CHAPTER 1

Ron fought the tension knitting his gut, took a deep breath, and pressed on Ashley Satchel’s 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.   Damn. He froze in place.  In a heartbeat, he took in her golden-brown skin and hair the color of midnight.   Her exotic, slanted 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.

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 he couldn’t think beyond her curvaceous body?  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 instead.  From the stubborn gleam he’d glimpsed in those slanted 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 those mesmerizing eyes of his.  Fierce and alert, reminiscent of a panther on the prowl.  Or was it his sheer magnificence.  He was so male that words like gorgeous or handsome seemed too bland a description.  His Monet palette brown 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 had a tangible presence. 

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. 

“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 sizzle 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.  She wanted that house and wasn’t about to let anyone stand in her way.  “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 fierce eyes 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. 

“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, Ashley 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.  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.  “Baby, that would be a very long list.  Are you sure you want to give me that much leeway?”

Her neck warmed for the third time this morning.  “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 eyes.  “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.

“I was hoping for your help.”

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

He scowled.  “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.  Anything but revisit that night.  She’d acquire the house through his mother.  “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. 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.”  He pivoted on his heels and sauntered away. 

Ashley stared after him until he entered the elevator.  When 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. 

SEDUCTION SCENE

Ashley opened her mouth to say something, but his expression froze the words in her throat.  The wicked sensuality and the raw lust in his eyes was enough to make a woman snap on a full metal chastity belt.  Yet, he appeared to be waiting for…what?  She frowned.  Could he be seeking her consent, giving her a chance to say no and step away?   Interesting.  Ron didn’t look the type to ask for anyone’s permission. 

Take charge, lover man.  Don’t you dare stop now!  There was no way in hell she was going to let good sense intrude and make her question her actions.  Her gaze still locked with his, her lips parted, invited.  Impossibly, his eyes grew fiercer, hotter.  Still, he waited.  For a brief second, she hesitated.  Then berating herself for being a coward, she lifted her hand and laid it against his chest. 

His body jerked as though burned.  He was hard, male and muscular.  He felt wonderful.  Smelled good, too.  His muscles flexed under her palm, his heart thumping hard and sending pulses of excitement along her arm.  Oh, man, I’m way over my head here.  Maybe….

Doubts disappeared when she meshed her body with his.  The intimate contact caused a moan to escape her lips.  Hmm, he felt good.  Too damn good.  “Ron,” she whispered.

“I’m here,” he whispered near her cheek, his hot breath making her quiver.  Then he covered her lips.

Hot.  Gentle.  Not exactly what she’d expected from such a large, hard man.  The taste of him, the velvety texture of his lips was new, exciting.  She let him take charge of her mouth, moved into his arms as though she had always belonged.  His mouth caressed and explored.  Taking and giving her sweetness that was so unexpected, so intoxicating her entire body throbbed with raw need. 

Need?  She couldn’t afford to need this man.  She couldn’t afford to need anyone, period.  Not after years of working to be in control of her life, to direct it wherever she chose.  She jerked, pulled her face away and tried to break the spell he’d cast over her. 

“Please,” she sobbed achingly, gasping for breath.

“Please what, baby?  Please don’t stop?” Ron whispered erotically along her cheek.  “Please take me?”  He took a tiny bite of her ear, then soothed it with his tongue.  His final, “Please tell me how to please you,” was a slam-dunk.  Her resistance ebbed.  He grasped her face and brought it toward his.  Angling his head, he reclaimed her mouth.

His kisses became bolder, hotter, awakening every single yearning cell in her body.  Lord, but he knew how to play her.  Ashley fisted his shirt, pulled him closer.  He was all over her, his hands, his mouth, his breath, his very essence. 

Fireworks exploded behind her eyes.  She felt feverish, yet more alive than she’d ever been in her entire life.  Panic torpedoed inside her.  Where was her freaking control?

Ashley flung her head back and gasped for air.  “Ron?  Please.  I need…I need….”  Speech had never been this difficult.

“So do I,” was his craggy response.  “So much.”  He dropped butterfly kisses along her neck, inhaled deeply.  “Hmm, wild roses.  You smell so good.”  He bit her jaw, causing her body to vibrate.  “Dark, juicy, exotic.”

She was barely hanging on to her control.  Lord knew she had a healthy sexual appetite, but this was way, way out there.  She’d never lost control from a kiss.  If one would define what he was doing to her a kiss.  He was plundering, ravishing her, priming her body for the mother-of-all climaxes.  A surprised huff escaped her when he circled her waist and lifted her off the ground. 

 “Wrap your legs around me,” he commanded hoarsely, pressing her more intimately against him.

Obey him.  Her knees lifted, then she willed them to stop.  It didn’t matter that she could feel his arousal pressing against her or that his take-charge attitude was a major turn-on.  This had gone too far.  Somehow, she must stop, regroup, and start thinking like a mature, rational woman.  And she was rational, damn it.  Always.  Yet here she was, behaving like a sex-crazed teenager.  Only an insane woman would get a thrill out of a man ordering her around.

His “Please,” sounded guttural, raw.  It called to something inside her.  Oh, what the hell.  She could always stop him if things got too intense. 

Her thighs opened, knees lifted, legs wrapped around him.  Good heavens, the bulge in his pants nestled perfectly against her.  Exquisite sensations migrated from all over her body to the joint between her legs. 

Stop him when things got too intense, she’d told herself.  He could pull down both their pants right now and have her, and she would be urging him on, screaming her way to a shuttering climax.

His mouth closed on hers, tongue boldly thrusting into her mouth, mating, dancing.  Stop him now?  Hell no.  His clever tongue was doing a darn good job of giving something she hadn’t had in years. 

Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, her mouth welcoming his questing one.  Her fingers dug into his skin, silently urging him on.  His weight shifted and the next thing she knew, her back was up against the wall, his hips grinding into hers.  A primitive growl rumbled through his chest.

Holy smokes.  She’d died and went to sensual Nirvana.  She clung to him, floating, aching, craving.  He slid free of her mouth, sought her face, her neck.  His clever fingers slid up her back, cupped her face as he plundered her mouth repeatedly.  She moaned.  Or did he?  It didn’t matter. 

How well he made exquisite love to her mouth.  She was an instrument to his masterly fingers.  The more he gave, the more she wanted.  His hands on her bare skin?  Yes.  Hers on his sexy body.  Double yes. 

His hand skimmed over the thin cotton fabric and landed on the underside of her breast, but stopped shy of covering her aching nipples.  Ashley stopped breathing.  Touch me.  Please.  She wanted to beg.  Crazy.  So unlike her.  Where was common sense when she needed it? 

He sought a taut nipple, her T-shirt no barrier to his clever fingers, and a burst of sensation annihilated what little control she had left.  Ashley arched her back and tried to stop her hips from pressing against his.  Honestly, she tried, but her body seemed to have a mind of its own.  It greedily sought his, loving the feel of him against her, needing a release so bad it heaved, wiggled, and bucked. 

Please no.  Not like this.  She might crave release, want to beg for it, but she wasn’t going to let it happen.  To lose control to a point when nothing else mattered but physical satisfaction wasn’t her thing.  Worse yet, it was with a man whose father would still be alive if it weren’t for her.