by Leslie Kelly
The third call, at around ten o’clock Monday night—a few hours ago—had been challenging. He’d nearly ordered her to admit how she felt. To stop hiding behind things like her divorce and a stupid joke sex list and be true to what she really wanted.
She’d been weakening after call two, but call three had strengthened her resolve. Taking what she wanted would be a very dangerous thing. Hadn’t Saturday night proved that? Lord have mercy, she’d barely been able to breathe for ten minutes after she’d left Nick standing in Rosemary’s office, all rumpled, disheveled, aroused and sexier than any man had the right to be.
That had been after some wildly unexpected foreplay. What if they ever actually made love? Well, she had the feeling the memories would interfere with more than a few nights’ sleep. They could interfere with her whole life.
No. As desperate as she was for some mind-blowing sex, she couldn’t have it. Not with Nick Walker, anyway. Not when having him would mean throwing her tangled emotions, already so raw and vulnerable, into an even wilder frenzy.
All that made perfect sense. It was the right thing to do and she meant every word. In her conscious hours, with her wits about her, when she was dressed in regular clothes, not a silky short nightie that scraped ever so delicately across the tops of her thighs like a lover’s fingers, she would have been strong enough to resist.
But it was late. And it was hot. And her skin ached. And her body was so damn empty.
So when the phone rang—not surprising her, despite the late hour—she couldn’t find the strength to ignore it. Somehow, her erotic mood made talking to Nick on the phone not merely acceptable…it made it wickedly desirable.
She almost didn’t even realize she was reaching out when she closed her eyes and picked up the receiver. “You just don’t give up, do you?” she answered, her voice thick and throaty, slow and sleepy.
He didn’t say anything, probably surprised she’d picked up the phone, since she’d avoided his calls for two days.
“You’re ruining my sleep, you know. I can’t stop thinking about…everything.”
Still nothing. Silence. Thick and mysterious. Sultry.
She laughed softly. “Okay, you can talk to my machine, but you can’t talk to me? I thought I was going to be the one who’d be embarrassed. You do know how to confuse me, don’t you?”
The silence continued. Only now it was interrupted by a rhythmic sound…an airy sound. Breathing. In. Out. Again. Pause.
A frisson of concern crawled up her spine. “Say something.”
The sound continued, growing deeper, steadier. What had just a moment ago somehow sounded erotic suddenly scraped across her nerves, heightening her instincts and making her tense up. “Okay, I’m not kidding. Say something, please.”
Still nothing. And now her uncertainty turned into fear. “This isn’t funny. I want to know who this is. Right now.”
The breathing now mingled with a funny sound, which she quickly identified as a little moan.
That was enough for Melody. Her heart racing, she shot up in the bed and slammed the receiver back into its cradle. C.C. and Oscar looked up at her curiously, but she couldn’t console them. She wasn’t sure she could console herself. Her breathing became ragged and her heart tapped a crazy, staccato beat.
Snapping her bedside light on, she quickly scanned the caller ID on her phone. The last call, from a few minutes ago, had been from an unidentified number. Remembering when each of Nick’s calls had come in, she checked the listing and saw they’d all been from the same cellular phone.
So maybe this last time he called from home.
She hoped so. God, she hoped so. Because the thought that Bill was once again going to get his kicks by tormenting her with late-night phone calls or, even worse, unexpected visits was almost more than she could stand.
The thought of waiting for the phone to ring again drove her crazy. So almost without thinking about it, she dialed the cell number—Nick’s cell number.
“Walker,” he mumbled after the fourth ring, sounding as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep.
Damn. He apparently wasn’t the heavy breather.
“Hello?” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Melody?” His voice was suddenly more alert. “Is that you?”
“It’s me.” She cleared her throat. “I’m so sorry I woke you. I just had a…a call. I thought it might be you, but you were obviously asleep. Weren’t you? It wasn’t you, was it?” Knowing he probably heard the hopeful note in her voice, she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“No, it wasn’t me. I called earlier, but I’ve been asleep for…what time is it, anyway?”
She couldn’t keep the disappointment from her voice. “It’s a little after one. I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t worry about it. What did the caller say?”
“Nothing,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “Just heavy breathing, like before.”
“Before?” He instantly sounded more alert. “You’ve had problems with pervert callers before?”
God, this was embarrassing. “My ex was harassing me for a while after I moved here.”
She could almost hear Nick go from sleepy, sexy man into cop mode. “How do you know it was him? Did you investigate? Notify the phone company?”
None of the above. “No. I just figured…”
“How long has it been going on?”
“I got regular calls the first month, but nothing for a couple of weeks now, since I changed my number.”
“What if you figured wrong and it wasn’t him?”
Mel was already shaking her head, not even willing to think that way. “I didn’t. Look, I’m sorry I woke you. I know it’s a work night. Go back to sleep.”
“Is your door locked?”
“Yes,” she said, feeling funny—a little tingly—about the protective tone in his voice. It was unfamiliar, that was all. She wasn’t the type of woman who’d ever thought she’d want a big, strong man to protect her. But for a fleeting second, it was kind of nice.
“Does your building have an alarm system?”
“Absolutely. Rosemary’s brother took care of it because I have a lot of photography equipment downstairs. I’m safe and snug.”
He exhaled, but Nick’s breathing comforted her, made her feel he was nearby. Close enough to touch…without the heartrending danger of actually touching the man.
Or the heart-pounding pleasure.
“Why haven’t you been taking my calls?” he asked, sounding sleepy and relaxed again.
Turning the lamp back off, she settled down into her bed. “Because you confuse me,” she admitted, being completely honest.
“I’m an open book.”
“Hardly.” The man was part hero, part grump, part cocky flirt and part edgy cop. And every part of him attracted her as she’d never been attracted to anyone before in her life.
“I don’t accept confusion as an adequate reason to give up on someone,” he said.
She wondered if he realized how serious he sounded. And how some women might take that seriousness.
Oh, God, a year from now, maybe she’d have the courage to do this. But not now. Not this month. Not this night.
If only she could make him understand. It was unlikely, but she still gave it a shot. “Can you imagine what it would be like to find an absolutely perfect bathing suit buried in the back of a clearance rack when you’re shopping for a winter coat?”
“Huh?”
She supposed the clothes analogy was a bad way to start with a man. A woman would instantly have known where she was going. “I mean,” she explained, “that there’s such a thing as really, really bad timing. Like finding the adorable pink-and-white bikini for half price when what you need is a nicely tailored, slimming, black leather trench coat.”
“So why can’t you buy the bathing suit now and have it around for next summer when you need it?”
A typi
cal man response.
“Because it might be out of style by next summer. You might have moved to Antarctica and have no need for a bathing suit,” she explained, wanting him to understand. “You might have had a crappy winter and eaten your way through a cold February and a rainy April and there’s just no way you’re going to fit into a bikini by June. Don’t you see? The timing is all wrong.”
His voice was low and scratchy when he finally replied. “You can eat your way through February and April and I’d still fit you as well as I would right now.”
Oh, God. The man fought dirty. Because now all she could imagine was how well they’d fit. How he looked right now, lying in his bed, shirtless, sleepy, aroused. So utterly sexy.
“I can’t do this. Not now,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I bothered you.”
“It wasn’t a bother,” he said, not accusing her of being a coward, even though that’s exactly what she was. “Make sure your doors are locked.”
Still worried. That was nice. “I will.”
Not giving him a chance to say anything else that might weaken her already paper-thin resolve, Melody hung up the phone. And prepared for a long, sleepless night.
AFTER HANGING UP from Melody’s surprising late-night call, Nick got out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Fredo, his purebred mutt, watched lazily, hardly lifting his head from the end of Nick’s king-size bed. “Dog, I’m gonna start shutting the door if you’re going to keep sneaking up onto my bed. What’s wrong with that nice big doggie pillow I bought you?”
Fredo didn’t even spare a glance for the oversize pillow, which he’d once deigned to pee on, just to make sure no other dog got what he, himself, didn’t even want. Still sprawled at the foot of the bed, the mutt watched Nick with soulful eyes.
“Man’s best friend,” Nick muttered. His best friend might as well have been flipping Nick the finger as he lazily chewed on something clasped between his furry front paws. Something that looked suspiciously like…
“And stop chewing my shoes!” Nick grabbed his sneaker from the dog’s paws, wiped a line of drool off on his jeans. He pulled the shoe on, muttering about bad dogs and heavy-breathing ex-husbands the whole time. “I do like cats, you know, no matter what she thinks,” he said, glaring at the dog as he grabbed his keys, his gun and his cell phone and strode out the bedroom door.
That got a reaction. Fredo gave a mournful little yelp. Glancing over his shoulder, Nick saw the dog hop down and hang his head as he trudged over to his dog pillow.
“You think I’m stupid? I know you’re gonna be on the bed before I’m out the front door.”
Looking deeply wounded, the dog threw himself down. But by the time Nick unlocked the front door of his apartment, he heard a telltale squeak from his headboard that said Fredo had again commandeered his favorite spot.
Nick muttered about his bad luck with dogs and women throughout his drive to the historic district of Savannah. He was still muttering a half hour later as he parked outside Melody’s building, holding a foam cup filled with crappy but hot coffee from a local twenty-four-hour market. It was late, about two in the morning, and the street was quiet. Empty. Most of the residents parked behind their own buildings at night, so there were only a few cars on the block.
Good. That’d make it easier to spot anyone suspicious.
Sipping his coffee, he put his window down, welcoming in the late-night air, which taunted him with a whisper of coolness that would be long gone by eight o’clock. He leaned back in the driver’s seat, settling in for the night. It’d be a long one, but what the hell. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep, anyway. Not when he’d be worrying about Melody until morning.
He hadn’t liked hearing the fear in her voice. Hadn’t liked it one bit. “Damn him,” he muttered, staring up at the second floor of her building.
He would love to get his hands on her ex-husband, the man who’d left that beautiful, vivacious woman nervous and jumpy, unsure of herself and unhappy. Like the one he’d first met a few weeks ago…the one he’d thought had disappeared for good.
Almost wishing he’d brought Fredo with him for company, he sipped his coffee again, settling farther into the seat. Never taking his eyes off the upstairs window, he immediately noticed when the curtain shifted. Then a silhouette appeared there.
A female silhouette.
Melody stood in the window. She looked down at him, her hair loose around her shoulders. He could barely make out some light-colored fabric floating around her body, a filmy nightgown, most likely.
Sleep was definitely out of the question now.
But hopefully not for her. Nick nodded once, silently urging her to go back to bed. Telling her she was okay, that she could rest easy, because he wasn’t going anywhere.
She understood. A small, faint smile widened her lips. And from down on the street, he made out the words she mouthed.
Thank you.
Nodding, Nick continued to sip his coffee and watch the night shadows lengthen over the next couple of hours, until it was nearly dawn. Staying up all night on a stakeout was usually easy because he had Dex either in the car or within radio reach of his position. This was different. Being alone on the silent street left him vulnerable to his own imagination. To the image of Melody standing in her window, wearing that filmy bit of nothingness disguised as sleepwear.
To the way she’d look now, lying in her bed, her hair spilling over her pillow.
To the way she’d feel when he was inside her.
“Damn,” he muttered, trying to refocus his thoughts as the night wore on.
Unfortunately, his solitude also gave him a chance to worry. The thought of Melody’s ex deciding to follow up his sick phone call with a visit made his entire body tense. “You’d better hope you covered your tracks, you cowardly son of a bitch,” he muttered, picturing her ex-husband.
By six o’clock, with no suspicious activity at all, Nick began to relax, confident that Melody was okay. The whole block had been dead silent for hours and she’d hopefully gotten some sleep.
Since the first streaks of orange and gold were appearing on the horizon, he figured it was time to go. Time to get out of here before Melody woke up and felt obligated to come downstairs. With his luck, she’d still be wearing her nightgown and Nick didn’t think he was a strong enough man to see that close up. Not unless it was for the three seconds it would take him to tear it off her.
Adjusting his seat, he was about to reach for the ignition key when he realized the passenger door had opened.
“Morning,” she said. “I brought coffee.”
He shifted his gaze and saw Melody sliding into his car to sit beside him. “You didn’t have to do that.” Then, his throat tight, he added, “You’re not even dressed.”
And she wasn’t. A silky robe dotted with little pink strawberries covered her from her shoulders to the tops of her thighs, but her incredible, mile-long legs were completely bare. As were her feet, so he could see the hot-pink polish on her toenails. His mind filled with the image of the flimsy nightgown she most likely had on underneath the robe. Lord have mercy.
“I’m decent.”
She might be, but his thoughts definitely weren’t.
“And I won’t be long. I’m going right back inside.” She handed him a small, foil-wrapped paper plate, then a mug of steaming coffee. “I couldn’t remember if you took cream, but I figured after an all-nighter you’d probably want some sugar. And I also made you an unburned bagel.”
He chuckled. “No crêpes suzette?”
“You’re lucky you got the bagel. I’m not much better in the kitchen than Rosemary.” Nibbling her lip, she reached for the door handle, then softly added, “Thank you, Nick. You didn’t have to do this. In the light of day, I’m embarrassed that you did, especially because I’m sure you have to go to work today.” Looking at him with blatant honesty in her blue eyes, she continued, “But last night, looking out the window and seeing you here, well…I felt very saf
e. I appreciated it.”
Nick wasn’t comfortable with the hero role. He never had been. And gratitude was the last thing he wanted from this woman, in particular. So he shrugged off her thanks with a frown. “Forget it. Anybody would have done it. Don’t make more of it than it was. I am a cop, remember?”
“Don’t tell me anybody would have gotten up in the middle of the night and sat outside my building so I could get some peace of mind. It was very nice of you.”
Nice. He hadn’t been called nice in…hell, longer than he could remember. Maybe never.
A loner, a loser, a lost cause—those were the words he most remembered people using about him…about all the Walkers, really. So hearing this woman call him nice made him just a mite uncomfortable. Because the last couple of times a woman had mistaken him for nice, he’d been hurt, lied to or royally screwed over. By his high-school girlfriend, who’d really been in love with his brother. By the woman he’d married, who’d been pregnant with somebody else’s kid. Most recently by Angie, who’d tried to worm her way into his case files by way of his bed.
“I’m not a nice guy,” he muttered, reminding them both of that fact. “You said so yourself.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she countered, obviously remembering her comment. “You’ve been very nice to me on a couple of occasions.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
She chuckled. “Well, back to Mr. Grouchy. I’ve met him on a couple of occasions, too. Now I feel better.”
He couldn’t resist her infectious good mood. Offering her a small smile, he sipped the coffee. Awful. But he managed not to grimace. “Hey, with last week, this is our second breakfast date, isn’t it?”
“Thought you didn’t date.”
“You keep tricking me into it,” he said, shaking his head mournfully. “You’re a wily one, Melody Tanner. I’m going to have to keep my guard up around you. Next thing you know, you’ll be calling about your leaky pipes and seducing me with a juicy pot roast and a home-made apple pie.”
She giggled, all hint of fear, of sadness gone from her face. Which made the cramp in his leg and the stiffness in his back from sitting in the car for the past four hours completely worthwhile.
