Chapter 1

To Want

February 14th:

I have never been anyone of great significance. I was raised in an Anchorage shack of a house to a woman who collected more men than things, and through the years her heart had been broken so many times I had to wonder why she bothered. To her, love was an eternal hope, a way to make this bitter life shine like the many little trinkets she collected. To me, love was something a person gave up a piece of themselves for and never walked away from.

I quickly learned that if I wanted anything, I had to work for it. Where my mother fruitlessly dreamed, I preferred reality. That’s not to say my mother doesn’t love me. She does, with every fiber of her flighty, spirited being. Our family dynamic left me more the parental figure than her, but I never lacked for anything and my need for control didn’t mind.

I worked my ass off to get a scholarship to college and earned a Fine Arts degree so I could move us out of nowhere to somewhere. And I did. In a beautiful location pocketed between Anchorage and Prince William Sound, I bought my own gallery in a postage stamp of a town called Tartok Crest. Not for my own art. I have no artistic talent other than being able to recognize it. I showcase brilliant Alaskan photographs and once a year publish those pictures in a book collection. The tourists eat it up. It was a step up from the little girl who got picked on constantly by classmates or ignored throughout high school as if nothing more than dandelion fluff caught on a breeze.

Since opening the gallery six years ago, my clientele has soared from local artists to some international while still maintaining the intimate charm. Showings at Elements Gallery are in high demand. And though all this seems well and good—a rise from poor upbringings—I remain someone of little consequence. I linger in the shadows, letting the artists shine. That is their place, not mine. I merely give them the means. I much prefer it this way, for reasons I dare not pull from memory or I’ll sink back into the dark.

So when my assistant strolled into my office on the second floor of Elements and set her palms flat on my desk one idle Tuesday morning, I had no way of knowing this would be the moment everything changed. A series of dominoes tipping with a clack, all leading to an unexpected and crazy end. One I fear I won’t ever recover from.

Raven Crowne took in her assistant’s strawberry blonde hair, loosely flowing over her shoulders in soft waves, and sat back in her office chair. Nicole’s green eyes were a mix of excitement and shock, framed by the palest, longest eyelashes known to mankind. Her willowy body had caught the attention of more than one artist they’d showcased, and was now wearing an emerald green wrap-around dress that would make Raven look frumpy.

Because Nicole was one of the closest things Raven had to a friend, she never minded her interruptions during the workday, often and pointless as they were sometimes. Besides, Nicole was a work horse and Raven could appreciate that. A smile tugged at her mouth. “Yes?”

“You’ll never believe who’s downstairs.” Nicole’s words came out in a rush, as if keeping them inside would cause a rupture.

Raven’s gaze darted over Nicole’s shoulder to the gallery below. She’d designed her office with a glass wall facing the show floor, partly to be able to see the comings and goings, and mostly to not feel closed in. Standing just outside Nicole’s small office was a man in a gray suit. She didn’t recognize him, but she’d dealt with a lot of people through the years. Still, she was good with faces, and his she didn’t know. He was lean and tall, with dark hair cut too short to compliment his face and hands deep in the pockets of his pants.

“Who is he?” She didn’t have any appointments today. They’d just finished a week-long showing for a Washington artist who liked working with black and white. They were two weeks from another show.

“He says he’s Hoan Dwell’s agent.” Nicole squealed and slapped a hand over her mouth.

Raven sucked in a shallow breath, hiding her own excitement. Hoan Dwell, originally rumored to be from the San Diego area, was a photographer unlike anyone they’d ever worked with. He captured women, in various stages of undress, in nature settings. He wasn’t particular with his models either. Some were full figured, others thin as a rail. He made them all beautiful. Desired.

She owned one of his photographs from very early in his career, of a blonde in a white sheet, laying over a boulder near a waterfall in Argentina. What was he doing in Alaska?

“What does he want?”

Because, in honesty, Hoan Dwell was out of her league. Though they did work with established artists, none were of his caliber. He’d had shows in New York, Milan and Paris. Most of Elements’ bookings were new, upcoming artists and very small market. They’d launched quite a few careers, but…wow.

“He wants to see you.” Nicole bounced on her toes.

Raven closed the program she was working on and put her PC into sleep mode. “All right. Send him in.”

As Nicole sashayed away, Raven blew out a calming breath and steeled her face to pleasantly neutral. He nodded once to Nicole and ate the distance over the bamboo floors to the open staircase. Smoothing her hands down her plain black dress, she rose when he reached the doorway.

“I’m Raven Crowne, and you are?”

He accepted her handshake with a firm, brief grasp and sat in one of the brown leather chairs across from her desk. “Michael Hawthorn. Agent for Hoan Dwell.”

She nodded, as if this were an everyday occurrence. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Hawthorn?”

His eyes were a cold gray, but his smile was assuredly amused. “My client would like to discuss having an exhibit at your gallery.”

She leveled him with a stare, raising her brows. “No offense, Mr. Hawthorn, but why would Mr. Dwell be interested in such a small gallery in Tartok Crest?”

“Can you not handle a showing for him?”

Her hackles rose, but she didn’t take his bait. “Of course, we can. Elements has every means to accommodate his work. My question is why would he want to?”

“Mr. Dwell’s quite enamored with your gallery.”

He looked around her office, taking in the burnt sienna-colored walls and small prints she’d collected from new artists. Her tastes ran wide from surrealism to impressionist. If it struck a chord with her, it stayed. She designed the gallery below her second floor loft with clean, simple lines and naturist elements. Glass and wood. Wide open floor plans. Beams carved from indigenous birch. A frosted glass ceiling made to look like branches weaving out, as if standing on a forest floor with sunlight spilling down. She knew what she’d created was a work of art in itself, utilizing both the vast region that surrounded the location and new touches.

It had taken five years, but she’d paid off the investors. The gallery was hers now, and she was so damn proud. He seemed satisfied with what he saw, nodding his head.

And then she realized what he’d said.

She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the black walnut desk. “Mr. Dwell has been here before?” Surely not. She wouldn’t have missed that. Then again, Hoan Dwell was an elusive mystery of a man. He didn’t have his own portrait taken and he avoided media. Aside from his models, who supposedly signed a confidentiality agreement before posing, no one had laid eyes on him.

“He saw the article on your gallery in Architectural Digest this past fall. He came to one of your showings last month.”

The information rattled around in her brain, and she came up blank in connecting the dots. She didn’t know what the man looked like, so she wouldn’t know if she’d seen him. “He didn’t introduce himself.”

One corner of his mouth quirked, not including her in the joke. “He’s a private man.”

“So private he can’t strike up a conversation with someone he wants to do business with?”

Slowly, he unbuttoned his suit coat and reached inside the breast pocket, pulling out a business card. He slid it across the desk with one finger. “My card, Miss Crowne. Call me if you’d like to set up a meeting. Mr. Dwell is unconventional. I’m instructed to tell you he’d like to arrange dinner with you, at a restaurant of your choosing, to discuss…things. Soon.” He rose from his seat and nodded. “Good day.”

Good day? That was it?

She stood. “I need more information than this, Mr. Hawthorn. I don’t just meet men I don’t know for dinner…”

“Consider it a business transaction, Miss Crowne. You’ll be meeting in public.”

His tone suggested he knew about her fear of strangers, men specifically. And why. A bead of sweat trailed down her back. Yet this could be huge for the gallery. Bringing in Hoan Dwell would not only secure Elements financially for quite some time, it would bump up their prestige, too.

“I’ll meet him. With the understanding that there will be no promises.”

Mr. Hawthorn turned to face her fully. “Where?”

Her gaze drifted over his shoulder as she ran through the options in her mind. It would have to be a location close to Anchorage, with a well-lit parking lot. Italian was too messy, but Salvatore’s had booths spaced pretty far apart so they’d have a semblance of privacy. Gino would let her park right out front and see her to her car if necessary. She’d used him before for catering an opening.

She looked up and gave Mr. Hawthorn the address. “I can’t make it this week, not until Friday.”

He nodded once. “Friday at seven. I will relay this to Mr. Dwell.” He reached into his breast pocket once more. “I’ve been instructed to give you this if you agreed to dinner.”

He held out a small pink envelope, non-threatening in nature, but her heart stopped on a dime. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead, a contradiction to the heat that churned in her gut. All pretenses of professionalism gone, she took it from him with trembling fingers and whispered a thank you.

She stood for several moments after he left, staring blankly at the envelope. She’d gotten others like it by carrier with no return address and no signature. One every year on her birthday for the past five years. On occasion, for seemingly no reason, she received three others. Eight in total, and all eight knocking her thoughts straight into orbit without gravity for anchor.

They’d been anonymous, hand-written letters. Until now. Did this mean they’d been from Hoan Dwell all along? She pressed a cool palm to her forehead. What was someone like her doing on his radar? She stared at the envelope, wanting to tear it open and read the sensual words she knew would be inside.

Nicole rushed into her office. “Well? What happened?”

Raven cleared her throat and drew in a deep lungful of air. “Mr. Dwell wants to set up a showing. We’re meeting for dinner on Friday.”

“Shut the front door! Seriously?”

“Yes.” The envelope weighed heavy in her hands. She needed to get out of here. The letter couldn’t be read where anyone could see her reaction. Besides, Noah was coming for dinner tonight and she still needed to stop by the market. “I’m going to head home early. Why don’t you lock up and call it a day?”

“Will do.” Nicole paused. “Why aren’t you more excited?”

“I am.” She laughed nervously. “Just in shock, I guess.”

Nicole grinned. “I can’t wait to find out what happens on Friday. Happy Birthday to you! Best present ever. Showing Dwell’s work will put us in the black for years.”

A smile curved her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks again for the bracelet.”

Nicole had shown up for work today with a large mocha and a small present for Raven’s birthday. The two people who never forgot were Nicole and Noah. The greatest friends a gal could ask for. Her mother had yet to call but, judging by history, she’d ring at ten tonight as an afterthought, her mind too scattered to remember sooner.

Bundling into her coat and scarf, she stepped out into the biting January wind and walked the few feet to her SUV. The seemingly eternal dusk for this time of year would be pitch black in a couple of hours. After hitting the market to pick up fresh crab legs, she made her way to the edge of town and parked in her apartment complex’s lot, directly under a street lamp and closest to the entry.

Once inside, she stripped out of her dress clothes and into pajamas. Noah wouldn’t care. They’d been best friends since day one of college when they’d literally slammed into each other rushing to class. He’d seen her in worse getups and she’d known him before he made his millions with his tourism recreation company. There were no pretenses with him. For that, she was grateful.

After putting everything away, she started dinner and stared again at the envelope on the counter, teasing her to pick it up. When the first letter arrived six years ago, she’d been frightened at first. Even though arousing in context, it still was an unknown. Unknown sender, unknown admirer, unknown reasoning. She didn’t like the unknown. Not even a little. The one surprise party Nicole threw for her birthday a few years ago created a panic attack that Noah had barely managed to calm. The rest of the party had been nice, once she got over the shock.

Noah had found the letters amusing, claiming she should be flattered. Raven wasn’t so sure. But then time passed and nothing more than letters came. Except now she knew who they were from and he wanted to meet.

Unable to take the suspense anymore, she lifted the flap of the pale pink envelope and drew out the embroidered card. The stationary was always the same, a cream-colored embossed card with a lace overlay. Simple and elegant. Feminine.

Miss Crowne,

The time has come. I’ve watched you from afar for many years. You are beauty personified and sexual desire emblazoned. I’ve kept my distance, imagining the day I could claim that clever mouth in a kiss and ravage you the way you deserve. I believe we’re both ready. I know you, and now you will know me.

Ever Yours.

He always signed them that way. Ever Yours. There was never anything threatening about the letters, other than him blatantly stating he’d watched her. The sensual quality of his words washed over her, leaving her hot and aching. And embarrassed. They were just words on paper but, for someone like her, who hated attention, it was a rare treat to know she’d been desired by a man to this degree.

He was probably eighty years old and hideously scarred. Or had bodies buried in his yard. Hoan Dwell. What could she possibly have done, or how had their paths crossed, to enlist this kind of response?

Noah knocked and strolled in, closing the door quickly behind him. He chucked his coat and shivered. In his hand was a mountain bouquet of wildflowers, his customary birthday present. Where he got them in January in Alaska was a mystery, but with as much money as he’d acquired, he could afford the luxury.

A thick grey Henley stretched across the muscles of his shoulders and chest. His jeans were faded in all the right areas and low on his hips. He kicked off his boots and offered a grin, sexy as all get out with the light stubble on his jaw.

It really was a crying shame they never slept together when they first met. Just to test the waters. After all this time, though, it would be awkward. He never seemed interested in her that way, and her curiosity had been fleeting back then. Noah was the only man in existence she trusted. It would be unwise to focus on anything other than what they had. Soul mates in best friend form. She wondered what made her think of old memories now. Perhaps the manifestation of another letter. It always threw her off-kilter.

Shoving his sandy blond hair off his forehead, he walked deeper into her apartment, blue eyes scanning her kitchen.

“Happy birthday. Whatcha cooking?”

She accepted the flowers and buried her face in them, inhaling the bit of spring she missed. “These are perfect.”

He shook his head. “Most women want roses and diamonds. You want wildflowers and pajamas. You’re easy to please.”

She wasn’t easy to please, and that was part of her problem, why she’d been stuck in this rut the past few months. Or years. Nothing ever felt…satisfying. “We’re not dating. If we were, you could buy me roses and diamonds. I’m happy with these. You can drain your bank account on the revolving door of women you sleep with.” Grinning for effect, she reached for a vase and filled it with water, setting the flowers inside. “Seriously, I love them.”

Ignoring her jab at his dating life, he peeked at the stove. “And I love your food. I repeat, what are we having?” The last part of his sentence was spoken in a whisper as his gaze landed on the letter she’d set on the counter. “You got another one.” His jaw tensed.

She leaned against the counter. “I know who’s sending them, too. Remember me talking about that photographer, Hoan Dwell? I have one of his earlier prints.”

His gaze didn’t meet hers. “Yeah. A bigwig who snaps pictures of women rolling in grass or fondling a tree stump. They’re from him?”

His lack of surprise was interesting. From the moment the first letter arrived, Noah had been as interested in her response to them as the mystery of the notes themselves. He knew her well. They’d go to hell and back for each other. She’d told him things she wouldn’t dare repeat to anyone. So he knew she needed control in most things, especially her private life and who she dated. But he didn’t know how dark, how deep that control brought her at times.

The conversation she wanted to have with him about the matter would need to be treaded lightly. As much as she loved Noah, no way was she going in the metaphorical bedroom with him. She wanted, needed his advice, though.

“He wants to meet.”

Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. Saying nothing, he picked up the letter and skimmed it before tossing it down. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m curious, I’ll admit, but…”

“But what?”

She shrugged. “He could be a mass murderer.”

Noah crossed his arms. “He’s taken six years to initiate a meeting. Odd serial killer behavior if he was one.” He took a step forward as if to touch her, but retreated quickly and braced his hands behind him on the counter.

For whatever reason, they didn’t touch. They hadn’t hugged or kissed on the cheek or even patted each other on the arm in all the years they’d been friends. If it was strange, she appreciated the oddity in it. Raven had the distinct impression they had this unspoken rule for her benefit, though it was never anything they’d discussed.

“What should I do?”

He studied her in that intent way she’d grown to be comfortable with. For all his banter, he’d had a serious side since his parents died shortly after sophomore year. “Are you going to do it? Meet him?”

She turned and pulled the roasted potatoes from the oven. “I said I would. I told his agent so when he came to the office today.”

“Doesn’t mean you won’t back out.”

“My word is golden, Noah. You know that.” She lifted the steamer from the pan and placed the crab legs on a serving platter. When he didn’t respond, she looked at him.

His jaw muscles were getting a workout. “I also know that anything that puts attention on you scares you to death. Whoever this guy is, whatever he ultimately wants, you should at least think about it.” He paused a beat. “You can’t keep the world at arm’s length forever. Your depression is under control. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

She moved the buttered asparagus to the small kitchenette table, ignoring his words. He cared. She got that. But he had no idea how much every day was a struggle just to get out of bed. And all because of some long ago nightmare she didn’t even remember, outside of small flashes in her memory.

With tense movements, she set the table. “As my friend, shouldn’t you be scared he’s going to chop me up into tiny pieces and feed me to the bears?”

He sighed. “No.”

She turned to glance at him.

“My security team will drive you to and from wherever you’re going.”

His security team. Well, that was new. She’d never actually seen the men herself, other than Max, who’d been Noah’s guard since…She scratched her head. Since forever.

Noah was an only child to a former New Jersey state senator who’d hit the wrong end of an ice patch doing eighty with his wife in the passenger seat. The family had left him money, but Noah accumulated more than he knew what to do with after college when his adventure startup took storm. His time and resources were valued. Some people took advantage of that. Plus, that much wealth brought out the crazies. Two years ago, Noah had been shot at over the watch he was wearing. As beautiful and scenic as Anchorage was, the drug abuse rate was near the highest in the country, as was the suicide rate. People were desperate.

He uncorked the wine and poured two glasses, handing one to her. “I’d never encourage you to do something that would put you in danger. I care about you.” Before she could respond, he sucked in a breath and drained half his glass. “And as someone who cares, one of these days you need to let me take you out to dinner. It’s really crappy you’re cooking on your own birthday.”

She smiled, moved by him. “Says the man who has his own cook.”

“I do not. I have a housekeeper who occasionally cooks for me. And she’s not as good as you.”

She laughed as he tried to shrug it off. He could do that for her every time. Knock her from freaked out to that’s better in three seconds flat. “Seven days a week is hardly occasional.”

“Six days a week.” He sipped his wine. “Every night but Friday.”

“Which reminds me, I’ll have to rain check our typical dinner this week. I’m meeting…him that night.” She swirled the wine in her glass. “I like cooking, especially for you because you appreciate it.” Plus, she was much more comfortable at home with him in her PJs. She started to regret her decision to meet Mr. Dwell. Again. Why venture out of the normal when she had perfection in her best friend right here? “I care about you, too.”

Downing the rest of his wine, he quickly refilled the glass. What was up with him tonight? He was broody and, if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear he was nervous, too. Perhaps it was just a bad day at work. Being the owner of Gallivanting Adventure, he didn’t get out on the trails or boats or up in the planes as much as he wanted. He hated being stuck behind a desk.

She took a sip of wine. “Everything okay?”

He tore his gaze away from the pink envelope on the counter and focused on her. After a beat, he grinned. “You bet. Let’s eat.”

After they’d cleaned up the kitchen and Noah had gone home, she went into her bedroom and pulled down the shoebox from the top shelf of her closet. Not one to collect memories, she wondered why she kept the items inside. Nonetheless, she set the box on her bed and scrolled through the other letters Hoan Dwell had sent previously. Each of them were short and sultry, teasing her with a craving she’d skillfully banked until it was appropriate and safe to bring it out.

What did he see in her? And what were his expectations?

His letters spoke of desire. Wanting her. Savoring her until they were both spent. She didn’t take lovers lightly. Research and observation went into each decision until she made contact. What if she was attracted to him, wanted to go the distance and be with him?

Would he be disappointed when he learned her likes in the bedroom? They weren’t exactly traditional and most men didn’t take well to what she needed. Sex, any form of intimacy, had to be on her terms. Hoan Dwell didn’t seem like the type of man to submit control. Not that she knew him, or anything about him, but someone who obviously knew women as well as he did and was able to capture them on film with stark clarity, as if peeking into their souls, couldn’t possibly be willing.

She shook her head. There had to be something really wrong with him if it took him this long to initiate. All this wondering was moot. All that would happen come Friday night was a dinner, a business discussion about a showing for his work, and then she’d head home.

Alone.

Setting the letters back inside the box, her knuckles brushed over something cool. Her fingers closed around the polished stone and removed it. No larger than a thimble, it fit into her palm. It had fit into her hand when she was just a girl, too. The only thing she had from her life before her mother adopted her was this. Just a rock and some vague memories.

She sighed and put the lid back on the box, replacing it on the shelf. Then she took a hot bath until her mind was blank and her body lax. Except when she crawled between the sheets, sleep eluded her.