Skies of Fire

Chapter One

Karl Van Ness dropped his glass. The heavy crystal tumbler shattered on the marble floor. Some of the guests milling in the grand ballroom turned to stare as he casually flicked the splashes of scotch from his perfectly tailored double-breasted dinner jacket. No one saw his hands shaking.

Handsome and outwardly calm, he made it seem the most natural gesture in the world, his strong elegant hands brushing the spots from the grosgrain lapels with his silk handkerchief. Smiling, the onlookers soon turned back to their own conversations as a waiter began collecting the shards of glass, white-gloved hands carefully placing the fragments on a silver tray.

May I bring you another drink, Sir? inquired the maître’d.

I’ll take another Dalwhinne on the rocks, thanks, Tom. Karl spoke evenly, struggling to conceal the shock he was feeling. He was not a man easily flustered. Despite the ease of his attitude there was no mistaking the natural aura of power and authority he commanded over others, and at this moment, over himself.

What on earth is the matter, Karl? resonated a beautifully modulated voice. Slowly, deliberately, he turned to meet the dark eyes and concerned gaze of his friend, Evelyn.

Evelyn St. John, draped in a floor-length, black silk crepe gown, was a picture of classic beauty. A pearl satin drape accentuated the open back that exposed her flawless skin. The matching satin French cuffs ornamented with diamond cufflinks added the perfect touch of elegance.

At forty-nine Evelyn was a stunningly attractive woman, with peaked eyebrows, shoulder-length mahog-any hair, an aquiline nose, fine cheekbones, and a generous mouth. She looked better than most women of twenty-nine. Her dark eyes, unable to conceal the wisdom of life experience, were the only hint of her true age.

Noticing the muscles tighten in his jaw and the almost imperceptible flair to his nostrils, she gently placed a slender, manicured hand on his left arm. The lustrous solitaire she wore glimmered against the texture of his jacket.

Karl? she spoke quietly, worry creasing her brow. She didn’t need to be touching him to feel the tension in his body. He wasn’t looking at Evelyn, but staring right through her, lost in a disturbing trance.

Karl? Karl, snap out of it! Look at me. What is it? demanded Evelyn.

He looked at her for a moment, eyes full of unspeakable memories. She saw the familiar shadow of pain veil his face. Following his stare as he turned toward the main entrance of the ballroom, she caught sight of the stunning woman who had just entered.

Involuntarily, Evelyn caught her breath. Her hand still resting on his arm, they stood silently, incapable of speech, staring at the striking beauty who was turning all heads. It was Evelyn who finally broke the silence.

It’s your ghost, isn’t it?

Karl stood rigid, his face an implacable granite mask, eyes fixed with a steely glint upon the figure in the doorway. Face void of expression, in a strangled voice he whispered, Yes . . . it’s her.

If Ashton Cameron had any doubts about what to wear, they vanished the moment she swept into the grand ballroom of the new Osprey Hotel. Shimmering in a champagne-colored dress of bugle beads that caressed the curves of her voluptuous figure, she was a combination of the exotic and the seductive. All eyes turned to gaze at her as she confidently made her entrance.

An almost indecently high split in her gown revealed the silken flesh of her left thigh as her high-heeled satin sandals tapped her unique tattoo on the marble floor. She smiled to herself at her choice of attire, the plunging sweetheart neckline enhanced her exquisite torso and shoulders. Both classic and sexy, it was as if the gown had been sewn onto her body.

It had been a long flight from New York City to Sydney and she was glad for the rest she had taken in the afternoon, and the relief of a much-needed warm soak in the tub. Despite the comfort of first class travel, she hadn’t slept much — there had been too much on her mind, as usual. Still, she had managed to use the travel time wisely, reviewing all the material she had on the man being touted as the most talented architect of the decade.

She wanted this interview in earnest, and worked hard to convince her father that she was the best qualified journalist at Cameron House for the task. Her father had finally given in after much deliberation. Well, if anyone is going to get the scoop on this ladykiller, it’s you. You are, after all, one of the company’s best assets, and my greatest achievement. Ashton recalled the warmth and pride in his smile.

Daddy, put your mind at rest. I’m old enough to take care of myself, and I’ll have you know I’m impervious to his kind!

She chuckled to herself remembering how her father just shook his head and sighed.

Ashton’s gray-green eyes scanned the ballroom. She made a mental note of the highly polished marble floors, the rich mahogany bar skirted by marble, the warmth of the rosewood paneling. The glittering chandeliers and the full length French doors opened onto a spectacular view of Sydney Harbour.

Very impressive! she thought. It was as plush and opulent as the press releases had described. She quickly assessed there were at least 500 guests milling about enjoying the hospitality. It certainly was a gala event, a befitting grand opening for this new luxury hotel.

Who was he among this crowd, she wondered? Looking about her, she did a double take of a very handsome, dark haired man standing by the bar. Wiping his jacket, he’d apparently had a minor mishap with his drink. I’ll bet that doesn’t happen to him very often, she mused, appreciating his commanding presence.

Even from across a crowded room, it was impossible to conceal the strength and poise of his hard body beneath the beautiful lines of his tuxedo.

Ashton was surprised to find herself thinking that he was the most interesting man in the room. It was with some mirth that she realized she even felt a small pang of jealousy toward the elegant woman by his side. Her stomach told her he was not a man to be toyed with, and she tried vainly to remind herself that she had enough on her plate already.

With difficulty, she turned back to her task at hand. Did gifted architects have a particular look, she wondered. How ridiculous not to have a picture to go by.

She hadn’t believed it at first, when she had been told that there was no photographic record of him; it seemed too ridiculous in this age of information technology. How could a man with such a reputation, both as an architect and a ladykiller, not have been photographed somewhere? She didn’t like being at a disadvantage.

Still, there was something fascinating about a man who wanted his buildings, rather than his good looks, to speak for him. His philosophy and view of the world would make for a fascinating interview. Fascinating . . . if it were true.

Chapter Two

M ay I offer you a drink ?

Ashton turned to find a pair of intense blue eyes boring into her. Silently catching her breath, she momentarily forgot where she was, trapped by the mesmerizing stare. She knew those eyes, but it couldn’t be — he was dead. Why was her heart racing? No, pull yourself together, girl! This man is shorter, his voice is different, the hardness of his body, the breadth of his shoulders too wide.

May I offer you a drink? Asked the same deep, husky voice. Ashton felt herself shudder involuntarily. Up close the man she had been watching was even more disturbing. God, she thought, his voice is so full of . . . of promises. She didn’t know how else to define it.

Oh, thank you, but not tonight. Ashton managed to find her voice. She wondered if she really sounded as unnerved as she felt. Why was this man making her so nervous? She almost couldn’t believe he was standing beside her, smiling, charming, offering her a glass of champagne. He was so close the scent of him assailed her senses.

But surely, Miss. . . .

Miss Cameron, she offered.

But surely Miss Cameron, you could make an exception. This is no ordinary champagne you know, it’s Veuve Clicquot Rosé. And this is a very special occasion after all.

Ashton wondered why he uttered his last sentence that way. She stood looking into those impenetrable blue eyes. She never thought she would see eyes that blue again — the deep unfathomable blue of the ocean. No, she didn’t have time for those memories . . . not here, not now. She needed all her wits about her.

Is there something the matter, Miss Cameron?

Ashton, please call me Ashton. And no, there is nothing the matter. He held out the fluted glass to her.

Well, if you insist . . .

I do.

His fingers briefly brushed hers, purposely she realized later, as he handed the glass to her. It was the touch of high voltage wires.

Steadying her voice, attempting to smile unconcernedly, she asked, Aren’t you going to join me?

I only drink Dalwhinne, he smiled, deliberately caressing a crystal tumbler in his left hand. She felt the urge to blush, watching the way he held the glass. She was annoyed at herself for not having noticed it before. A fine journalist she was, she mused, too busy gazing into his eyes like some stunned rabbit.

To true love, he said, raising his glass to hers. You believe in that, don’t you?

As she raised the champagne to her lips, Ashton had the distinct impression that she was in trouble. Is this your first visit to Australia . . . Ashton? He paused, savoring the sound of her name.

Yes, I’ve never been here before.

When did you arrive?

Just this morning.

Did you have a pleasant flight?

Yes, thank you. I suppose you’re going to ask me about the in-flight service as well, she quipped.

His third degree was beginning to rile her, prompting a very deliberate casualness.

Undeterred he continued, So, what brings you to this part of this world?

Oh, I’ve heard so much about the wonders of the Great Barrier Reef. It’s the perfect chance to enjoy some sun and surf, and . . .

Really? You don’t appear to be in need of a tan.

Ashton was more than aware of the smoldering blue eyes lazily following the curves of her body. His gaze worked its way up her length, pausing to savor for a moment her revealed thigh, almost scalding her with its intensity, before continuing his appraisal. Upwards, over the flatness of her taut stomach, taking in the outline of her firm, round breasts, traveling the length of her slender neck, before meeting the indignant flash of the gray-green eyes. He was enjoying himself all too much, she fumed.

I’m not here just for pleasure, you know! she snapped.

He merely raised an eyebrow quizzically, his face the picture of innocence. She understood his insinuation, there was no need for words. He really was a most disconcerting man, possessing a kind of arrogant charm that made him almost irresistible; but she was not about to play his game.

I think you’re a little lost. Sydney is a long way from the Barrier Reef. His voice was full of mocking laughter.

I’m here to interview Karl Van Ness, she stated with authority, secretly hoping to impress him with her revelation.

Are you? There was a slight upturning at the comers of his mouth. A very gentle mouth, Ashton noted, unusual for a man with such a hard face and strong jaw.

Do you know him?

We are acquainted.

Is he here tonight?

I would think so. This is his building after all.

What is he like?

Different things to different people, I suspect.

It suddenly occurred to Ashton that she was engaged in conversation with a complete stranger. I don’t believe I caught your name, she ventured.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. I don’t believe I dropped it.

The unmitigated nerve of this man. No matter how attractive he might be Ashton had no intention of wasting another minute in his infuriating presence.

Karl was still in shock. She really doesn’t know who I am, he thought, his head spinning. She really has no idea. Can I have changed so much? Do I really look so different? His heart was pounding. It was taking all of his self-mastery not to reveal his raging emotions. Should I tell her? Karl was jolted from his reverie by the orchestra beginning the strains of I’ve Got You Under My Skin.

Voice as smooth as silk he murmured, Ashton, would you be in the mood. . . .

For what? she demanded, preparing to leave, handing her glass to a passing waiter.

To dance, of course. He smiled devilishly, gesturing toward the dance floor.

I don’t dance with someone I don’t know.

You do now. And with that he slipped a firm hand in the small of her back, pulled her towards him and guided her towards the dance floor.

Ashton was in no position to resist. She knew her delicate, high heeled sandals would not provide her with a sure footing on a marble floor to counter the strength of him, and the last thing she wanted right now was a scene.

Ashton was keenly aware of his strong hand possessing her waist. As he drew her closer to him, she felt a rush of adrenaline as the tips of her breasts pressed against the hardness of his chest. She was aware of the warmth of him, the length of his tall, muscular frame guiding her movements, and his scent filling her nostrils.

They moved as if they had always danced together. Feet barely touching the ground, they glided effortlessly as one. They danced without speaking, in a world all their own, guided only by the insistent rhythm of the music.

At 5’7" plus high heels, Ashton cut a regal figure, intimidating most men. However, it was clear that this handsome stranger was not most men, not in any respect.

The flesh of his smooth shaven jaw rested gently against her temple, and her head reeled as his breath gently caressed her ear. He was guiding her expertly, a combination of grace, style, and an unmistakable masculine sensuality. He was a complete enigma to her.

It was he who finally broke the spell, his tone soft, warm, and full of admiration. Where did you learn to dance like this?

The countless dance lessons she had taken at the Swiss finishing school at her father’s insistence had certainly paid off, thought Ashton.

A girl learns all sorts of things in many years of travel.

Really? So you’ve traveled a lot?

"Too much.’’ Visions flashed through her mind in rapid succession — so many airports, so many different places, different foods, and different smells. After all