by Leslie Kelly
Oh, Lord. Oh, mercy. Oh, yum.
Being away from the man hadn’t lessened the driving, overwhelming hunger she’d felt for him from the moment they’d met. It had only made it more intense. She’d been an utter fool to think not answering his calls or trying to avoid him would make him easier to forget. After all, hadn’t she already acknowledged—at least to herself—that he was unforgettable?
“This is a surprise,” she finally said, shocked to realize she sounded perfectly normal. Not all crazy-hungry-horny-desperate like she felt.
“I didn’t call first since I figured you wouldn’t answer, anyway. Are you going to invite me in?”
How about I just do away with the words and rip off my clothes here and now? Is that a good enough invitation?
Managing to keep her clothes on and her libido constrained beneath what was left of her dignity, she stepped back and ushered him in. He immediately looked around the living room of her apartment, his gaze assessing. “Nice.” He stepped closer to one wall, where a number of her framed photos were displayed. The ones she was most proud of. “Yours?”
“Yes.”
He peered closely at a shot she’d done of an old Jamaican woman in a brightly colored sarong, complete with beads and rooster claws around her neck. “I think I’ve seen her in Colonial Park Cemetery.”
“Probably. She holds services there. She didn’t even charge me for the first shot. After that I had to pay her.”
Nick chuckled, understanding immediately. That was Savannah. “You’re good.”
“I hope other people agree with you,” she said as she locked the front door. “So far, there aren’t crowds lining up to let me prove it.”
He continued walking around her apartment, checking it out. “It’s a lot brighter than most places around here. I like the woodwork.”
She followed his stare, seeing the short divider wall separating the living and dining rooms, so tons of light from the big front windows could spill throughout the apartment. Opening up the space by removing most of the wall between the two rooms had been her suggestion.
To the left, where there’d once been a closet, a pantry and a laundry room, there was now one big work space, eliminating the need for one wall and two doorways. Meaning more light, more air, more room to appreciate the beautiful aged oak floors that had been resurfaced and brought back to their warm luster.
“Brian and Rosemary’s father let me have a say in the renovations up here as well as downstairs,” she said as she put her wineglass on the coffee table. “There were Spanish-speaking workmen tromping through here for the first few weeks I was in town and I had to camp out in the empty apartment upstairs for a while.” She smiled. “With Paige’s furniture, as I’m sure you recall.”
“Oh, yes, I certainly do,” he said, his tone wry. “Rosemary’s folks must like you a lot.”
“They were like my family when I was growing up. I spent more time at Rosemary’s house than I did at my own, sometimes spending days at a time there. I pretended she and Deidre were my sisters and Brian my pesky, spying brother.”
Most people would chalk that up to typical childhood stuff, when kids would practically take up residence in each other’s houses during long, endless summers. Somehow, though, Nick saw past that to the truth she hadn’t been revealing. “A real home, huh? A way to get away from the commercials and the photo shoots and the parties? An escape from the life everyone must have thought was perfect…everyone but you?”
Her jaw dropped. How the man had gotten that much information out of what she’d thought was a relatively normal comment, she had absolutely no idea. But he was one-hundred-percent dead-on.
Yes, Rosemary’s family had been a little better off than the average middle schooler’s. Still, their lives had been way more normal than Melody’s. At least there was a mom and a dad, a sister and a brother in Rosemary’s house.
Melody had only ever had directors and photographers. Designers and PR experts. And of course, through it all, her mother. Jessica Tanner hadn’t been what anybody could describe as a Betty Crocker type. More like a Joan Crawford.
“How did you know that?” she finally asked, wondering if she was really so easy to read. Had the resentment she’d felt toward her mother for all those years not gone away, as she thought it had? Did something in her eyes betray the fact that she’d wanted to jump for joy when Jessica had moved to Europe with her new husband, and had barely even called for the past several months…so she had no idea about the divorce? Or had she just had a “poor little rich kid” tone in her voice?
“Me and my brother spent most of our summers at my cousin Virgil’s house when we were kids. Maybe not for the same reasons you stayed at Rosemary’s. But maybe not so far off, either.” A shadow darkened his eyes. “It was sort of a normal life at his place. Definitely better than being home alone with our dad when our mama was at work.”
His tight tone and the stiffness of his shoulders told her there was a wealth of meaning below his comment, and she wondered if he’d meant to reveal so much. Probably not. Nick was a contradictory man—at times flirtatious, at times dead serious—but so far, he hadn’t been the type to reveal his feelings. Other than desire, of course.
So, no, she doubted he was trying to start some kind of “whose childhood sucked more” conversation with her. Which was almost too bad. Because as much as she loathed the thought of telling anyone about her crazy upbringing, she’d like to know more about Nick’s. Every time she met him, she grew more and more curious about what made him tick.
Remembering something he’d said once—about his hometown being hell—she couldn’t help wondering what Nick’s life had really been like. What had prompted his shotgun wedding at the age of eighteen, and his quickie divorce? Had that thrust him into his military career, where he’d obviously charged full steam ahead into the danger zones from which others were fleeing?
She wanted to know. Wanted to understand him because then, maybe, she’d be able to make sense of the almost brain-zapping attraction she’d felt for Nick Walker since the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Even more…maybe she’d be able to figure out what to do with that attraction. Shove it into oblivion, in the furthest recesses of her mind?
Or grab it in both hands and have the man right on her living-room floor.
After being away from him for four long, lonely, hungry days, the living-room floor was looking better and better.
Stalling so she wouldn’t have to decide what to do, she headed toward the kitchen. “I was about to put a pot of water on the stove,” she explained. “I’m making some pasta for dinner.”
“Good. I haven’t eaten yet.”
She paused in the doorway to the kitchen, giving him an arched look over her shoulder. “You inviting yourself to dinner?”
Offering her a lazy smile and a slow nod, he followed her. “Uh-huh. That okay?”
There was that cockiness again. So why did she suddenly find it cute instead of annoying? “As long as you remember that I am not using my wiles to finagle you into a dinner date.”
“Given the way you said you cook, I definitely don’t consider myself finagled.”
“That’s not much of a way to get invited,” she retorted.
“I already was invited. By me. Remember?”
Laughing helplessly, she nodded. “Okay. But remember, certain topics remain out of bounds.”
“Like the L word?”
She nodded, glad he instantly knew what she meant. “Right. You say the word list or mention dead lawyers wearing my underwear and I’m kicking you to the curb.”
He stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
Before thinking better of it, she reached for his hand, to shake it and seal their bargain.
Bad move. Oh, Lord, bad move. Because his touch was so warm, so strong. Firm. Electric.
Their palms slid against one another, their fingers almost entwining. Nick’s hands were firm, a little rough, not a soft dentist’s hands like the only
ones that had touched her intimately for most of her adult life. His were a man’s hands. A lover’s hands.
They touched absolutely nowhere else. But suddenly Melody felt more intimately caressed than she had in her entire marriage. “Nick…”
“It’s okay,” he murmured, immediately understanding. As if to emphasize that, he pulled his hand away, looking at it with a somewhat dazed expression for one second before fisting it and shoving it into his pocket. “A friendly dinner, Melody. That’s all I’m asking for. No lists, no panties. No stolen kisses.” A wicked half smile tugged at his lips and his eyes twinkled. “No talk of sensual late nights with sweet-smelling air and pools of moonlight on the bed.”
She gulped, her body immediately growing warm and aware, remembering the sultry words he’d said to her on the street the day after they’d met at the diner. “Yeah. Right. None of that.”
“We’re only two people getting to know each other,” he added softly, stepping a few inches closer, until the tips of his shoes almost touched her bare toes.
She swayed a bit, drawn by his warmth, wanting to breathe a little deeper, to fall a little farther, to fill her head with the spicy scent that was unique to this man’s skin. “Yes.” She slid her foot forward, her eyelids growing heavy as a slow, languorous sort of want oozed through her veins. “Are you sure this doesn’t break your no-dating rules?”
“This isn’t a date,” he whispered.
“Just a friendly dinner.”
“Right.”
So why was she already so tense, on edge, ready to jump right out of her skin?
“Melody,” he said, his voice low and intense, “there’s one catch. One thing I need to say…that I want you to know.”
Oh, no. He was involved. He was in love. He was impotent.
“I know I’m not supposed to bring up the L word, but I have to tell you this before we…go any further.”
She scrunched her eyes closed, preparing for the worst.
“I’m glad you didn’t do it. Really glad.”
Opening one eye, she peered at him. “You what?”
As if he could read her mind, he grinned. Pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing them in front of his chest, he admitted, “What, did you think I was going to say you were right that first day and I like guys?”
“I am pretty sure we’ve established that you don’t.”
“I still haven’t quite forgiven you for ever thinking it.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, “I wasn’t thinking entirely clearly that morning.”
“I remember.” His smile faded. “But you were clear enough to know you weren’t going to hop into bed with somebody just because you’d given yourself permission to six years ago.”
Melody’s jaw dropped.
Nick reached up and ran the back of his finger along her cheek, across her chin, finally scraping it over her lips, which she instantly snapped shut.
“What are you saying?” Her voice was thready and weak.
He met her stare, something warm and intense making his dark brown eyes glow. “I guess I’m saying I harassed you so much, gave you such grief about it, because I didn’t want to be a name on a list to you. I wanted you to shoot me down.”
There was a strange note of vulnerability in his voice, which got to her more deeply than his words. For all his tough-guy persona and his no-nonsense-cop attitude, Nick Walker had the same deep-down worries and concerns that she did.
He didn’t want to be used. Didn’t want to be taken advantage of. Didn’t want it to mean nothing.
Which was exactly the way Melody had been feeling. She simply hadn’t admitted it to that extent, hiding behind the pretext that a man like Nick would be too hard to walk away from and that she didn’t have the nerve to risk another heartbreak.
She’d been telling him that she was a coward. Weak. And this man, this big, strong, thoughtful man, had just basically admitted the same thing.
Amazing what his words did. Because as she stood there in the doorway to the kitchen, absorbing the fact that Nick, too, was afraid of being used, she began to feel a surge of strength. Her blood pounded in her veins and her head cleared, as if someone had blasted her with a heady dose of fresh air.
She suddenly felt sure of herself. Sure of what she wanted…at least for right now. She was suddenly brave. Ready.
“I understand,” she said. “And you’re right…I wouldn’t have jumped into bed with someone for the sake of getting back in the singles game.” Willing him to understand, she admitted, “I know I need to move on—my friends are right about that. But my list definitely wasn’t the way to do it.”
He nodded. “I know.” Then, his lips curling in a tiny smile, he added, “So maybe dinner is a good start.”
“Dinner?” He still wanted to eat, while she was beginning to realize that maybe she had grown some guts back? That maybe she was ready to reach out and take the man she knew, the man she wanted…not merely the one she’d dreamed about six years ago?
“Yeah,” he continued, still delicately caressing her jaw. “If you don’t mind, I’d really like to stay for dinner. No lists, no ugly divorces, no murder investigations. Just you and me, starting over.” He moved his hand, now cupping her entire cheek, and she couldn’t resist curling into his palm. “Starting something,” he concluded.
Starting something. Oh, those words were so simple but so surprisingly heady. Melody had always liked being at the start of something new, with glorious possibilities lying in wait ahead of her on the path.
The glorious possibilities with Nick Walker might be beyond anything she’d ever imagined. It simply remained to take that first step and see what happened. “Starting something. I think I like that idea.” She rubbed her cheek against his warm skin, until her lips brushed the fleshy part of his palm.
Nick’s breaths grew more deep. “Me, too,” he said softly. “Let’s not think about what’s next. Let’s just…start.”
Yes. That’s exactly what she wanted to do. Somehow, all those doubts, those crazy wonderings about Bill and his other women and her own shortcomings didn’t seem to matter right now. Despite a few hiccups with murdered lawyers and stolen underwear, things in Savannah were going well. When she evaluated it, she thought she might even have to describe herself as happy. For the first time in a very long time.
There were no whispering voices of doubt telling her to back off, to play it safe. Maybe they would have if Nick had kissed her passionately and said, “Let’s go to bed.” But he hadn’t. He simply wanted to have dinner. To start.
And after waiting a long, difficult six years, Melody realized she was ready to do just that. Oh, yes, she was definitely ready.
Only, she didn’t merely want dinner. She wanted something much more dangerous. She wanted to be in the arms of a man who’d admitted he was almost as afraid of being used as she was.
Really, when she thought about it, there was only one way for them to move forward. To start. And that’s exactly what she wanted to do.
“Nick?” she said, continuing to rub her lips, then the tip of her tongue, over his palm.
His eyes were closed, his breaths even deeper. Which somehow gave Melody the courage to say, “Can we start by making love?”
CHAPTER TEN
NICK HAD BEEN PREPARED for a lot of things when he’d shown up at Melody’s door. A lousy dinner and some good company. Some laughter. Some concern about the murder and worries about lists.
Not this. Not a sinfully sexy invitation from a woman he’d wanted since the minute he’d laid eyes on her. “Melody…”
“Shh,” she whispered, delicately kissing the inside of his hand, then nibbling a path to his wrist.
Her touch sizzled, fried him completely. Made every nerve ending in his body come right to attention in anticipation of where that sexy mouth would land next.
He could definitely make some suggestions.
But he couldn’t go forward, not without being sure she was sure. And not wi
thout knowing why she’d changed her mind. “I didn’t come here to pressure you,” he said, the words hard to push out of his tight throat.
“I know.” She stepped closer, until the front of her body—clad in a loose sundress that scooped low over her mouthwatering curves—brushed against the front of his shirt. “Now I’m pressuring you.”
He hesitated for a second, wanting it, wanting her, but wondering if he’d be a world-class shit for taking her when a few days ago she’d practically begged him for more time.
The woman had been through a hell of a lot in the past couple of weeks. A stalking ex-husband, pushy friends who kept embarrassing her. A twisted pervert murdered after stealing her lingerie.
And him. The guy who’d spent practically every minute he’d known her either harassing her or trying to get into her pants.
Nick dug down and found some deep reservoir of nobility. “You don’t have to do this.”
She was silent for a second. During that second, he decided nobility was overrated.
“I know. I want to do this.”
He restrained from shouting hallelujah, but just barely.
Straightening, she looked him in the face, her blue eyes clear and unhesitating. “This isn’t about any list or any past desires or any long-term plans for the future. It’s about now. Being true to what I really want for the first time in as long as I can remember.” She reached up and pushed at the strap of her sundress, until it fell from her shoulder. Then she pushed at the other one. “And what I really want is you.”
Her softly spoken words repeated in his ears and he stared searchingly into her lovely face.
“So, Nick,” she whispered, reaching up to run the tip of her finger over the top hem of her dress, “Can I have you? Please?”
Could she have him? A bigger question might have been, did he have anything to give? What he could possibly have to offer this funny, sexy, beautiful woman, he really had no idea.
