“A trick?” I growl, angrier than I intended. “Melody, this is no fucking trick. This is—I’ve never asked a woman to dinner, not once. Because …”
I trail off.
Words fail me.
Code is so much simpler, sometimes.
“Because what?” she mutters, glancing at the table, perhaps as inept in the realms of romance as I am.
Because they weren’t you.
“Because a wizard cast a spell on me a long time ago, that’s why.”
“Oh yeah?” she giggles.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “He told me that I could only ask women on dates named Melody, and you’re the first Melody I’ve met.”
“Oh, lucky me,” she laughs sassily.
Our eyes meet and a feeling floods into my chest, something I’ve never experienced before.
Its warmth, contentment.
All of a sudden, the office falls away and I imagine looking at her like this over a dinner table filled with our happy, laughing children, and for an insane moment, I think I see the exact same image reflected in her eyes.
“Tonight, then,” I say. “I’ll send a car for you.”
She smiles, even if it’s a little shaky, even if I can tell she still thinks there’s some ulterior purpose to the invitation.
“Tonight,” she says.
CHAPTER FOUR
Melody
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the dress I bought on my way home this evening. It was only when Mason asked if I wanted to go to dinner with him – or, rather, gave me the get-out-of-jail-free card of pretending that he was forcing me – that I realized I don’t actually have any going out clothes.
The dress is black with lace over the chest, revealing my bra, and as I gaze at myself I can’t shake the feeling that I look like a complete idiot.
I’ve had to be tough in my life, to develop a shield of banter and humor to make sure that nobody gets too close to me. I’ve never had much interest from men, but when I have, I’ve always politely said no.
I don’t want that to happen again, the mess I got myself into last time.
Yet when Mason asked me, I felt a stirring deep in my belly, almost like I was a teenager again and he’d just asked me to prom.
Sitting in his office, I started to imagine what it would like to be normal, whatever that means.
What would it be like not to have to look over my shoulder all the time?
But the truth remains that I do have to look over my shoulder, and by getting in deeper with Mason, I’m putting him in danger the same way I’m putting Gertrude in danger.
I should leave town.
Tonight.
I should run and go somewhere quiet and lonely and far, far away.
Then the buzzer to my apartment goes off and a wave of nerves and excitement crash through me, flooding me with tingly hope.
Just one date.
Don’t I deserve that, after all the years of running, of heartache, of pain?
Just one date with the best man I’ve ever met.
The man of my dreams.
I just hope it isn’t a trick.
I feel out of place as the host leads me to an elevator in the marble lobby, bypassing the restaurant as he gestures for me to go inside.
The elevator is lined with plush red material and smells of vanilla, the cleanest, most welcoming elevator in the whole freaking city.
I ride it up, butterflies swirling in my belly, clutching my bag tightly as though it’s a life raft and will save me if I go adrift.
That’s true, in a way.
I don’t have any floatation device in there, but I do have my pepper spray, and I’ve practiced using it for hours to make sure my aim is good and my reflexes sharp. I don’t even know how many canisters I’ve gone through.
The thing is, I don’t think that Mason wants to meet with me for any nefarious reason.
And yet my instincts tell me to be suspicious, always, to never let my guard down.
I let my guard down before and it resulted in a hell of blood, violence, and pain.
I shiver, close my eyes, and counting backward from ten slowly.
I’m at six when the doors slide open with a beep.
Mason is standing just outside the elevator, looking dapper and handsome in a black shirt and trousers, the tucked-in shirt showing the V-shape of his muscled body.
His shoulders look somehow broader as he steps forward, offering me his hand.
“Melody,” he says, in a husky voice. “You look absolutely incredible.”
A shiver dances up my spine as he lays his hand against the flat of my back and leads me down a plush carpeted hallway and then into a massive ballroom, so large it has three separate chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. One side of the room is dominated with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the city, rose red with the setting sun.
In the center of the hardwood ballroom floor sits a single table and chairs, the open space making them seem special. As we get closer, his hand a warm imprint on my back – God, is he doing that on purpose? – I see that the table and chairs glimmer with small diamonds.
A candle flickers in the center.
“Wow,” I say. “Do you do this for all the girls?”
I feel his hand tense against my back and immediately regret the comment.
“There aren’t any others,” he growls. “Please. Sit.”
“What a gentleman,” I say, trying to keep my voice light and teasing.
I take a seat and then he sits down opposite me.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t eat downstairs,” he says. “But we wouldn’t get any peace. Ever since this cellphone debacle, I can barely step outside without somebody wanting to give me their opinion on Spark. I—Sorry, Melody. I’m ranting.”
“No,” I say quickly, reaching across to touch his hand …
And then stop, wondering why the heck I’d feel comfortable enough to do such a thing.
Is this a date?
I end up toying with the candlestick instead.
“I mean, I don’t mind if you want to talk about work. It’s interesting. And everybody needs to vent. And this is amazing, Mason, really.”
Secretly, I wonder if the real reason for him wanting to meet me here is shame. If he’s embarrassed to be seen with the plus size wedding planner from the wrong side of the tracks.
Old feelings dwell darkly in my belly, the inbuilt embarrassment that comes with being born unloved, poor, and ignored, as though I’m always trying to prove myself and never can.
“I mean it,” he says, pulling me back to the present moment. “You look unbelievable, Melody. That dress, that lace, it’s enough to drive a man insane.”
My body gets hot at his words, not just my face, my cheeks flushing as my sex aches, and my clit gets tight and sultry.
Suddenly, my panties feel too tight, the fabric grinding against me suggestively.
I can’t stop my overactive mind from imagining that it’s his hand instead.
“Thank you,” I manage to stammer. “You look dashing, too, but then that’s nothing new.”
He waves a hand and, a moment later, a small mechanical device starts humming toward us. It’s about four feet tall with what looks like a tablet on top. It wheels right to the table and then stops, seeming to watch us even if it doesn’t have eyes.
“Sir, madam,” it says in perfect English, its accent a soothing Mid-West tenor. “I hope you’re having a lovely evening. May I start you off with some drinks?”
“What the heck?” I giggle.
Mason’s eyes light up, clearly happy with my response.
“Rudimentary robotics and artificial intelligence,” he says. “Not for public viewing, but there’s nothing wrong with a little test run.”
“What do I do?” I ask.
“You can simply tell me your order, madam,” the robot says, swiveling slightly as it ‘speaks’, as though imitating the movement of a person. “Or, if you prefer, you can
select from the above menu.”
The tablet blinks and comes to life, revealing a dropdown restaurant menu.
I laugh, almost clapping my hands together, the technology is so novel and interesting.
“Wow, Mason, this is great,” I say.
“My board wants me to roll them out ASAP,” Mason says. “But the idea of potentially putting thousands of waiters and waitresses out of business, well, it doesn’t exactly appeal to me. But for us, it’s perfect. I don’t want to share you with anybody else, Melody.”
Warmth surges through me, my panties getting more cloistered, steamier, my nipples rubbing against my bra, as though my womb is screaming at every part of me to reach across the table and grab onto any rock hard part of Mason I can grasp.
“So what, I can just order anything?” I ask.
“You can have anything you want,” he says, with a weight to his voice that makes me think he’s talking about more than food.
“And then a horde of robot manservants will presumably make it for me?” I laugh, feeling myself getting whisked up in the majesty of this all even if I know how dangerous it is.
He’s out there, always. Searching. He’ll never stop searching.
“No, the Michelin Star chefs will handle that,” he smirks.
“You know, Mason, I really want to tell you I’m not impressed. I’m a down-to-earth girl and none of this stuff means a freaking thing to me. But that’d be a lie. Because this is really awesome.”
His lips twitch and his eyes glint, and when we meet eyes I feel my resolve shattering inside of me.
“This is beautiful,” I whisper, looking out over the city as the sun finishes its final descent, the gorgeous reds replaced with just as startling yellows.
“Not as beautiful as you,” he whispers, so close, at my side now, his breath painting my cheek with a heat that is both intoxicating and confusing.
I just can’t believe he’d really be interested in me, not like that, not somebody as rich, and powerful, and handsome, and muscular, and downright hot as him.
“Ha ha,” I murmur sarcastically. “I guess next you’ll tell me you’ve figured out how to make pigs fly. Or, I know, you’ve discovered the formula that’s going to cause hell to freeze over—”
I gasp as he grabs my shoulders and spins me toward him, his grip tight and yet oh-so-welcome, sending shivers down my arms all the way to my fingertips.
I can’t help but bite my lip as I stare at him, his eyes blazing blue flames melting any self-control I mistakenly thought I was holding onto.
“Melody,” he growls. “I don’t know what moron told you that you weren’t absolutely fucking gorgeous, but they’re wrong, dead wrong. You’re the most beautiful … fuck it, words don’t do you justice, and there’s no point even trying.”
A whimper escapes me as he leans forward and presses his lips against mine.
I feel myself tensing up, feeling the roughness of his lips, and then something smooths through me and I collapse against him with a moan.
I’m braced by his stony body. I can feel his manhood against my belly, a massive solid sword, and he makes carnal growling sounds through the wetness of our kiss.
My body screams at me to go with the flow, to finish this gorgeous night off with the union of our bodies.
The dinner was incredible, the conversation flowed easily even if it was mostly bantering surface-level stuff, and now this – giving myself to this man – surely it would be the tingly cherry on the quivering cake.
But a thought stabs into my mind.
Nasty.
Unwelcome.
You are not good enough.
I break off the kiss and stumble backward, anxiety hammering a morbid tune directly to my soul.
“Melody?”
“I have to go,” I say, a manic quality to my voice. “Please, don’t follow me. Tonight was great. Really. But I have to … Bye. Thank you. Bye.”
I duck my head and flee the balcony, rushing across the cave-like ballroom and directly to the elevator.
I hammer the button and then interlace my fingers, my palms sweaty, terrified that any moment my meal is going to surge up my throat and paint the sleek metal doors.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mason
I stand behind my desk, my hands behind my back, trying my best to focus on this moment and not let my mind stray to Melody and last night. The only thing that stopped me charging after her was the desperation in her voice when she asked me not to, and even if she’s mine and always will be mine, that doesn’t mean I don’t respect her.
I force professionalism to exude from my pores, but my body is weary with sleeplessness and my mind is a prisoner to Melody.
I don’t know why she ran. I don’t know if it was something I did or something unrelated or something, something. I don’t fucking know. And not knowing is like taking a knuckle-duster straight to the teeth.
And now, on top of this, Mathewson has just told me that it was one of our employees who hacked the phone. Apparently, they were threatened and blackmailed, but it doesn’t change the fact that they betrayed the company, that they betrayed me.
“The man didn’t give his name,” Mathewson sighs. “So even though we know it was hacked, we don’t know who. All we have is this.”
He places a playing card on my desk, except that instead of a heart or a club, there’s a small drawing of a builder’s helmet drawn onto the paper, with the words beneath, Hardhat, call only when absolutely necessary.
I gesture to the cellphone number.
“I’m guessing it’s dead?”
“Yep.”
“Shit.”
Mathewson sucks in a short breath. “Yep.”
“Okay,” I say, pacing up and down. “I want you to hire a private detective, somebody veteran, somebody who’s spent their whole life working in this city. Make sure they know the local gangs, because the motherfuckers behind this, there’s no damn way they’d get their hands dirty, not with blackmail. No, not if they made one of ours do it through sheer brute force, then they hired a criminal and he might be known to a vet.”
“You got it, boss,” he says, standing up and taking out his cellphone already. “You’re thinking Hardhat is a nickname?”
I nod. “Sounds like it.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” he says, and then strides from the office.
I drop into my seat and try to lose myself in work for a while. A light drizzle falls against the wide, tall windows, distorting the skyline, and imitating my thoughts.
Hazy, confused.
Why did she run out like that?
The meal went well, we bantered, we had a good goddamn time.
Perhaps she could sense that the kiss wasn’t just a kiss, that I wanted – fuck that, needed – to take things to the next level.
But then she did, too. I could read her body. I could scent her womb filling the night air, screaming at me to take her, to fill her until she was overflowing with my seed, my seed that belongs to her and her alone.
She wanted it.
And yet still she ran.
Or am I wrong? Have I imagined this connection?
No.
It’s something else.
I just fucking know it.
I sit down and pick up my phone, calling through to Natalie’s office.
“Hey, bro,” she says. “You’re going to ask me if I’m seeing Melody today.”
I smile despite myself.
“How the hell did you know that?”
“Because you went on a date last night and you’re a man.”
“And?”
I hear her grinning. “And men always need their hands held in matters of love, dumbass. If you haven’t heard from her, go and see her. There’s this really awesome thing men and women sometimes do. It’s called talking. You might want to try it.”
I lean back in my chair, glad Natalie’s on the phone and not in here so she can’t see the uncertainty in my expression. Not
uncertainty about my carnal possessive need to claim every inch of Melody, to strip her naked and palm the gradations of her flesh, to soak her in my come and leave her aching and begging for more.
No, I could never be uncertain about that.
But I’ve spent my entire life focusing on my business, not talking to women. I’ve had chances, of course, but never any want. Now my want is overflowing and I know that if I don’t find out why Melody stormed out, I’ll never forgive myself.
“Mason?” Natalie says. “Are you there?”
“Yeah, just thinking,” I sigh. “Jesus, Natalie, I don’t even know how to explain it, but I really think Melody might be the one.”
Natalie gasps. “Holy crap. Are you serious?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean … you’ve mentioned over the years that you’d just know if you saw her, but I guess I just thought that was you being you if you know what I mean. You’ve always been certain in business. I supposed I thought it was just a kind of extension of that, you know?”
“It’s not. It’s the real deal.”
“Then that’s all the more reason to go talk to her, don’t you think?”
“Yes,” I say, sitting up. “You’re right.”
Because this is the future mother of my children we’re talking about.
I ride one of my sedans across the city to the Eternal Bond offices, because their windows are tinted and the last thing I need right now is to deal with the vulture-like press. I’d hate to expose Melody to them, to have her infected with the bullshit that sometimes characterizes my CEO lifestyle. I sent out a decoy Lamborghini, driven by one of the interns, and predictably the hovering paparazzi swarmed that, leaving me free to glide away.
The Eternal Bond office is a small storefront with a mural of a lady in a wedding dress painted on the glass window. Inside, it smells of scented candles, and the glazed windows cause the light to dance pink and red.
My breath catches when I spot Melody behind the counter, biting her bottom lip as she types something on a keyboard. Her typing stops mid-tempo when she looks up at the sound of the bell above the door.
Her eyes widen.
She shakes slightly, and fucking hell, she’s only wearing a pale blue t-shirt and her breasts jiggle so alluringly already my manhood is instantly a thrumming impulse in my suit trousers.
The CEO And The Wedding Planner: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 201) Page 3
