Slow Burn (16 page)

She shot him an accusatory look. “You don’t
play fair, Ronald Noble.”

Not when it came to the opposite sex. “Me?
I’m not the one who halted things just when they were getting
interesting. That, sweetheart, definitely falls under unfair.”

He leaned back against the lounge and watched
her as she crossed the room to pick up the camera. He liked the way
her old clothes hinted at the lush, feminine curves underneath. But
nothing compared to her kisses, her responses. They were
stimulating, raw and honest.

She shot him a glance, caught him ogling her
and wrinkled her nose. He winked at her. She lifted the camera,
aimed the viewfinder at him and clicked.

“A firefighter with an MBA. Very
interesting.” She continued to snap pictures of him from different
angles. “Tell me more.”

“Part-time firefighter, part-time, uh, I’m
not exactly sure what title I presently hold. Director or messenger
boy, it all depends on the whims of my grandmother and uncle. You
could say we reached a compromise. I put on the suit and sit
through boring meetings and lunches, and I get to pit my skills
against nature during fire season.”

She kept moving, the camera in her hands
constantly clicking. “I read somewhere that she single-handedly
started the company, securing contracts with major casinos and
hotels in Vegas before branching to L.A.”

Crafty, demanding and invincible, that was
his grandmother. Rumor had it that she’d used questionable means to
acquire the Vegas contracts. Probably true. His family had way too
many dark secrets. “She’s a formidable woman.”

“That explains it.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Explains what?”

“How you’ve managed to waltz past Jeffrey
downstairs. Last week and today, he didn’t bother to check with me
before letting you come upstairs.” She lowered the camera and
walked toward him.

He chuckled. “The man knows who signs his
paycheck every month.”

“I won’t have you bully him just because
you’re his boss,” she admonished and knelt beside the lounge.

“Don’t let his wife Marina hear you. She
claims that title…or used to. I believe baby Justin has replaced
her now. Cute little boy.”

An expression of regret crossed her face as
she contemplated him. “You’re full of surprises.” Her voice was
almost sad.

He didn’t know what to make of that. “Good
ones. I hope.”

She shrugged. “Yeah. I need to take more
pictures of different poses. Shift slightly to the right, please.
Yes, that’s good. Left arm behind your head. Bend your right knee
slightly.” She touched it and his muscle contracted. “Much better.
Left leg extended, slightly parted.” He let out a ragged breath and
she grinned. The little tease was deliberately driving him crazy.
“Right arm across your stomach…no, no, just above your
bellybutton.”

“How long are we going to do this?” he
growled.

Ashley smiled. “Just a few more minutes.
Why?”

“I think my two minutes are up. I was hoping
we could leave your stats and the photo shoot for later, and pick
up where we left off.”

She laughed. “A firefighter, director,
messenger and a comedian. Wow. You’re a real piece of work,
Noble.”

He liked the way she found humor at the
oddest moments. “You’re pretty special, too.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere with me. Do
you want some music?”

“Nah. I rather like the view,” he muttered,
his gaze locked on her.

She lifted the camera and aimed at him. “I
like the view too.” When he smiled, she ripped off a shot, then
another. She kept instructing him and moving around, the shutters
snapping nonstop. When she zoomed in for close-ups, she caught the
hungry look in his eyes, his sensual mouth, his abs, his kissable
belly button. Heavens, even his toes were perfect. Click. Snap.

Through the lenses, her inhibitions were
gone. She was the bold lover seducing him with words and her eyes,
making him do her will. Would he be that accommodating in bed? Let
her take the lead? Hmm-mm, the things she’d do to him. The thought
had her grinning like a cream-fed cat.
Naughty, naughty,
Ashley.

She lowered her camera to say, “Tell me more
about you, Ron.” With his mind occupied he wouldn’t mind the
sitting. Besides, she wanted to catch his facial expressions. She
returned the first camera to the table and picked up another, then
turned to face him.

“I thought it was your turn to give me your
stats.”

“My life isn’t interesting.”

“It is to me.”

“Okay. I, uh, started drawing as a child. My
parents recognized my talents and hired a tutor to work with me.
Jonathan was eccentric, but fun. I learned a lot from him. For a
while after my parents died, I didn’t want to touch a paint brush.”
She’d been too angry at them, everyone, the world. It took her a
while and a lot of therapy to move on. “Finally, something, I don’t
know what, pulled me back and I went back to lessons. Later, I
studied theater arts at UCLA. After graduating, I started with
commissioned pieces and murals. Now I try to have a show once a
year.”

“Why theater arts? Why UCLA?”

She shrugged. “I thought I’d try my hands at
acting, but I didn’t have the temperament for it. I did better
behind the camera.”

“Makes sense. You enjoy ordering people
around.”

She knew he was referring to her present
performance. “Thank you,” she said glibly. “And you are
surprisingly good at following directions.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “I have an ulterior
motive.”

No kidding. She lifted the camera and
captured him laughing. “Anyway, after wandering with my parents, I
wanted to be close to family, and UCLA seemed a wise choice.” Her
finger hesitated on the button. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Talk and photograph you at the same time. Do
you mind…?”

He shrugged. “No. Uh, what did you want to
know?”

“About your college days…family… why the
Hotshot organization. I mean, wildfires are kind of
unpredictable.”

“That’s why they employ a lot of part-time
workers. When my father died, I spent a month with my grandmother
Deanne and my uncles in Kern Valley. Heard their stories about
wildfires, the challenges of working them, and I was hooked. When I
started college, I applied to the Forest Services for a part-time
position. Learned to get by and make do in the outdoors fast. Made
me wish I had stuck with boy scouting though.”

A reflective expression stayed on Ron’s face
as he spoke. Her finger on the button twitched as she captured it.
“That must have been tough.”

“At first. My uncles and cousins didn’t cut
me any slack either, just like they didn’t my father. He worked
with them before he met my mother. After he took over running L.A.
branch of Neumann Security, he worked part-time with the local
firefighters. Anyway, they made sure I could operate a chain saw,
drive a truck with a five-and-a-two transmission, and I obtained a
license to drive heavy rigs before I went out. Pitching a tent,
cooking over fire, tying a half dozen knots became as easy as
breathing.”

Amazing he’d want to be a firefighter after
his father died in the line of duty. His mother must have gone
ballistic. “How did your family take it?”

He grimaced. “My mother refused to speak to
me for weeks. She couldn’t understand why I had to do it.”

Ashley stopped taking pictures all together
and studied him. “Why do you do it?”

“It was something to do,” he said, his
expression closed. “Still is.”

Yeah, right. “Working at Neumann Security
would have sufficed if you were just looking for something to do.”
She studied him, wondering if she could dare voice her thoughts.
“It makes you closer to him…your father, doesn’t it?”

He shot her an unreadable glance. “What makes
you say that?”

“Because we all do things to make us feel
closer to those we’ve lost. I listen to my parents’ music, kept the
lawyer they had when I could have gone with a younger one. Even
opening a commune for artists was their dream. It’s perfectly
normal to have these feelings.”

There was a silence, as though he was
debating on how much to admit to her. Finally, he said, “Yeah. My
family didn’t think so.” A far away look entered his eyes. “My
grandmother threatened to disown me, and Uncle Gregory blamed my
father’s “blue-collar” genes on every bad thing I did.”

From his expression, she couldn’t tell if
their reaction had hurt him. “It doesn’t really matter what anyone
thinks, you know. As long as it brings you peace, joy, or whatever
it is you’re searching for, nothing else matters.”

He smiled. “I don’t know about all that. I
like the physical challenge of fighting wild fires—walking miles on
end on the rough, uneven terrain, living out of a backpack,
sleeping on the ground and staying at remote spike camps.”

Filling his father’s shoes or at least trying
to. “And here I had you pegged as a city boy,” she teased.

“I guess now you know my deep, dark
secret.”

And a whole lot more. “You want to take a
break?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” was his response.
He stood, moseyed to where she was rewinding the films. He slipped
his arms around her waist, pressed his cheek against the side of
her head and watched what she was doing. “I have a new respect for
models. Or maybe you’re just a demanding photographer. Right arm
there…left there…chin tilted this way…legs apart…together…. I was
beginning to plot your demise.”

“I would never have guessed,” she lied
smoothly and forced her body to behave. It wasn’t easy. His
masculine chest was naked and yummy-looking. “If you ever want to
change professions, I have Dee’s phone number.”

“No way. I’m too old to be prodded and told
how to sit.” He kissed the side of her neck and let her go to
retrieve his shirt. “So what’s next?”

“I’m going to cook breakfast, then hopefully
you’ll have the strength to sit for me, again. Without the pants.”
He groaned and she smiled. “Uh, I forgot to ask before. Did you
have breakfast?”

“No. I was too far gone to eat whatever the
flight attendant prepared.”

Flight attendant? Where in God’s name had he
flown from this morning? “Would you like something now? I make a
mean omelet.” She started for the kitchen.

“Then I’d definitely like some.” He followed
her to the kitchen, pulled out a stool and sat. “How come you don’t
use digital cameras?”

“I do when it’s convenient, but I like the
results better when I use film.” She retrieved a pan from a
cupboard and placed it on top of the stove. “The highlights and
overexposed objects tend to look garish on digital prints while the
film prints depends on the person processing them.”

“Do you do your own processing?”

A shiver went through Ashley at his words.
The thought of being in a dark room was enough to make her break
out in sweat.

“I drop them off at a friend’s. I don’t like
small spaces.” She removed butter and brown eggs from the fridge.
When he didn’t speak, she threw him a look from the corner of her
eye.

He was studying her loft as though seeing it
for the first time. She’d bet the lack of draperies on her windows
made sense to him now. Most of her visitors usually assumed the
artist in her liked the extra light. Little did they know dark
rooms, confining spaces filled her with unreasonable dread.

“It has something to do with that night,
doesn’t it?” His voice had her looking up from the bowl of eggs she
was whipping. He sounded angry.

“Maybe. I don’t know. My therapist thinks so,
but since I don’t remember much, I can’t say with certainty.”

“And these notes on your fridge door and the
corkboard?”

This time, she felt heat crawl up her face.
There was sharing information and there was baring one’s soul. She
wasn’t ready to go there with him. But if she ever lost her memory
again, those notes would tell her exactly what she missed. “Would
you like more coffee?”

“Sure, thanks. But I’ll get it. You continue
with your cooking.”

Ashley told him where everything was and
watched as he retrieved his mug from beside the lounge. She was
busy chopping red, yellow and green peppers when he joined her in
the kitchen. He dwarfed the space and didn’t seem to be in a
particular hurry to return to his stool on the other side of the
counter. She glanced nervously at him, but his gaze was on the
yellow Post-Its dotting her fridge door.

“I hope you don’t mind pepper in your
omelet,” she said, attempting to draw his attention.

“No, I don’t.” His gaze stayed glued on the
notes.

“Hey.”

He looked at her and cocked an arched
eyebrow.

“Don’t you know it’s considered rude to read
someone’s messages?”

“I know.” He leaned against the counter,
tilted his head to the side and contemplated her with a thoughtful
expression. “I could apologize and tell you I’m sorry, but I’d be
lying. You fascinate me.”

Ashley finished cutting up the vegetables and
added them to the pan. “Why?”

“The truth?”

“Absolutely.”

“I want you in my bed.” She blinked at his
boldness, her hand moving faster and faster as she turned the
omelet. “Or yours. I don’t have a preference, really. It could even
be on the floor or a couch, standing, sitting, or lying down. It
doesn’t matter as long as I make us happy. I want to kiss you all
over. I want to hear my name on your lips when you come apart, when
I—”

The telephone interrupted him. Ashley put the
knife down and dove for the phone like a drowning person would a
passing log. Her hands shook as X-rated images flashed in her head,
and her galloping heartbeat made speech difficult.

“Yes?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Totally pathetic.

“Ashley? Is that you?”

It was Jeremy Kirkland. She had to clear her
voice before saying louder, “Yes, Uncle Jerry.”