FLOWERS ARE RED

by Mary J. Williams

  A conscience was a great thing—until it wasn't. Belle's was on overload. Yes. No. Maybe. Why couldn't she jump one way and be satisfied with her decision? Because, that annoying little voice in her head reminded her, this isn't just any man. It's Ashe. Temptation personified.

  "Would you regret it?" The words slipped out, but Belle was glad. If she couldn't have a kiss to enjoy, at least she would have the satisfaction of knowing if Ashe was as conflicted as she was.

  Pausing, Ashe shook his head, his lips curving into a half smile.

  "After the way you left things in Los Angeles? Finding out you're engaged to be married? I should regret taking you into my bed." Ashe smoothed a hand over Belle's hair. "But I don't. There's no way in hell I would regret a kiss, Belle. Now. Tomorrow. Ever."

  Without another word or a backward glance, Ashe walked away. Slowly, slightly dazed, Belle stepped into her apartment, shutting the door. She pressed her back against the surface, sliding to the floor with a sigh.

  One thing hadn't changed. Belle was over her crush. Unfortunately, those girlhood feelings had been replaced by something far more serious. And infinitely more dangerous. It was only a kernel—more of a notion than a full-fledged emotion. However, Belle knew—given a chance—it would take hold and never let go. She didn't have the guts to say the word.

  The little voice in her head had no such problem. Belle's attempt to block it out failed abysmally. The whispered word snuck through her defenses. It echoed through her brain.

  Love.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "WHAT ARE YOUR plans?"

  "The point of this trip was to see my father. That hasn't changed."

  Ashe had called Los Angeles to check in—a common occurrence when one of the bandmates was out of town. It was early, and he knew that like him, Zoe was usually up with the sun. Besides, Ryder and Dalton shared their beds these days. Ashe didn't want to disturb them or their ladies.

  Ashe listened to the sound of strings being plucked. Not an unfamiliar occurrence. Zoe never went anyplace without one of her many guitars. Ashe had two best friends. Male best friends. He was just as close to Zoe. However, as a woman, the dynamic was different. Not that he would tell her that. From the beginning, she insisted they treat her as they would any other member of the band. Forget her sex.

  Easier said than done. Zoe was Ryder's little sister. Ashe had met her years before she joined the band. By then, she was his sister too. She was a strong, independent woman who could take care of herself. However, when they first met, she was a quiet, vulnerable fifteen-year-old girl. Zoe didn't let that part of her show very often. When she did, Ashe wanted to wrap her in cotton and protect her from the world. Of course, if he attempted such a foolish mission, she would have his balls on a plate.

  Zoe was their equal in all things. She was also the best guitar player Ashe had ever known. Bar none. Ryder couldn't hold a candle to her. Neither could Ashe. A fact they weren't shy about admitting. And her voice. Ashe sighed thinking about it. She refused to step up and sing lead, but her voice was the stuff to make the angels weep.

  "Daddy is AWOL. Brother dear is an asshole. Sister number two is a waste of space. At least you have Georgia and her brood."

  Count on Zoe to reduce matters to basics. She was the most pragmatic member of the band, and Ashe loved her for it.

  "Today I get to spend the day spoiling my nieces."

  "You sound happy about that," Zoe said, her voice as dry as the Sahara.

  Ashe smiled. He could almost see Zoe's shudder. She was tolerant of children but had little use for them. All those years in foster homes made her lose her taste for sticky, smelly, whiny little tykes. She had her fill, thank you very much.

  "Naomi and Nadia are sweethearts. And they love their Uncle Ashe."

  "That explains it. You are a sucker for an adoring woman—no matter her age."

  "True." An image of Belle popped into Ashe's head. The one woman he wished adored him was out of his reach. The irony wasn't lost on him.

  "A whole day?" Zoe sounded skeptical. "What are they? Four? Five?"

  "Five. I can handle them." That's what Ashe kept telling himself. He had a doubt or two. But he refused to admit it to Zoe. "Besides, the beauty of being an uncle is that I get to rev them up on parks, toy stores, and copious amounts of sugar then—"

  "Dump them in Mommy's lap." Zoe's chuckle made Ashe's grin widen. "The perfect plan. Your sister might question welcoming you with open arms."

  "I have carte blanche—for one day and one day only."

  "You won't spoil the little darlings after this?"

  Zoe knew him well. "I didn't say that. From here on, I'll temper my spoiling. However, since this is our first solo outing, I want it to be memorable."

  "Dolls," Zoe said emphatically. "The big ones with long, shiny hair and ruffled dresses. That's what I wanted when I was that age."

  Ashe swallowed. There was nobody to buy Zoe a doll. Or presents of any kind. She didn't talk about it often, but she and Ryder had hellish childhoods. If she told him to buy his nieces big, fancy dolls, that was what Ashe would do.

  "Thanks for the tip," Ashe answered with deliberate lightness. Then, because he knew Zoe just as well, changed the subject. "What's on your agenda?"

  "Avoiding Smith Carson." Zoe growled the name as if spitting out the filthiest curse words imaginable. "Ryder is giving him a tour of the studio this afternoon. Dalton plans to join them. I don't."

  Ashe couldn't understand Zoe's animosity toward Smith Carson. It seemed to come out of nowhere. For the first time since the idea of combining the two tours arose, Ashe hesitated. Up until now, they had treated Zoe's negativity as a joke. If there was more involved, Ashe wanted to know.

  "Has Smith Carson tried something with you?"

  "Tried something? As in made a pass?" Zoe laughed. Hard. "What would you do if I said yes?"

  "Kick the pretty boy's ass."

  Ashe expected more laughter. Zoe was notoriously fierce about fighting her own battles. When she replied, her tone was sober as a judge.

  "Thank you for the thought. It means a lot to know you have my back, Ashe." It sounded as if Zoe cleared her throat. "But it isn't necessary."

  "You're sure?" Zoe's uncharacteristic show of emotion made Ashe's throat tighten. "I have a mean right hook."

  "According to his bio, Smith Carson is a martial arts expert. Are you sure you want to take that on?"

  That gave Ashe pause. "How expert?"

  "Beats me. The point is, you, my would-be hero, are not. If Carson messes with my virtue, I'll deal with him the good old-fashioned way."

  "Knee to the nuts?"

  Zoe simply laughed. "Have a good time with the tiny terrors. And call back soon."

  "Say hi to Smith," Ashe teased.

  "Up yours, Mathison."

  "I love you, too, kid."

  Ashe grinned, ending the call. It was a good feeling knowing he had people who cared—worried. Friends who wanted him around. He loved Georgia. He was looking forward to getting to know her little girls. As for his father? He was a wild card Ashe couldn't count on. Not yet. But one thing would always be constant. His family—the family of his heart—waited for him in Los Angeles.

  Whistling, Ashe headed down the stairs. He needed three things to start his day. A long run. A hot shower. Followed by a big breakfast. In the driveway, he bent to tie his shoe. He adjusted the baseball cap and sunglasses. Ashe didn't expect to be recognized at this hour, but donning a little camouflage had become second nature. Ready, he started out along the familiar streets at an easy jog.

  Taking the corner, Ashe increased his speed as his body warmed and his muscles loosened. Suddenly, he realized there was one more thing he needed. The name of a toy store that sold big dolls with long, shiny hair and ruffled dresses. He could ask Georgia, but that would take away the fun of surprising her as well as her little girls.

  Ashe was a good three miles into his
run, feet pounding the pavement, his heart beating fast when the answer came to him. Who better to ask than someone who had lived in the city her entire life?

  Belle Richards. It gave him the perfect excuse to get in touch with her. Ashe knew it wasn't a good idea. But what the hell, he told himself, heading back the way he came. It was only a phone call. It wasn't as though anything was going to happen.

  Always ready to call somebody out on a bullshit statement—even himself—Ashe laughed. The truth was, for all his moral high-ground rhetoric and resolve, if Belle gave him any indication she was willing, he didn't think that ring on her finger would mean much.

  Ashe wanted her in Los Angeles. He wanted her when he woke the next morning—alone. He wanted her now.

  Last night hadn't helped. Time alone with Belle—just talking—reinforced his feelings. It was one thing to desire her. But now there was an added element. He liked her. A lot. It moved her to a new category. One Ashe had never dealt with before now.

  There were scores of women Ashe had wanted. Belle was the first one he could grow to need.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BELLE HUNG UP the phone. It was barely nine o'clock, and that already was the third mini blowup she had averted since arriving at work. Even with the world's multitudes of time differences, she didn't understand how people wound themselves up so tight, so early.

  With a sigh, Belle sipped her second cup of coffee. Last night when she told Ashe her job was to smooth things over, she hadn't exaggerated. Luckily, it wasn't all she did. Her pet project was coming along nicely. When her father approved the budget—Belle refused to consider him turning her down—everything was in place to start moving forward.

  As Belle clicked on the computer file for Strive, she felt a surge of excitement. Everything was meticulously documented and researched. Her plan to help single mothers earn an income that would allow them to stay at home and provide a good life for them and their children wasn't just a pipe dream. It was doable.

  The applications—a distressingly large amount—had been processed and screened. At this stage, Belle's handpicked staff spent most of their time making certain the women they chose were legitimately in need. It was vital that no scam artists slipped through. Money would be tight at first, and Belle was determined not to waste a penny. She put her trust in those under her to make certain every applicant they accepted was legitimate.

  However, Belle was in charge of the bottom line. Never turn your back on the money. It was one of the first—and most important—lessons her father taught her. She followed it religiously in her professional and personal life. Every check, every bank transfer, every spreadsheet was checked and approved by her. No exceptions.

  As Belle scanned today's updates, she felt a glow of satisfaction. One day, she promised herself, the fledgling company would grow. Expand to include not just women, but others who were looking for a hand up—not a handout.

  "Belle?"

  "Yes, Pru?"

  From Belle's first day as Vice President, Pru Craddock had been her assistant. Though Pru was almost ten years older, Belle thought of them as starting out together. Vividly, she remembered interviewing the other woman—it was a toss-up which of them had been more nervous.

  At the time, Pru had been a single mother getting back into the workforce after staying home through her late teens and early twenties to raise her two children. One divorce and a deadbeat dad later, she was desperate to find a job. Though her father had advised going with somebody more qualified, Belle had never regretted her decision. Pru was the inspiration for Strive. In fact, her assistant sat on the advisory board. Her input had already proved invaluable.

  "Ashe Mathison is on line three."

  Belle stared at the blinking light on the communications console as if she had never seen it before.

  "Belle? Are you there?"

  Realizing she wasn't breathing, Belle took several deep breaths. Stop acting like you've never received a phone call from the opposite sex, she chastised herself. He's just a man. Belle had almost convinced herself it was true when Pru blew her argument out of the water.

  "Is it the Ashe Mathison?" Normally, Pru's voice was calm and professional. As she said Ashe's name, it quivered with barely suppressed excitement. "I mean, how many could there be?"

  "Ashe is definitely an original," Belle admitted, her mouth twisted. Part smile. Part consternation.

  "Then it is him. Oh, my," Pru gasped. "Oh, my. My girls and I love The Ryder Hart Band. I can't believe I am this close to a certified rock star."

  Dealing with Pru's overheated reaction calmed Belle's nerves.

  "I don't think he's that close, Pru. A few miles, at least."

  "But it's as though he breathed in my ear." There was a pause before Pru burst out laughing. "Did I just say that? I'm sorry, Belle. I can't imagine what's wrong with me."

  Belle understood as was well as anybody. "Ashe Mathison tends to have that effect on women. Even from a distance."

  "You've met him?" In spite of her recovery, Pru sounded slightly breathless.

  "When I was in Los Angeles. And before you ask. Yes, I met all of the band members."

  Pru gasped. "I was going to ask if he is as sexy in person as he was in music videos. I can't believe you met The Ryder Hart Band. Ryder and Dalton?"

  "And Zoe," Belle confirmed, amused by Pru's reaction.

  "I—"

  Before Pru could spout one more oh, my, Belle interrupted.

  "Did Ashe say what he wanted?"

  "Oh, no. I can't believe I've left him on hold. He didn't give a reason for calling, and I was too flummoxed to ask. Should I put him through?"

  "Sure." What was the harm? It was only a phone call? "Hello, Ashe," Belle cringed at her overly bright tone. "How are you this morning?"

  "Good."

  Belle heard Ashe clear his throat. Was he nervous? That didn't seem likely. However, the idea that she might have put a dent in his easy confidence smoothed out Belle's nerves.

  "Is there something I can do for you?"

  "I need some help."

  Belle relaxed. Help was her specialty. "Shoot."

  "First." The lowered timbre of Ashe's voice made Belle's blood warm. Just the sound of his voice. For God's sake, how many times did she need to remind herself that she was a grown woman, not a hormonally challenged teenager? "Did you get enough sleep?"

  Sweet and sexy. And funny. And smart. And— Belle put a halt to her thoughts. Listing Ashe's assets could take all day, driving herself crazy in the process. It was getting harder and harder to remember—or care—that he was off limits.

  "I had plenty of sleep. Thank you. How are you doing?" Since Ashe asked, it was only polite for her to do the same. The fact that Belle wanted to keep him talking as long as possible had nothing to do with it.

  "Great. I had a long run. Breakfast was stellar—sans family." Ashe sounded relaxed and happy. "I anticipate the rest of my day will be even better."

  "Really?" Finding Ashe's enthusiasm contagious, Belle smiled. "Why is that?"

  "I get to spend the day with two beautiful women."

  "I see." Belle knew her words dripped with ice. Her reaction had been automatic. Jealousy. It wasn't a familiar emotion. However, she had no problem recognizing it.

  "My nieces," Ashe qualified. Belle felt herself relax until he added, "The only adult woman I want to spend time with isn't available."

  Was it wrong that Belle wanted to do cartwheels all over her office? Was she worried that her emotions were more up and down than a yo-yo riding a rollercoaster? Yes, on both counts. For the sake of her sanity, Belle moved the conversation back to where they started.

  "You said you need help?"

  Thankfully, Ashe followed her lead.

  "Where can I buy a doll? Two dolls, to be exact."

  "For Nadia and Naomi?" Belle knew it was a ridiculous question. Unless Ashe had some peculiar tastes—that she didn't want to know ab
out—why else would he ask her about buying dolls?

  "That's right," Ashe chuckled as if reading her thoughts. "They need to be big. With long, shiny hair and frilly dresses. Or was it ruffled dresses? Is there a difference? I should have written down Zoe's instructions."

  Ashe sounded slightly bemused—which made sense. Belle doubted he spent a lot of time contemplating ruffles versus frills. That he cared so much about making his nieces happy made her lips curve and her heart sigh.

  "Frills and ruffles can exist separately or together. Does that help?"

  "Not even a little. I'm sunk."

  "You weren't planning on going to the store yourself?"

  "I was before the whole ruffle/frills debate. You think I'll screw it up?"

  "It isn't that," Belle assured Ashe. "Any salesperson could guide you to a perfect purchase. It's just…"

  "What?"

  "When was the last time you went shopping in a store?"

  "I honestly have no idea." Ashe took a few moments. "Now that you mention it, I shop online. Or my assistant takes care of it."

  "Because…" Belle enjoyed leading Ashe to his ultimate revelation. He was a smart man. It didn't take long.

  "Fine. I'm famous. However, you would be surprised how often I move around without anybody recognizing me."

  "I'll bite. How often?"

  "It happens." Ashe sounded defensive.

  "I'm sure," Belle said, placating him. "I just thought it would be easier if you let me buy the dolls. I can have them delivered. No muss. No fuss."

  "You wouldn't mind?" The relief was evident in Ashe's voice.

  "It will be fun. No matter how old a woman gets, the little girl in her never goes away completely."

  "Well, Grandma, I appreciate it."

  "My pleasure."

  "Just one thing. Would you mind if I picked the dolls up at your place?"

  Bad idea, Belle, her little voice cautioned. As much as she hated to admit it, the little voice had a point. "I'm sure the store can get them to you this afternoon."

  "It isn't that. I will be with the girls all afternoon, and I want the dolls to be a surprise. If they arrive while we're out, the cat might be let out of the bag."