  We’ll see who’s mistaken.

“Why do you want the house?”  Ron leaned a hip against the kitchen counter and studied her.  “It’s old and drafty, hardly a good investment.”

Ashley blinked in confusion.  Why should he care about her reasons when he was clearly against the sale?  And why refuse to sell?  He obviously didn’t think much of it?  Could his reasons be sentimental?  Yeah, right.  This man, with his rugged face and chiseled body, was hardly the sappy type.  Hell, she had no idea why he and his mother were taking opposing views.  Could it be family wrangling over the asking price?  There was no telling who she’d end up dealing with, so being nice to him seemed a wise idea. 

Ashley pasted a smile on her lips.  “Listen, we started off on the wrong foot.  Why don’t you join me for a cup of coffee and I’ll explain.”  When he nodded, she walked around the kitchen counter.  “How do you take it?”

“Black.”  He watched her as she pulled out mugs from a cupboard.  “I’ve seen your work.  Do you always use models?”

 “Not always.  Lately, I’ve done commissions from photographs.”  She filled two mugs of coffee and added hazelnut creamer to hers.  From the corner of her eye, she watched Ron as he left the kitchen area and walked to the painting he’d stolen a look at earlier. When he lifted the cloth again, his smile was quick and appreciative.  A quirky smile.  She was a sucker for anything unusual.  He shifted and her gaze ran down his lean frame, stopped on his to-die-for buns before wandering lower to his powerful thighs.  When her gaze came back to his face, it followed his jaw line to his ear, the hollow beneath his cheekbone.  His hair neatly trimmed.  She’d painted her share of gorgeous men, but there was something about Ron that made her fingers itched to pick a paint brush and a palette. 

 “This is amazing…so real,” Ron said, dragging her attention away from his body.  “The pony looks as though it might step out of the painting and prance around.”  He laughed.  “I can almost hear the boy yell, ‘giddy up.’  He must love horses.” 

“Yes, he did.”  Sadness crept through in her voice. “Thank you for the compliment.”

He shrugged.  “I’m no connoisseur, but I know what I like.  Was this from a photograph?”

Ashley’s throat closed so she had to swallow hard to clear it.  “Yes.  He died two months ago in a road accident.” 

 “Damn,” Ron said softly.

“His mother supplied me with a few recent pictures.”  She carried the mugs to the island counter, sat down on a stool. 

Ron’s gaze locked on her face as he approached the counter.  “It must be hard to work on a piece like that.”

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.”  Just like her dream for Carlyle House.  When he didn’t respond, she pushed his mug toward him.  “Your coffee.”

“Thanks.”  He sat down beside her.  “Do you only paint people?”

 “Occasionally I stop by a park or a beach and let nature inspire me.”  She took a sip of coffee, cradling the cup in her palms.  She wasn’t yet ready to discuss Carlyle House.  It was too personal and he was a stranger, two things that made her uncomfortable.  To buy time, she seized on an idea.  The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.  It would give her the perfect opportunity to know him better, to understand his motives.

Ashley propped her elbow on the counter and cupped her chin.  When Ron’s gaze drifted to her lips, she smiled.  “Can I ask you something?”

Ron managed another smile as he lowered his mug.  “Sure.”

“I’d like to paint you.”  Her voice became a gentle purr.  “Is there anything I can do to convince you to sit for me?”

He shot her a look packed with raw sensuality.  “Babe, that would be a very long list.  Are you sure you want to give me that much leeway?”

Her cheeks warmed for the third time this morning.  And from the naughty glint in his eyes, he was aware of it.  “Maybe I should be more specific.  If I take you out to dinner?  Would you sit for me then?”

“Sorry, I’m old fashioned.  When with a woman, I pick up the tab.”

Cute, but very Neanderthal. “How about a home cooked meal?”

“That has possibilities.  How many sittings per dinner?”

“A week’s worth.”

He only stared.

Damn, he wasn’t making this easy.  “Two dinners a week.”

“Two…?  How many weeks are we talking about here?”

“A couple.”

He deepened his smile.  “You want my body bad, don’t you?”

He was so close Ashley felt his breath brush her face.  She sucked in her bottom lip and pulled back.  She managed to return her voice to normal.  “I’d like to paint it. That’s not the same thing.”

“Yeah, right.  Thought I’d heard them all,” he murmured teasingly.

Not even for Carlyle House would she put up with such male arrogance.  “Forget it then.”

“Not so fast.  How about you let me decide what it’s worth?”

At his smooth, sensual tone, a shiver ran up her spine. “As long as it’s within reason.”

“I’ve been told I’m a reasonable man.”  He drained his coffee, set his mug aside, and shifted so he was facing her.  His expression became serious.  “Tell me.  Why Carlyle House?”

Ashley gnawed on her lower lip, trying to figure out where to start.  “You know Carlyle House was once a famous club,” she said after a moment. 

Ron nodded.  “Carlyle Clubhouse.  A lot of famous and infamous singers and dancers, even jazz groups, were discovered there.”

She smiled.  Of course, he knew.  His family had owned it for almost forty years.  “My parents made their first public appearance there too.  I wasn’t born at the time but they always spoke about the club with nostalgia.  They used to say to work, sweat, and dance in Carlyle House was to be part of a tradition.  A tradition an aspiring artist should be honored to be a part of.”  She fell silent, waiting for Ron to say something.  Anything.  Instead, he just continued to gaze at her with those dark eyes of his.  “I want to turn Carlyle House into a commune for artists.”

Ashley chewed on her lower lip as she waited for his response.  When again he didn’t speak, she narrowed her eyes, annoyance coursing through her.  Damn, what made her do it? What made her bare her soul, her wildest dreams to him?  Quickly, she got up, grabbed their mugs from the counter, and stomped to the sink.  Shaking, she just stood there with her back to him and stewed. 

Tired of waiting, she spun around, planted her palms on the counter, and glared at him.  “Are you going to just sit there, Noble?  You asked me a question and I answered it.” 

“Just reorganizing my thoughts.”  His voice came out bland, compounding her frustration.

“And?” she asked impatiently, her hands now on her hips.

“I think it’s a noble idea.” 

She almost growled aloud in frustration.  “I know that.  But?”

“I can’t promise you the house.”

Oh, the arrogant bastard.  She wanted to deck him.  “Why?  What the hell do you want with it?”

“I’m not against the sale, Ashley.”  His gaze was steady, watchful.  “I’m investigating the fire that happened there twenty years ago.  The house cannot be sold until I’m through with my investigation.”  

His words slammed into her and a chill snaked up her spine.  Why would he want to investigate something that happened twenty years ago?  And why tell her?  She opened her mouth to ask, thought better of it, and closed it without uttering a word.  She didn’t want to know.  She wanted him gone.

“I was hoping for your help.”

Oh, God no.  She stepped back from the counter, away from him, her breath coming out in spurts, her insides churning.  “No.” 

He scowled, thrust his hand through his wavy brown hair.  “You’re the only one that can help.  Once you do that then the house is yours to buy. Do whatever you want with it.”

Even before he finished, she had begun to shake her head.  No way in hell was she helping him with his investigation.  She’d acquire the house through his mother or buy a different one.  Anything but revisit that night.  “I think you should leave now.”

“Ashley—”

“Please…,” she jerked her head toward the door, “just go.”  She wrapped her arms around her and refused to meet his gaze.  But she could still feel it on her.  After a moment, he sighed and got up.

Ashley followed his lean, muscular frame to the door, her mind trying to comprehend how they’d moved from the purchase of Carlyle House to the fire that nearly destroyed it.  Why should Ron care about how it happened?  It was ancient history, something better left in the past.

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.” 

There was nothing to think about, she wanted to tell him.  Not even for Carlyle House would she revisit that night.  She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head.

 “I’ll be in touch about the modeling gig.”  He pivoted on his heels and sauntered away. 

Ashley stared after him, 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 him to model for her.  The price was too high.  One she wasn’t willing to pay. 

       copyright © 2010 Ednah Walters. All Rights Reserved.