FLOWERS ARE RED

by Mary J. Williams

  "It's scare tactics, Ashe. I don't know why, but I'm not in danger."

  "Yet."

  Ashe tackled the steak. Juicy and tender, he allowed himself to savor the bite while deciding how to convince Belle to see reason. He could go behind her back. Bring in the hired muscle without her knowledge. Belle would have a fit when she found out. By then, the police would hopefully have found whoever was guilty.

  It would be easier if Belle would cooperate. Taking a sip of wine, Ashe prepared for another round of arguments. Taking a deep breath, he opened his mouth. Then he looked at Belle. Really looked. She hadn't taken a bite of food. On each side of her plate sat her hands—balled into a fist. In one she clutched a steak knife, a fork in the other. Eyes closed, she took shallow breaths as if that was all she could manage.

  "Belle—" Ashe left his chair, kneeling beside her.

  "I'm scared."

  "Me too." Carefully, Ashe opened her fingers, removing the utensils. "We'll figure it out. I promise."

  "I should have stayed in the kitchen. I could have baked all night. Cakes and cookies. There's a peanut butter fudge recipe I want to try. As soon as I sat down, the nerves crashed down on me."

  Ashe rubbed Belle's back in a slow, circular motion until it seemed like she had returned to normal.

  "Baking is good. But I'll end up eating most of it. I won't be able to resist." Ashe lifted her into his arms. "The last thing the world needs is to see me waddling around the stage."

  "I wouldn't let you over-indulge." Belle wrapped her arms around Ashe's neck, her lips brushing his cheek.

  "Just to be safe, why don't we find another way to relax? One that burns off the pounds instead of packing them on."

  "Sex?" Ashe could feel Belle's lips curve into a smile.

  "You know, I hadn't thought of that. I was going to suggest calisthenics or a nice, long run." Ashe stopped by the bed. "If your heart is set on seeing me naked, I guess that's okay."

  Belle slid from Ashe's arms. Placing her hand on his chest, she gave him a shove. Grabbing the hem of her dress, she pulled it over her head. "I wouldn't want to make you do anything you found distasteful."

  "Oh, boy." Ashe swallowed. Belle stood, hands on hips, in nothing but a lacy pink bra and barely there panties. "If you are the alternative, I may never go running again."

  "I'll take that as a compliment."

  Slowly, Belle straddled Ashe's hips, sliding her hands under his t-shirt. Her touch was cool against his heated skin. Now, he was the one having trouble breathing, but it had nothing to do with nerves. It was all Belle. Intoxicating. Beautiful. Breathtaking. She left a trail of kisses across his chest, her teeth and tongue making him groan with pleasure.

  "Tell me you want me," Belle whispered in his ear. "Tell me what you want. Anything. I'm yours. Just say the word."

  "Anything?" Ashe's hands slid up Belle's back, unhooking her bra. She let the straps fall down her arms until it landed, a pool of lace on his chest. In a flash, he wrapped it around her wrists. Rolling her over, he held her hands above her head. "This could take all night. Think you can handle it? Handle me?"

  Eyes glowing hot, Belle stretched, the hard tips of her breasts brushing against Ashe's chest.

  "All night with you? Yes." She sighed with a slow smile as Ashe's mouth hovered over hers. "Please."

  "I want you. Are you really mine?"

  "Yes."

  Ashe sealed her words with a kiss. Belle was his. It wasn't exactly a declaration of love, but it was a start.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ASHE HAD INSISTED on driving Belle to work. She hadn't argued—exactly. Instead, she pointed out the obvious. He couldn't deliver and pick her up every day for an indefinite period of time. It wasn't practical—or doable.

  "If you would agree to a bodyguard, he would drive you."

  "Or she."

  Ashe chuckled, shaking his head. "I am too tired to have a discussion about the equality of women in the workforce."

  "No discussion necessary. There are women bodyguards. Either way, I refuse to have one. You can dot that with a big, fat, emphatic period."

  "Which is why I'm behind the wheel, dropping you at work. Dot that with a bigger, fatter period."

  "And tomorrow?"

  "I'll do the same."

  "Tonight is your father's birthday party. Aren't you planning on heading back to Los Angeles right away?"

  Belle didn't like to think about it, but there wasn't much choice. This thing they had going—whatever it was—had a very short shelf life. It had progressed beyond fun and games. However, expecting more would be the worst kind of fool's errand. She was already looking at probable heartache. Not a broken heart. Just a long, wide, gaping crack. The last thing she needed to do was imagine that Ashe wanted more. That would be a fast track to a heart smashed into a million pieces.

  "I thought I might stick around a day or two."

  "Oh." Belle licked her suddenly dry lips. "I'm sure your father will be happy to hear that."

  Belle waited for Ashe to tell her that she was keeping him in Boston—not his father. When the words didn't come, she felt like an idiot. Thank goodness she hadn't voiced her thoughts. It would have embarrassed them both.

  "Belle—"

  "Yes?" Say it, Belle silently urged Ashe. Get my hopes up. I dare you.

  "We're here."

  Blinking, Belle looked around. They were parked outside her office. That was it? That was all Ashe had to say? Fine. She could be just as cool and casual as he could. Smiling innocently, Belle grabbed him by the shirt, pulled him close and gave him a scorching hot kiss. Though her legs were a bit wobbly as she left the car, Belle had the satisfaction of seeing Ashe blink, his eyes glazed.

  "Thanks for the lift," Belle said, leaning against the door as much for effect as support. "I should be done for the day around five o'clock."

  Not waiting for a response, Belle closed her door, walking into the building without a backward glance. Knowing that Ashe watched her every step might have added the extra swish to her hips—just to remind him what he would be missing when he was back in California.

  "Good morning, Belle," Pru greeted her as she entered the waiting area outside her office. "You look like you slept well."

  Pru's observation couldn't have been further from the truth. Belle hadn't slept well. Ashe wouldn't let her—not that she had any reason to complain. What had begun as a way to soothe Belle's nerves turned into a sexual marathon. Just when she thought Ashe couldn't possibly have anything left in his tank, he would surprise her. Then surprise her again. What Pru saw wasn't a well-rested woman. It was one who was satiated beyond what she had thought humanly possible.

  "I had a good night."

  "I'll say." Pru followed Belle into her office. "Your skin is glowing."

  Considering how the evening had started, Belle's night had been good. Ashe used his body to make her forget all about slashed tires and dead cats. She once read that sex was good for the complexion. It that were true, the glow that Pru mentioned should last for the next month—at the very least.

  Settling behind her desk, Belle booted her computer, pulling up her emails.

  "Your father asked to see you at nine-thirty." Pru handed Belle a small stack of messages. "Other than that, the morning is pretty routine."

  "This should be it, Pru." Belle felt a burst of excitement. "Dad must have come to a decision about my proposal. Keep your fingers crossed. If the answer is yes, Strive will be fully operational inside of six months."

  "I'm crossing my fingers and toes. Not that you need any extra luck. There is no way your father can say no."

  "I'M NOT SAYING no, Belle."

  "You might as well be."

  Belle tried to remain calm. She knew that raising her voice would not help—not with her father. He only responded to calmly stated arguments. However, after the news he dropped on her, it was difficult to keep her cool.

  "I have
agreed to fund your project, just at a smaller initial amount."

  "The figures I gave you were already cut to the barest minimum. You've agreed to half. That's not enough."

  "I don't agree." Elias Richards tapped his pen on his desk. It was a habit he used when engaged in conversations—over the phone or in person. The dark green blotter that sat in front of him was the only thing that prevented him from damaging the cherry wood desk's glossy surface. "Strive is an experimental undertaking. I understand that similar projects have worked, but you are proposing something on a much grander scale. Take the money I'm offering and start small. Show me it can work. In a year, if the numbers show the proper growth, we will revisit the discussion."

  "Without the proper initial investment, there won't be enough progress to discuss." Belle stood. If she couldn't shout, at least she could get out her frustration by pacing. "The wheels I have turning are geared toward that investment."

  "I'm sorry, Belle. My advisors don't think it's doable. They crunched the numbers and feel Strive will fail."

  "I see." Belle took a deep calming breath. "There's something your advisors didn't take into account. I can understand why they would overlook it. What I can't figure out is why you did."

  Elias frowned, the pen in his hand tapping furiously. "I'm not a mind reader, Belle. If you left something out of the report, how am I supposed to see it?"

  "It's standing right in front of you." Belle spread her arms, willing her father to look. Really look. "You've known me all my life. By now, I shouldn't have to tell you what I'm made of. You taught me well, Dad. I'm the reason this project will succeed because I won't accept failure."

  Turning on her heel, Belle left the office, not giving her father a chance to respond. What could he say that hadn't already been said? Cutting her proposed budget in half was like a slap in the face, telling Belle that he had no faith in her.

  As she walked down the hall, Belle knew she had two choices. She could accept her father's decree. A few years ago, that was what she would have done. However, she was no longer a young woman trying to find her place in her father's company. Belle knew who she was. Strong. Confident. It didn't matter if her father believed in her or not. She believed in herself.

  "Well?" Pru asked the second she saw Belle.

  "I need a list of donors. Big money, little money. I don't care, just get me names."

  "Your father turned you down?"

  The disappointment in Pru's voice only strengthened Belle's resolve. Women out there were counting on her. She wasn't going to let a little thing like money stand in the way of helping them.

  "He gave me half. The rest is up to us." Belle put out her hand. "Are you with me?"

  With a firm nod, Pru's hand grasped Belle's, pumping twice. "I'm with you. All the way."

  Belle believed in herself. However, it was good to know somebody had her back. She took her seat, back straight as an arrow.

  "It's you and me, Pru. Let's do this."

  ASHE ENTERED THE Mathison Building thirty minutes before he was scheduled to meet his father. It wasn't nerves that had him arriving early. He felt surprisingly calm. This was nothing like the drama currently tainting Belle's life. He and his father would find peace—hopefully. If they didn't, Ashe would be sorry. However, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Feelings might be hurt. Physically, they would go on as before. In the end, it was all about perspective.

  The building's lobby bustled with the expected mid-afternoon energy. Suited men and women walked with purpose to and from the elevator, phones glued to their ears. It all looked very intense. Ashe knew for a fact that it was mostly for show. In the business world, looking important meant almost as much as the real deal.

  Retail merchants occupied the first two floors. Shoppers meandered from place to place, looking more than buying. The crowd was a mixed bag of ages. Babies to senior citizens. This was the first time since Ashe had arrived in Boston that he felt in danger of somebody recognizing him.

  It was as much a feeling as a certainty. He knew from experience that the best course of action was to keep his head down, his sunglasses firmly in place and take as short a path as possible from point A—the entrance, to point B—the elevator. After that, it was a quick ride to the tenth floor and his father's office.

  Theoretically, it was the perfect plan. Unfortunately, there was no way to anticipate the attention span of teenage girls. One second they were so self-involved it didn't seem possible that they could care about anything that didn't involve their hair, their clothes, or the color of their fingernails. Then bam. In a complete turnaround, the world became clear as a bell—and they noticed everything.

  Or—in this case—they noticed the tall, well-built rock star trying his best to remain incognito.

  "OMG."

  Ashe heard the screech a second before a wide-eyed, ringlet-haired, sky blue-lipped girl jumped in this path. He could have barreled past her—or over her. She couldn't have weighed more than ninety-eight pounds soaking wet. However, that was not an option. Once recognized, that was it. Fans were the lifeblood of any musician. Ashe remembered what it was like to meet an artist he listened to and admired. The ones that took the time to talk and autograph rose in his estimation. The ones that couldn't be bothered? They were a disappointment. It was hard to listen to their music without some of it carrying over.

  Before the girl could do more than stare, bouncing on the balls of her feet, Ashe removed his sunglasses and smiled.

  "Hello."

  For a second, Ashe worried that she was going to collapse at his feet. Her legs wobbled, the color seemed to drain from her face. Just as he reached to prop her up, the exuberance of youth took over. Color popped into her cheeks, her body regained its ability to remain upright. And her unnaturally blue lips curved upward.

  "It is you," she gasped, signaling to somebody behind Ashe. Before he could blink, three other girls joined her. He should have known. It was an unwritten law. Teenagers almost always traveled in a pack. "I told my friends it was, but Trish said, 'No way, Wendy.' And Paula agreed. Lara said, 'What would Ashe Mathison be doing here?'"

  "In the Mathison Building?" Ashe teased.

  Four sets of eyes grew big. Four mouths dropped open. They looked at him, then at each other, then back at him.

  "We didn't think of that," Wendy said as if it were an earth-shaking revelation.

  "No reason you would." Ashe nodded toward the phone Wendy clutched with a death grip. "Would you mind if I got some pictures with all of you? My assistant is always on my case because she doesn't have anything to put on my social media pages. I'll give you her Twitter handle. You'd be doing me a big favor if you would shoot her some copies."

  They had already started to draw a crowd. When four girls let out a simultaneous scream, everyone in the room took notice. As a result, Ashe had to text his father that he was running behind. It took almost forty-five minutes to take care of the additional requests for autographs and pictures. It might have taken longer, but two security guards came along, dispersing the crowd.

  "Thank you so much, Ashe," Wendy shouted as the guard escorted him across the lobby. "We love you!"

  "Anytime. I hope to see you the next time we play Boston."

  That earned Ashe another high-pitched scream. Chuckling, he waved as the elevator doors closed.

  "That was crazy." The guard shook his head. "How do you live with all that attention?"

  "It doesn't happen that often." More accurately, Ashe didn't put himself in the position for it to happen very often.

  "I suppose it's a small price to pay for all the money. And chicks." The guard whistled, grinning. "Man, I've seen the pictures of the women you date. Katrina Willows? She is the sexiest woman I have ever seen."

  Not wanting to burst the guy's fantasy, Ashe merely nodded. Katrina Willows was one of the world's most in-demand models. She was also a world-class bitch. The sex had been memorable because she spent most the t
ime preening as if she were on camera—not sharing Ashe's bed. Once with the crazed diva had been one time too many.

  "Here you go." The security guard sent Ashe a sheepish look as the elevator doors opened. "Mr. Mathison. I don't suppose—"

  "Get out your camera." Ashe put his arm around the shorter man's shoulders and smiled. One more picture. Not a problem.

  The reception area hadn't changed much in ten years. The color of the paint and the furniture looked new. Otherwise, Ashe didn't see a lot that was different. Not even the woman who guarded the entrance to his father's office with the ferocity of a fire-breathing dragon. Tougher men than Ashe quivered at the thought of facing Ms. Matilde Desoto.

  "Ashe?"

  "Hello, Mattie."

  Laughing, the woman rushed to greet him, pulling him into a warm, motherly hug. Unlike other people who looked at Ashe and saw a successful rock star, Mattie couldn't have cared less. To her, he was the same young man who came to work with his father, ran errands after school, and dated her daughter—briefly—during their junior year of high school.

  "Now, let me get a good look at you." Mattie held Ashe at arm's length, giving him a thorough once over. "You were always a good-looking boy, Ashe Mathison. But, my, oh my. Up close, I see what all the fuss is about."

  "You haven't changed a bit, Mattie."

  Still an attractive woman. Slender. She wore her hair in a bun, wound at the base of her neck with ruthless precision. Ashe did the math. Mattie had to be almost in her mid-fifties. She could easily pass for ten years younger.

  "Flatterer. Another thing that hasn't changed."

  "It isn't flattery if it's true."

  "I can't argue with that," Mattie winked.

  "How is Arlene?" Ashe and Mattie's daughter had fun, deciding they were better suited as friends.

  "Happily married with two little ones and another on the way."

  The news made Ashe smile. He remembered that even as a teenager, Arlene knew what she wanted. A husband and children. It was good to know she got her wish.