Slow Burn (29 page)

He closed his large hand over hers as she
pumped him, gripped tightly for a brief moment before easing her
hand off him and pulled her up. “Not now. I need to be inside you,
babe. Right now.”

He got protection from his pants but she took
it from his hand, ripped the package open and rolled it on him.
Then she budged him gently and he flopped back on the toilet lid.
Once again, she took his throbbing shaft in her hand. Slowly, she
lowered herself and guided him inside her hot, wet and yielding
folds. A hiss escaped his mouth as her tight sheath hugged him.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Oh yes, babe. You feel good. Perfect.”

“No. You’re the perfect one.” She placed her
hands on his shoulders and started riding him, her movements slow
and deep. He cupped her breasts, dragged his tongue over her
nipples one at a time, suckling them tenderly. Then her movements
changed, becoming rapid as she rocked, rose and fell on him. He
almost lost it when she arched her back, leaned back to grab his
thighs behind her and danced circles on his shaft, her half-closed
eyes locked with his.

For the first time in his life Ron felt
exposed, vulnerable. He didn’t know this crazy power she had over
his mind and body, but he wasn’t going to fight it. Actually, it
was kind of liberating to be at her mercy—seduced by the sexy
sounds coming from her mouth and her jerking hips, completely
unmanned by the little muscles inside her massaging him. She had
him bad, had him bucking and writhing, sweating and groaning her
name as they raced to the finish.

She stiffened and jerked violently, almost
unsheathing him. He pulled her to him and cried out in a voice he
hardly recognized as his own. Intense pleasure shot through his
body in quick succession, rendering him helpless.

He held her tight, for how long he didn’t
know. He didn’t want to let her go. Or stop loving her. Or share
her with anyone. He now knew what he wanted, and it was much more
than an occasional sex. He had to have exclusive rights to her.

Even as the thoughts formed, Ron knew it
wasn’t fair to Ashley. He still hadn’t come clean about the rumors
about his father and the fire. He’d meant to three days ago, but
had ditched the idea after talking to his mother and doing some
thorough soul-searching. If Ashley knew the truth, she might end
their association. He wasn’t taking that chance. The truth must
wait until later. He must have time to show her that what they had
was special.

His heart thundered in his chest, except it
wasn’t with excitement this time. It was pure, unadulterated dread.
Relationships beyond the bedroom were a mystery to him. He’d never
had one nor met a woman who inspired him to ask for one. Yet with
this woman, he wanted much more. Somehow, she had stormed past his
defenses and imbedded herself in his very essence. All he had to do
was accept it, deal with it.

He smoothed damp hair away from her face and
took a deep breath, not sure how to broach the subject. “I love
make-up sex.”

Crap, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say. But
Ashley rescued him from coming up with a better opening when she
laughed and her nether muscles tightened around him. He wasn’t
surprised when blood rushed to his groin, again. He hoped it would
always be like that with them.

She kissed his chest and leaned back to look
into his face, her eyes luminous. “I wouldn’t know about that, but
since you like it so much, we should fight more often. And I should
be on top every time we make up.”

“On top huh? Love to control the pace, don’t
you?”

She giggled. “It gives me more freedom.”

“And leaves my hands free for these babies.”
He cupped her breasts and paid tribute to her taut, responsive
nipples with his teeth and tongue and grinned when she caught her
breath. “On the other hand, you haven’t seen all of my tricks
yet.”

“Hmm, sounds promising. Want to show me
more?” She wiggled her eyebrows when he looked up. “I’ve been told
I’m a quick study.”

He loved the way she wasn’t afraid to show
him that she wanted him. Ron laughed and pulled her closer to
nuzzle the side of her face.

***

An hour later, they left the bathroom.
Ashley’s eyes darted to the areas in the room with surveillance
cameras. Thank goodness their system had no audio component. They
never curbed their enthusiasm when they made love.

“If that punk comes anywhere near you again,
let me know,” Ron said from behind her. “Where are the
sketches?”

Ron was ticked that she hadn’t told him about
the incident with Vaughn outside the hospital. The way he was going
on, she wished she hadn’t mentioned it. She hobbled to the table
where she’d kept the sketches and slapped them in his hand. “You’re
overreacting. Vaughn wouldn’t physically hurt me. That’s not his
style.”

“What would you know about his style? You
only met him twice.”

Okay, she brought that on herself. “Never
mind. Anyway, I’m only guessing that the man in my dreams and
Vaughn’s driver are the same person. I could be mistaken.”

His attention shifted to the sketches.
Slowly, he studied each page. “But you recalled his scarred face,
and in your dream, your mother was responsible for scarring him.
I’d like to hear what Dr. Vogel has to say about that. May I borrow
this one?” He indicated the sketch with the unscarred profile of
Vaughn’s driver.

“Why? Eddie’s already checking into the man’s
background.”

Ron’s brow rose. “Your cousin?”

Ashley nodded and told him what Eddie had
uncovered.

“Do you think he’ll agree to share his
information with Kenny?”

“I don’t know. Eddie is a law unto himself,
so I can’t promise anything. When we spoke, he was planning on
paying Kenny a visit.”

“That’s even better. Kenny prefers to work
with the local law enforcement rather than his former colleagues at
the bureau. He might also want to show this sketch to the man who
works at the Sunset Marquis Hotel to see if Frankie Higgins was the
man he saw talking to Dunn. Then we’ll have something tangible to
link the Doyles to this mess.” He explained what his mother told
him about Doyle’s attempt to buy the house ten years ago.

Ashley shook her head. “That would make what
Vaughn did so weird.”

“What? Offering you a ride?”

“No, hon. Vaughn has decided to support local
art. He’s the new benefactor of The César Chavez Children’s
Museum.” His eyes progressively darkened as she explained what Josh
and Micah had told her.

“How much is he pledging?” he asked when she
finished.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Nothing.” He walked to where he’d left his
firefighter clothes and slipped the sketch in the pocket of his
jacket.

Not liking his attitude, her gaze stayed on
him. “You aren’t thinking of confronting Vaughn, are you? We don’t
have any proof yet that he and his father are the bad guys
here.”

He shot her a sharp look. “We’ll see.” Then
he turned to survey the broken pieces of glass. “Where’s the broom
and dustpan?”

Ashley got up. “I’ll get it.”

“No, stay put. In fact, you shouldn’t put
your weight on that foot. Where’re your cleaning things?”

She settled back on the stool. “In the closet
next to the bathroom door.” She watched him walk away, admiring the
confidence he exuded. Would she ever get tired of looking at him?
He was such a beautiful man.

An idea started to form in her head, brought
a grin on her lips. Yeah, why not. She hobbled to the table where
her cameras were and picked up one. She lifted it and aimed at Ron
as he walked back to the kitchen area, broom and dustpan in
hand.

Ron cocked a brow at her. “What are you
doing?”

“Capturing the moment.” Her finger twitched
and the shutter opened and closed. “Don’t you know a man tinkering
about in the kitchen is considered very sexy?”

He stopped, wriggled his eyebrows. “Want me
to take my shirt off?”

She grinned and clicked. “Would you?”

“Hell no.”

“Please.” She moved until she had a clear
view of him sweeping the debris off the counter and into the pan.
Click, click, went her camera. The photos would go into her
personal collection. She didn’t know how long their relationship
would last, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a few mementos along the
way. Something to hold on to once he was gone. “Women will die to
own you.”

“Too bad. I’m a one woman man, and I’m
already taken.” He leaned against the broom, his expression
becoming serious. “Do you remember what you told me about being
filthy the night of the fire?”

Ashley noted the change in his voice and put
the camera down. “Yes. It didn’t make sense.”

“It should once you hear this. My
great-grandfather ran a speakeasy under Carlyle House during
prohibition.”

Her eyes widened. “No way. I researched the
house, and
that
wasn’t in the archived newspaper
articles.”

“It’s a family secret, which explains why my
family fought selling the house all these years and where my
grandmother got the money to start Neumann Security. I mean, my
great-grandfather was a doctor, but in those days, doctors didn’t
make that much money.” He swept the broken piece of glass onto the
dustpan and dumped them in the garbage as he talked. “After my
mother confessed, Kenny and I went snooping. It took us a while to
find the door hidden in the basement. It’s impossible to tell it’s
there. Just a second.” He went to return the broom and the dustpan
in the storage closet.

Ashley tried to recall anything about the
house and came up blank. How had she made it to that room ten years
ago? “Are there other doors leading to it?”

“Probably. I’m amazed you didn’t hurt
yourself in that dingy room. It’s huge and full of crates and
storage boxes, broken down tables and chairs. Someone in my family
built a wall to hide the secret underground entrance that connects
it to the storm drainage system, but moisture has seeped into the
concrete and it’s crumbling. I wish I knew about the whole
speakeasy thing when I was younger.”

From his excited expression, he would have
enjoyed exploring those underground rooms. Maybe visiting the place
might jog her memory. Before she could ask Ron, the doorbell
rang.

Ron held up a hand to stop her from answering
it and walked to the door. When he removed the stool and opened it,
Officer Kilpatrick said, “I’m sorry to intrude, but I need to talk
to Ms. Fitzgerald right away.”

Something in Kilpatrick’s voice had Ashley
hurrying to the door. She slipped her hand through Ron’s. Touching
him gave her a modicum of comfort as she braced for whatever news
the officer brought.

“What is it?” Ashley asked.

“We just got a call from Sanchez with some
good, or bad, news. Depending on how you look at it.”

“What news?” Ron said.

“A body of a man matching Dunn’s description
washed up on Corona del Mar State Beach earlier today. They fed the
fingerprints into IAFIS database and the name that came up was Evan
Ironside, a local private investigator. A couple of our people paid
his office a visit and discovered that he uses several aliases,
including Dunn.”

“Was his death…?” Ashley didn’t finish the
sentence, but Officer Kilpatrick understood what she was
asking.

“Natural? They don’t have anything conclusive
yet, but they’re not ruling out foul play. However, we’ve been
ordered to end the stakeout. With Dunn dead, the captain said we
have no reason to be here, Ms. Fitzgerald. I’m sorry.”

Ashley couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Ron had gone tense beside her, too. “What if whoever hired him is
still out there?” he snapped.

“I understand how you feel, but I don’t make
the decisions, Mr. Noble. I just follow orders.”

“Can we talk to Officer Sanchez?” Ashley
asked.

Kilpatrick shook her head. “I don’t know. You
could try calling her. But I do know she’s busy at the moment.
She’ll be here tomorrow to talk to both of you.”

“We’ll be here,” Ashley said.

“Until four, then we have an appointment
downtown.” Ron pulled out a card from his wallet and passed it to
the woman. “She can reach us by my cell phone.”

“Or mine,” Ashley added.

“A team from our precinct will be here in the
morning to dismantle the surveillance system. I’m sorry we didn’t
get to Dunn first.” She nodded and left.

Ron propped the door shut and turned to peer
at Ashley’s face. Worried and confused, she wondered if her eyes
had given her away.

“Hey.” He rubbed her upper arms.

The soothing warmth from his hands steadied
her. “This is all so strange.”

“What is?”

“Remember I mentioned a detective my aunt
hired ten years ago to investigate the fire?”

“Yes. You said he found nothing.”

“That’s what he told her. But he must have.
His name was Evan Ironside.”

CHAPTER 15

Ashley was still thinking about Evan ‘Dunn’
Ironside the next day as she and Ron climbed the stairs to Dr.
Reuben’s office. Obviously, Dunn’s claim that he’d found nothing
during his investigation of the fire was false. Someone must have
convinced him to lie. More than ever, Ashley wanted to know what
happened that night.

“This way, please.” Dr. Reuben’s assistant, a
stylish forty-something brunette with a beaming smile, opened a
door and indicated to Ashley and Ron to enter. “The doctor will be
with you shortly. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.
The phone is on the side table.” With another flash of a smile, she
was gone.

Ashley hugged her arms and turned to survey
Dr. Reuben’s psychotherapy room. The few times she’d consulted with
the doctor, they’d used a different office. This room was
surprisingly homey. A sofa, a loveseat and a coffee table sat in
the middle of the room with two leather chairs and a chaise lounge
near a window. Gilded lamps sat on the side tables, and next to
them, a vase of flowers. A few collectibles shared space with
psychology books on shelves. With the ceiling fan turning at a low
speed, the room was cool without being uncomfortable.