“Melody will be performing?” Brad had assumed when she’d given up singing, she’d given it up completely. Apparently she still performed at local events. Interesting. She could claim to have left music behind all she wanted, but the fact that she still performed, given the opportunity, revealed otherwise. He mentally tucked away that tidbit to use the next time they argued over her future in music.
“It took a lot of convincing, but yes,” the mayor said. “So we can expect to see you tonight?”
Definitely. He’d never pass up an opportunity to hear Melody sing and then use it to try to convince her to reconsider his offer. “What time should I be there?”
* * *
“MAY I TAKE your coat?” A man dressed in a tuxedo asked as Brad entered the large foyer of the Parsonses’ home that evening. The home was phenomenal and impressive, decorated tastefully with red and white poinsettias on the tabletops. Large thick boughs of holly and white lights had been draped over the railing of the spiral staircase that led to the large open area upstairs. There he could see the party guests dressed in their finest.
He could hear the jazz band’s saxophonist playing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The song held meaning for him this year. He removed his overcoat and handed it to the woman working the coat check in the foyer. “Thank you.”
“Champagne?” A pretty waitress in a red velvet dress asked as he readjusted his bow tie and buttoned his tuxedo jacket. He’d been lucky that the men’s clothing store in the mall also rented wedding attire. This time of year, he’d been able to rent the tuxedo without any trouble. Anything other than the formal wear would have been unacceptable at that evening’s function.
Tempting. “No, thank you.” He headed up the stairs.
Darlene Dawson spotted him first and wagged a finger in mock annoyance as she approached. “You missed my bachelor auction last night.”
“As handsome as the men are around here, they’re not exactly my type,” he said. He hugged Luke’s mother.
“You know that’s not what I meant, young man,” she said, kissing his cheek. “Great to see you.”
“The pleasure is mine. You look beautiful as usual,” he said, twirling her around and letting out an appreciative whistle. Luke’s mother didn’t look a day over forty, with her long blond hair showing no gray and her incredible, well-maintained shape. She looked stunning in a red-sequined gown.
“Watch it, Brad,” Frank Dawson said as he approached and wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist. The pharmacist in town kept himself healthy and youthful, too, and looked like a slightly older version of his son. Victoria and Luke’s new addition would certainly come from good genes.
“Merry Christmas, Frank,” Brad said, extending a hand to the man. Brad scanned the room. “Great crowd.” He estimated that there were close to 150 in the open-concept dining and living area where the invitees had all congregated.
“This holiday party is well attended every year. We started preparations in August,” Darlene whispered.
As the head of the social committee in Brookhollow, Darlene Dawson was the best event-planner in town. Brad was searching the room for one guest in particular. “Have you seen Melody yet?”
Darlene’s eyes widened. “No, but she will be here...”
“It’s okay. We’ve...” He had no idea what he’d been about to say. Then out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her coming up the staircase behind them. Champagne glass in one hand, off-white fabric of the long, flowing gown she wore in the other, she looked beautiful. Sleeveless and high-collared, the dress was elegant and conservative, yet the soft fabric hugged her curves, giving more than a hint of the shapely body underneath. Her diamond bracelet and matching earrings reflected the crystal snowflakes hanging from the ceiling and created a glistening effect all around her as she moved. “Excuse me,” he told the Dawsons, without as much as a glance toward them. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her.
“Enjoy your evening, son,” he barely heard called after him as he approached Melody at the top of the staircase.
She gave a nervous smile when she saw him. Man, she was gorgeous. Every day, not just that evening—although the dress she wore tonight commanded the attention of everyone in the room. He shook his head. He had to get a grip. He was not allowed to ogle Patrick Myers’s widow.
“Hi,” she said.
“You are stunning.” Ogling and simply stating the obvious were two different things, he told himself.
“It’s not even my dress,” she said through a small laugh. “I borrowed it from Jill.”
He didn’t fail to notice the slight shaking of her hand as she raised her champagne glass to her lips, which were painted holly-berry red. “Trust me, it’s not the dress that has everyone staring.”
Her cheeks turned the color of her lips and she glanced away. Noticing the crowd, she said, “Look at all these people!”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just two hundred of the state’s finest.”
“That’s not helping,” she swiped at him and he caught her hand. He tucked it into the crook of his arm as he moved to stand next to her.
“Oh, come on. Look at them. So uptight...so boring. You have nothing to worry about.” He couldn’t resist the temptation to lean closer to her. Just as he’d expected—gingerbread. Never again would he be able to associate that smell with anything but Melody’s skin.
“You’re sniffing me again,” she said, moving away slightly.
“Try not to smell so good. Maybe then I’ll stop,” he said, his eyes meeting hers squarely. Man, what was wrong with him? Flirting with Melody would only result in bodily injury—as it should.
Instead, she surprised him by saying, “One green, one blue.”
“I ran out of colored contacts.”
“This is better,” she said. “This is the guy I know.”
He swallowed hard. What was happening here? She hadn’t slapped him, she hadn’t walked away. And she’d flirted back. That was almost more unsettling.
“Melody! We were starting to think you’d changed your mind,” Lillian Parsons’s shrill voice cut the air between them.
Melody took a quick step away from Brad. Turning to Lillian, she said, “Oh, only every three minutes.”
“Nonsense. You will be fabulous.”
To Brad’s ears, it almost sounded like a command.
“And you look amazing. Where on earth did you find that dress?” The woman did not try to conceal the look of envy in her eyes.
Melody opened her mouth, but Brad cut in. “It’s from a new up-and-coming designer in New York,” he lied. “Boretchelli.” The made-up name slid off his tongue and earned him a frown from Melody.
“Boretchelli,” Lillian repeated. “I have to remember that name. Okay, darling, the band is ready for you.”
“Is there somewhere I can warm up for a few minutes?”
Lillian checked the nonexistent watch on her slender wrist. “Sure, take ten. Down the hall to your left. The sitting room is quiet and no one will bother you there.”
“Thank you,” Melody said as Lillian moved to join her husband, who was talking to the Miller family. “Why did you lie to her?” she hissed at Brad.
Brad shrugged. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“Well, try to behave,” she said.
“And die of boredom? Forget it.”
“I don’t have time to babysit you. I have to go warm up. I’ll...see you later?”
She’d better believe she would. He didn’t want to part with her now. “Definitely,” he said, and then caught her hand as she turned away. Her soft skin made him want to pull her closer. “Want some advice?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Don’t do it?”
“It’s too late for that. Find a smiling face in the crowd to look at until you get comfortable.” Mov
ing closer, he whispered against her cheek, “Try mine. I won’t let you down.”
“I was the one who taught you that,” she said over her shoulder as she walked away.
* * *
IN THE ROOM down the hall, Melody fought to calm her racing pulse. She’d been nervous enough before arriving. Just the thought of performing in front of this wealthy crowd made her uneasy. Weddings and funerals were different. At those she just had to perform one song, and the attendees were usually distracted, wrapped up as they were in feelings of joy or grief. Tonight she had to perform five songs with the jazz band, which people would be paying attention to. And then of course Brad would be there. Had she imagined the moment that had just transpired between them? Things were getting ridiculous—first his joke about the kiss, then his company at the Green Gator. Now she was even flirting back.
She sipped her room-temperature water, glancing over the sheet music for her set and humming the melodies softly.
A man in a tuxedo entered the den. “They’re ready for you, Ms. Myers,” he announced.
Wow, Lillian really had meant ten minutes. “Okay.” Straightening her dress over her hips, she followed him back to the main party area. The band had stopped playing and Lillian Parsons was standing on the raised platform stage they’d constructed for social events such as this one.
“We are pleased to announce our special guest vocalist of the evening—Melody Myers,” she said.
As she gripped her lucky microphone, Mel was grateful she hadn’t sold it yet. She carefully crossed the stage in Jill’s strappy silver heels and took her place near the smiling saxophone player. “Hi,” she whispered, setting her score sheets on the podium. She knew the familiar Christmas songs by heart, but sometimes nerves could take over. It was comforting to have the sheet music nearby.
“Hi. I’m Dexter...this is Mike and Armando...” the saxophonist introduced the other members of the band, one on piano, the other on flute.
“Nice to meet you all. Start with ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’?” she asked and got a series of nods.
She turned and positioned herself near the front of the stage as the sound of the intro began on the piano behind her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and scanned the crowd. Where was he? As nervous as his being there made her, she knew he was probably the only one in the crowd who could put her at ease. The sound of a small cough to her left caught her attention, and her eyes met his. He was leaning against the bar, his jacket unbuttoned. His eyes were on her, a wide, knee-weakening smile on his face. Okay, maybe looking at him wasn’t such a great idea, she thought as she started to sing. Still, she kept her eyes on him for the first two bars before she felt her shoulders relax to the gentle sound of the saxophone next to her. She proceeded to take in the rest of the captivated room. She couldn’t deny it. She loved to perform.
* * *
BRAD WATCHED AS Melody made her way through the swarm of people complimenting her on her performance a half hour later. Still perched near the bar where he’d marveled at her goose-bump-inducing delivery of “Silent Night,” he waited, not wanting to take her away from the praise she so deserved, yet desperate to offer his own. The woman had incredible talent. Her voice was like silk and her stage presence was by far the best he’d ever seen. If only she believed in herself. Her eyes sparkled as she approached him. He knew the rush of adrenaline coursing through her now—he felt it every time he performed. It was intoxicating and addictive.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself,” he said, handing her a glass of champagne. “Wonderful performance.” He wished he could add something the others hadn’t. Taking her hand, he said, “You absolutely glow up there.”
She took a sip of the champagne, her hand trembling slightly. “I’m still shaking.”
“Adrenaline, not nerves, right?”
“Yeah,” she said with a wistful sigh, climbing onto the empty bar stool next to him.
“I love that feeling—the rush, the excitement, the thrill of doing what you love.” Somehow he had to make her see, she could have this. She deserved it.
“You’re relentless,” she said.
“Maybe.” As the band resumed, he asked, “Care to dance?” All of a sudden, he had an irresistible urge to be closer to her. The faint scent of her ginger-spice body lotion lingered in the air and he longed to breathe her in. Tomorrow, he would put to rest these unexplainable feelings, but right now, the temptation was too strong.
“I don’t know. It’s getting late.”
“Come on, you can’t leave yet. You’re a star. Enjoy it.” He took her glass and set it on the bar before helping her down from the stool.
“Okay,” she agreed. She followed him to the middle of the dance floor, where couples were moving in time to the slow music.
Brad kept his smile in place under the scrutinizing looks they received. His grip tightened on Melody’s hand as he felt her shrink back momentarily. Turning, he gripped her other hand, drawing her into the space between them before she could escape. Placing a hand firmly on her exposed lower back, he began to step to the music, forcing her to follow him. A nagging voice told him this wasn’t a good idea, but he ignored it.
Her eyes were on his chest as she whispered, “People are staring at us...”
“They’re not staring at us, they’re staring at me. I’m a celebrity—it happens all the time.” His voice was light and teasing. He placed a hand under her chin and tipped her face up to look at him.
She cocked her head to the side.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Relax. We’re just two friends dancing.” He wished it were that simple. But the history they shared already made this so much more. He wished the only feeling he was experiencing was a friendly one.
“Are we?” Melody searched his face.
He prayed he could conceal how he was really starting to feel about her. He pretended not to understand. “Dancing? Sure, sort of. I mean, not as well as...”
“That’s not what I meant. Are we friends, Brad?”
He grew serious as he pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair. God, that delicious smell was going to be the death of him. “I hope so,” he whispered.
* * *
MELODY STARED AT her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she reapplied her lipstick moments later. What was she doing? Dancing with Brad in front of all of these people? Even more disturbing was how the dance had made her feel. The euphoric sensation of performing had paled in comparison to the pleasure she’d gotten from being held in Brad’s strong arms. Her busy, stressful, work-filled life never allowed for moments of pure enjoyment such as the ones she’d experienced that evening. She felt a little like Cinderella in her borrowed dress, enjoying borrowed time. By midnight, it would all be over.
She wouldn’t prolong the inevitable. She had to leave. She needed to distance herself from all of this, especially from Brad, before everything got too far out of hand. She hoped it wasn’t already too late.
“Leaving so early, Ms. Myers?” the coat-check girl asked.
“Yes.”
“Oh, I was hoping you’d sing again tonight—your voice is so beautiful,” she said wistfully.
“Thank you,” Melody said as she accepted her coat.
“Do you need us to call a taxi for you?” the girl asked.
Shoot, that was right. She didn’t have her van with her. The last thing she’d wanted was to arrive at the mayor’s elegant home in her run-down vehicle. She’d come in a cab.
“Yes, please,” Brad said from behind her as he handed the girl his ticket for his coat.
The girl’s expression turned to one of awe as she rushed to retrieve his coat. “Yes, Mr. Monroe...uh...Jackson.”
“Monroe,” Brad said. He turned to Melody. “Leaving without saying goodbye?” he asked.
“It
’s getting late,” she replied. “I have to get home to the boys, but you shouldn’t leave.” Them leaving the party together wouldn’t look any better than their dancing together. And the idea of sharing a cab with him really didn’t appeal to her. She just needed to get away from him, away from the unwelcome emotions she was experiencing when in his presence.
“After you leave, there won’t be anyone here I want to talk to.”
“You really should stay,” Melody said again as he took her coat and held it open for her. As she slid her arms through, he lifted her hair over the collar and his hands grazed the sides of her neck, causing a shiver to ripple down her spine. They definitely shouldn’t spend any more time together, especially not alone.
“Nope, I’m leaving.” Brad put on his own overcoat and wrapped his scarf around his neck. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gloves. They made their way to the door, where they could already see a taxi parked outside. “Do you have gloves?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Wear these,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“Stop being stubborn.” He took her right hand and pulled the large glove over it, and then proceeded to do the other. “I’m sorry if I made things awkward.”
She’d have liked to blame him. Over the years it had gotten easy to do so. But tonight had been her fault as much as it had been his. She’d enjoyed dancing with him. Enjoyed how it had felt to be looked at the way he’d looked at her. Enjoyed the feel of his arms around her. And she had no right to enjoy any of that. “That’s not why I’m leaving.”
His gaze locked with hers. “Isn’t it?”
As the cab pulled up, she turned away. She opened the door and climbed into the backseat, and then moved all the way to the other side as he climbed in behind her.
“Where are you folks headed?” the driver asked, glancing at them through the rearview mirror.
Melody started to give him her address, but Brad interrupted her.
“I have an idea.” Leaning forward, he said to the driver, “Would you please take us to Main Street?” He opened his wallet and handed the driver a bill.
The Mistletoe Melody Page 16
