FLOWERS ARE RED

by Mary J. Williams

  "Oh, dear," Penelope gasped.

  "Bertram," Dinah laid a hand over his. "That's enough."

  It took a moment, but Penelope's distress finally penetrated Bertram's clinical mind.

  "I'm sorry. My words were meant to comfort."

  "I understand." Penelope pulled herself together. She might look like a puff of wind could blow her over, but when she wanted, her spine was like a steel rod. "Are you certain you feel safe on your own, Belle?"

  "I am." Belle stood, moving to her mother's side. Brushing her lips across Penelope's cheek, she said, "Thank you."

  "Just a minute, Penny." Elias didn't like the turn the evening had taken.

  "Dad." Facing her father, Belle rested her hands on her mother's shoulders. "I love you for caring. I love you, period. You need to trust me."

  "I do."

  "Then let's drop the serious talk for tonight."

  When her father simply nodded, Belle took her seat with a satisfied sigh. It wasn't often Elias Richards let anybody have the last word. She planned on savoring the moment.

  "What's for dessert?" Marshall inquired, still tackling the huge amount of food remaining on his plate.

  "Strawberry shortcake," Penelope said with a mother's indulgent smile.

  And that was that. The conversation turned away from Belle—much to her relief. Marsh wasn't finished with dinner, but she was. On the pretext of using the bathroom, she assured everybody that she would be right back.

  Belle slipped into the library and onto the balcony. The truth was, she was dying to find out what Ashe thought of the dolls. By now, Tracy would have texted her with his reaction. Several new texts. The first was the one she wanted.

  Ashe is very happy with your choices. He asked me to thank you. Great job.

  It was nice, but Belle wished she had heard the words from the man himself. Then she noticed that the last text was from Ashe. With a tingle of anticipation, she opened it.

  Don't bother with the taxi. Call me when you are ready to go home.

  Warmth spread across Belle's skin when she thought about Ashe picking her up. She didn't blame Tracy for masterminding his text. If the situation were reversed, Belle would have done the same. Her friend was simply giving Belle what she couldn't ask for on her own. That said, the answer had to be no. After a few keystrokes, she read what she had written.

  No. Thank you, but no. Glad you liked the dolls.

  Before she could vacillate, Belle hit send. Satisfied, if not exactly happy, she was about to put her phone away when she received an answer from Ashe.

  The dolls are perfect. I won't take no for an answer, Belle.

  Ashe Mathison had some nerve. He had to take no for an answer.

  You don't have a choice. Belle's fingers hit the keys with undo force. No means no.

  Belle didn't have long to wait for his reply.

  The next time I kiss you, if you say no, I'll stop. You always get to say no. However, I am picking you up. If you don't agree, I will show up at your parents' door. In case you've forgotten, I'm just next door. Do you want to explain me to them?

  Belle stared at the text, her heart racing. The next time I kiss you. It left little doubt there would be a next time. And soon, unless she missed her guess. Belle wouldn't say no—she wanted his lips on hers. However, she wasn't going to roll over. At least not immediately. This time, when she typed, there was a smile on her face.

  Blackmail? Again? Not cool, Ashe.

  In her mind, Belle could see Ashe's face as he read her words. Like her, he was smiling.

  It isn't blackmail when you want it as much as I do. What time, Belle?"

  On the one hand, Ashe didn't have much of a case. He was guilty of blackmail. On the other hand, he was right. She wanted it. At least as much as he did. Ready to concede the fact, Belle sent a final text.

  Ten o'clock. Send me a head's up when you arrive.

  Instead of words, Ashe sent the most lascivious smiley face Belle had ever seen. Leave it to him to find a sex-themed emoji. Laughing, she left the balcony.

  Entering the dining room, Belle took her seat. She was a big fan of strawberry shortcake. But it wasn't the dessert she was looking forward to. Glancing at her watch, she did the math. One hour, thirty-six minutes and… twelve seconds to wait. Not long in the scheme of things. Tonight, it seemed like an eternity.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ASHE TAPPED THE steering wheel, the curved surface acting as the saxophone he played in his head. It was a song, more of a riff. Improvisational. Jazz, not rock and roll. When he wanted to let his brain sail free, Ashe liked the untethered feeling this kind of music gave him.

  Parked—waiting impatiently for Belle—Ashe felt the notes flowing through him. When it came right down to it, music had no boundaries. Rock, country, jazz. They borrowed from each other, melding into something better—stronger—than the original.

  When Ashe, Ryder, and Dalton started their band, they were determined to embrace an open-minded attitude toward their craft. It allowed them to grow artistically. They were rock stars, but nobody could pigeonhole their sound. It was a combination of their backgrounds, their influences, their strengths, and weaknesses. It was what made them so popular today, tomorrow, and forever. Timeless.

  That wasn't Ashe's ego talking. It was a fact. Pure and simple.

  Opening one eye, Ashe checked the time. He had parked at the end of the Richards' long, cobbled driveway. His text to Belle was acknowledged with a, be right there, response. Had it only been five minutes?

  Chuckling at himself, Ashe wondered why he was acting like a teenager on the cusp of his first sexual conquest. Was time supposed to quiet a man's raging libido? Thirty was staring him down hard, for Christ's sake. Yet Belle made him feel ten years younger. Thankfully without the sweaty palms. Just to be certain, he rubbed his hands together. Nope, not a drop of moisture.

  With his eyes trained on the house, Ashe saw the front door open. Belle waved at whoever was just out of sight, before slipping off her shoes, running down the driveway. Ashe wanted to think she was as impatient as he was.

  Sliding from his seat, he walked around the car, timing his arrival at the passenger side to coincide with Belle's.

  "Hello," Belle said, a bit breathless. "I don't know if I should thank you for the ride or kick you in the shins."

  "Kicking is a bad idea. Unless you want to break those pretty toes."

  Ashe maneuvered Belle until her back was to the car. He didn't crowd her. He didn't touch. But he could feel the warmth of her body. See her smile. It was enough. If he made his move now, there was no telling what would happen. Whatever he did, he wasn't doing it where the world—and Belle's family—could watch.

  "I'll save my retaliation for later." Belle's gaze went from his eyes to his mouth, before raising back to his eyes. "How was your day?"

  "Better than yours."

  "Tracy told you?" Belle didn't sound upset.

  "Some." Ashe helped her into the car, before making his way to the driver's seat. "I hope you'll fill in the blanks."

  "I don't know if I can tell it again." With a sigh, Belle buckled her seatbelt. "What exactly did Tracy tell you?"

  "Car. Slashed tires. Scratched paint. Your turn."

  "Okay. Die, bitch, die. Maybe personal, maybe not."

  Ashe felt a jolt of concern. "Holy shit, Belle. That is not what I was expecting."

  "Join the club. Though I warn you, it is not an exclusive membership."

  Starting the car, Ashe pulled away from the curb. His mind raced. He listened as Belle told him everything, her voice weary. He wasn't surprised. Compared to what she had been through, a couple of rambunctious little girls was nothing.

  "Can we talk about something else? Anything else?" Belle stretched, her mouth covering a yawn. "For some reason, the more I repeat the same words over and over, the more it wears me out. Reinvigorate my brain."

  "How?" Ashe let the subject sli
de. But tomorrow, he was going to call in a few favors. Belle's father wasn't the only one with connections. Being a famous rock star had its perks.

  "Sing me a song."

  "That I can do. Any requests?"

  "Night Angel," Belle answered without hesitation.

  Ashe felt a jolt of pride. His songs were his babies, but Night Angel was special. Its birth hadn't been easy but worth every ounce of sweat and frustration.

  "Close your eyes."

  When Belle had done as he asked, Ashe began to hum the opening bars. Singing lead wasn't his strength. His voice was meant to blend with others—a part of a whole. For the first time in his life, Ashe wished the notes he made with his voice were as perfect as the ones he made when he played an instrument. However, he knew that Belle didn't care. She needed comfort. So he put his ego aside and sang.

  Ashe's strong baritone was deep and true. It filled the car, crooning to Belle about a beautiful woman who was trapped in a world of pain and punishment until the sun went down and she was free to give herself to the man she loved. Those few hours made the rest of her existence bearable.

  More than once, Ashe had been asked if the song was about a special woman. Had he loved and lost? Was it a true story? Ashe never gave a straight answer because he knew the mystery of the song's origins was part of its power. The true story wasn't sensational or terribly interesting. Night Angel came from where most songs came from—Ashe's imagination.

  None of that mattered. Not tonight. Not to Belle. Ashe knew the second she drifted into sleep by the rhythm of her breathing. The way her body lay boneless—relaxed and trusting.

  Ashe finished the song, believing that even in slumber, Belle could hear his voice.

  Belle's vulnerability touched him. Ashe considered himself an evolved person, sensitive to a woman's strength and independence. No amount of evolution would eliminate a man's instinct to protect what was his.

  Jesus. When had he started thinking about Belle that way? She was his? The sparkling rock on her finger said otherwise. Belle said otherwise. As for Ashe? Like it or not, the caveman that lurked inside him had decided she belonged to him.

  Wouldn't his friends have a laugh if they could hear what was going on inside Ashe's head? Happy go lucky. That was his well-earned reputation. He always assumed when he finally fell, it would be a gentle journey. No drama. No angst. Certainly no fiancé standing in his way. Belle certainly came with all of the above. Was she worth the effort? Did he have a choice?

  Ashe couldn't laugh at the situation, but he had no problem chuckling at himself. So many questions when there was only one that mattered. Did he love Belle?

  Struggling for an answer, Ashe breathed a sigh of relief when Belle stirred, opening her eyes, saving him from his thoughts.

  "I dozed off." Belle stretched her arms over her head. "I'm sorry I missed the end of your song. What I heard was beautiful. Why don't you ever sing lead?"

  It was taking longer to get to Belle's apartment than Ashe anticipated. This time of night, he expected less traffic. Stopping at a red light, Ashe placed a hand on Belle's forehead, certain she must have a fever. Nope, cool as a cucumber. He snorted. There was no accounting for taste.

  "It was decided long ago that Ryder would take the lead. Acoustically speaking, the world should thank us."

  "That's something I've always wondered about." Belle shifted, facing him as much as her seatbelt would allow. "Why did you go with The Ryder Hart Band? I know Ryder is the front man but aren't all of you equal?"

  "We are." Ashe signaled a right turn, heading down Belle's street. "Dalton and I were the ones who suggested the name. We liked the idea of making Ryder the face of the band. He could be the one recognized in public while we enjoyed the perks of a successful band while maintaining our anonymity. Ryder was opposed."

  "He didn't want the fame either?"

  "Are you kidding?" Ashe grinned. "Ryder revels in that stuff. He's an adulation junkie. Always has been. No, he wanted a name for the band that reflected all of us. That's Ryder. He loves the spotlight, but believes there's room enough for all of us to bask in the glow."

  "You love him, don't you? I can hear it in your voice."

  "He and Dalton are my brothers. Zoe my sister. We're best friends. As tight as any family."

  "They gave you what you needed when you needed it most. What?" Belle asked when he sent her a surprised look.

  "Most people don't understand our connection."

  "You don't tell many people what you've told me." Belle rested her hand on Ashe's thigh. "I'm glad you feel you can trust me enough to open up—even a little."

  "Trust is a big issue with all my friends." Ashe had the fewest reasons for keeping outsiders at arm's length. Over the years, he had adopted his friends' wariness. "It's easy to talk to you, Belle."

  "I'm glad." Belle squeezed his leg. "Finish your story. Ryder didn't want you to name the band after him. Is that it? He gave in?"

  "Not exactly." Ashe pulled into a parking spot across the street from Belle's building. Turning off the ignition, he took her hand in his—just because he liked the way it felt. "After much debate, we decided to put five names that we all agreed upon into a hat."

  "The Ryder Hard Band included?"

  "Yes." Shaking his head, Ashe chuckled. "What Ryder didn't know until much, much later, was that Dalton and I made certain The Ryder Hart Band was the only choice."

  "That's wicked. And brilliant." Belle looked impressed.

  "You should have seen the look on Ryder's face when he pulled out his name. You would have thought his puppy had died. Before he could insist on best two out of three, Dalton whisked the hat away."

  "Hence, the world knows you all as The Ryder Hart Band."

  "Hence," Ashe said with a wink.

  "And when Ryder finally found out?"

  "He was pissed. However, it was too late to do anything about it. We had our first gold record. Our concerts were selling out. Ryder stewed for about five minutes, then joined us for a good laugh." That was how things usually went with Ashe and his bandmates. They didn't let things stew. That was why, ten years and counting, they were a tight-knit group. Super glue had nothing on the bond that held them together.

  Belle laughed, the sound warming Ashe's blood. It drew him in, making him want to hear it again. And again.

  "I was just thinking." Belle grinned. "After all the trouble you went through to make Ryder the face of the band?"

  "Yes?"

  "How did that work out for you?"

  "Not great," Ashe admitted with a fatalistic shrug.

  From the beginning, the band's fans had looked beyond Ryder, embracing Ashe, Dalton, and Zoe with near-equal fervor. While Ryder couldn't show his face without creating a stampede, Ashe could still go unnoticed when he was out and about. But it was a rare occurrence.

  The band's manager, Alden Christopher once summed it up best. The Ryder Hart Band had four stars. Talent and personality—something each of them had in abundance—had a way of making their way to the forefront. No matter the best-laid plans of mice and men. Or Ashe Mathison and Dalton Shaw.

  "Are you coming up?"

  Ashe couldn't decide if it was hope or nerves he saw in Belle's eyes. Hopeful nervousness? That seemed about right.

  "It would be ungallant not to—considering the mess with your car."

  "The feminist in me needs to remind you that women can take care of themselves."

  "I hear you loud and clear." Ashe jumped from the car. Belle's door was open in a snap. He held out his hand. "Ready?"

  "As a feminist." Belle let Ashe help her from the car. "I understand that it isn't a weakness to ask for help. I'm strong—not stupid."

  "Does that mean you'll let me check every room and under the bed?"

  Belle laced her fingers with his as they crossed the street. It was a move Ashe approved of—wholeheartedly.

  "It means I appreciate having you near. No mat
ter the circumstances."

  Belle punched in the security code, letting them into the building. Ashe had to admit, his senses were on high alert. He was used to bodyguards and security experts keeping him safe while the band toured. Being on the other side—keeping somebody safe—was a different experience.

  Ashe had no formal training. However, he had seen enough movies to have a good idea how it worked. Watch the shadows for lurking figures. Get Belle from the car to the building as quickly as possible. Be aware at all times.

  "What are you doing?" Belle asked when he checked the elevator before hustling her inside.

  "Vigilance has become my middle name. At least for tonight." Much more would be exhausting, Ashe decided. Mentally and physically. He was smart enough to realize he was not up to the job.

  First thing tomorrow, Ashe was getting his assistant to check out bodyguards in the Boston area. It might not be necessary, but he wanted to be prepared. Talking Belle into the idea could come later.

  "Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

  "Yes." Not that he cared. Guiding Belle down the hall, he turned his back to her as she opened the door. "Get inside. You can laugh at me once the locks are in place."

  "I thought you were going to check under my bed?"

  So much for waiting to laugh, Ashe thought when he heard the amused tone of Belle's voice.

  "I am. After."

  Smiling, Belle tossed her keys onto the small accent table.

  "After what?"

  "This."

  The kiss wasn't planned. Often, spontaneous was better. Not better, Ashe thought as he took Belle's mouth with his. Freaking amazing.

  Belle tasted like strawberries. Fresh and ripe. Ashe couldn't get enough, his tongue delving deep, tasting again and again. It had been too long. It felt like forever.

  Wrapping one arm around Belle's waist, Ashe anchored her to him. Body to body. His fingers threaded through her soft, fragrant hair, cupping the back of her head, drawing her closer. It only took a second for Belle to become a full participant. Taking. Giving. Everything felt so damn good. Every touch. Every brush of the lips. Every sigh. God, the way Belle sighed. The sound turned up the heat on an already raging fire.