Lost Melody

by Roz Lee

  “The next one,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “This isn’t my bedroom,” she said. He followed her gaze, taking in the small room outfitted with a desk and little else. He groaned. “You were heading to my bedroom, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I was.”

  She tilted her head. “That way.”

  He wasted no time moving down the hall to the last open door. He paused on the threshold. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He found the correct room, kicked the door closed behind them, and crossed to the bed.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mel understood the catastrophic mistake she was about to make, but Hank needed her tonight, and if she was truthful, she needed him, too. Ever since the first moment when she’d walked into the room in his father’s house and saw him sitting there, she had wanted him.

  He eased her to her feet and stepped back slightly. He slipped a couple of buttons loose on his shirt then paused. “If you don’t want me to make love to you, tell me to stop. I’ll go, if you want me to.” His voice sounded like it had been dragged across sharp gravel. A muscle ticked in his jaw and she wanted to place her lips there and make the tension go away.

  She stared at the sliver of skin showing through the gap in his shirt placket and her mouth watered. It would be wise to end it here but her body had already made the decision for her. She locked eyes with him and reached out. She popped another button free. “Don’t go.”

  The rest of their clothes came off in a blur of stretched buttonholes and rasping zippers. Hank’s talented hands learned every inch of her body, driving any lingering doubts about whether being with him was right or wrong completely out of her head. He knew where to be gentle and where a firmer touch was needed. When he added his lips and tongue to his explorations, Mel lost the ability to think at all.

  He reduced her world to touch and sensation…and pleasure. So much pleasure.

  Her body responded to each caress with a plea for another and Hank answered every one with a slow thoroughness that robbed the air from her lungs.

  When he had worked her to a mindless state of desperation, he took her breast into his mouth and simultaneously pressed two fingers into her. Mel lifted her hips and arched her back in blatant invitation. “Please.”

  He released her breast and nibbled his way up to her clavicle and along the vein pulsing erratically in her throat. “God, you’re hot and tight, sweetheart.” His fingers worked in and out of her body in a constant beat that matched her internal rhythm. He caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. She groaned and ground her pelvis against the heel of his hand seeking the glorious something glowing on the horizon.

  “That’s it, darlin’. Let go. Come apart for me.”

  She didn’t want it to end, but the coil wound tighter with each stroke of his fingers and she was helpless to stop the wave of sensation that ripped through her body when the coil snapped and unwound. She bucked against his arm stretched across her stomach, anchoring her to the mattress. He continued touching her, using every resource at his disposal to prolong her pleasure.

  Her world slowly righted. She opened her eyes to find Hank staring intently at her. “I’ve got to have you,” he said.

  “Yes,” was the only word her lips would form. He’d just given her the most intense orgasm of her life, but it wasn’t enough. She wanted more. She needed him inside her. She needed to wind that spring again, with him.

  “Hang on, sweetheart.” He rolled away, and she shivered at the loss of his heat. A moment later, he was back, covering her, spreading her legs, seeking entrance. He nudged her core. “Wider.”

  Mel brought her knees up and dropped them to the mattress, at the same time, tilting her hips up to receive him. He filled her in one smooth stroke, forcing the air from her lungs and sending shock waves of pleasure all the way to her fingertips and toes.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he exclaimed. “You feel so damned good, woman.”

  If she could have spoken she would have returned the compliment, but she was lost in a world where there was nothing but exquisite bliss. He pulled almost all the way out and slid his turgid length back in. She had nothing to compare the sensation to. She’d managed a couple of hook-ups in college, but none of them had been anything like being with Hank. Having Hank inside her was rockets exploding into space. It was Heaven.

  Hank moved with confidence. No tentative questing for the right spot, the perfect tempo. She moved with him, gasping with each delicious stroke. She ran her hands over his body and reveled in the steel strength of his limbs and the solid block of his torso. Where she was soft, he was hard, and every part of him was the perfect match for every part of her.

  Every thrust brought her closer to the perfect moment when there was no past and the future was measured in throbbing heartbeats.

  Much later, lying awake with Melody cradled against his chest, “Melody” came to him. He hummed softly so as not to wake her. He knew how he would write it, the slight changes of inflection, the nuances of the notes to alter the song from a father’s expression of love, his lullaby to a daughter, to a song between lovers. He wondered if Hamilton Ravenswood had ever imagined the metamorphosis when he wrote the words. Surely, he’d seen the dual meanings of paternal love and musical passion. But, had he foreseen the song from a lover’s viewpoint as well?

  She stirred beside him in the early dawn light. One word summed up the way he’d felt when he sank into her for the first time. Mine. Watching her sleep, he knew there wasn’t another woman in the world he wanted or would ever want. Only her. And thoughts of another man touching her, making love to her, sent shards of ice through his system. No way, no how. She’s mine.

  He reached for the last foil wrapped condom, glad he’d had the presence of mind to grab a couple and jam them in his pocket before he’d driven to her house the night before—not that he’d had any hope she felt the same way he did, but he’d prayed she would. He sheathed his morning erection and rolled on top of her sleeping form. He entered her slowly, stretching her tight passage to take him fully. Her hips moved, responding to his invasion. He watched her face as she awoke, her eyes going from slumberous to aroused. He moved inside her to an ancient rhythm, slowly pulling out and, with torturous patience, pushing his staff to her core.

  Braced on his forearms above her, his palms cradled her face while his thumbs traced a line along her cheekbones down her jaw. His lips followed the same path, leaving tiny kisses in his wake. Her body reacted, heating until she melted for him. She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him to increase the tempo. He buried deep within and stilled. He pushed to one elbow and brought her nipple to his mouth. His lips closed over the tight bud, startling a gasp from her.

  There was no sweeter music than the way her body sang when he touched her. He rolled across her and gave the other one the same attention.

  Soon, her body tensed, poised on the brink of shattering.

  “That’s it,” he crooned in her ear. “Come for me, baby.”

  Her inner muscles clenched around his shaft. “Hank,” she breathed.

  Lord, he loved to make her come. Loved the way his name sounded on her lips and the way she held onto him like he was her anchor in a storm. He pressed her into the mattress and sought his own release. He buried his hands and face in her hair and increased his tempo to match the beat pounding through his brain. The rhythm built to a crescendo, pounded in his system, and claimed his control. The music they made together seared itself on his mind, to be put on paper another time.

  He held her close to his sated body. He wondered if she knew, if she could tell by the way he made love to her how deep his feelings ran. Lying in bed with her, her legs tangled with his, his hand on her naked hip keeping her nestled against his sex, he closed his eyes and let the music wash through him. Every note came to him, a reflection of his love for her. It had become part of him, and committing it to paper, a mere formality.


  She slipped into a deep slumber, and he held her until the sun bathed the room in a warm golden glow, mirroring the light within. He slid out of bed, moving carefully so he wouldn’t wake her.

  Life didn’t get any better than waking up in Mel’s bed, Hank thought as he flipped another pancake. Last night he’d felt as if nothing would ever be right again, then she walked into his arms and everything fell into place. She was his. He loved her and if she didn’t love him, she was damned close to it.

  He hummed the new note structure that had popped into his head in the wee hours of the morning while he held her in his arms. It was perfect—better than anything he’d ever written in his life, and as soon as he got home, he would put it down on paper. He wasn’t in a rush to leave—the tune wasn’t going anywhere. Once he had it in his head, it was there to stay, so he could hang around here as long as she would let him.

  Chapter Ten

  Mel woke to a sun-filled room. She stretched and rolled over to check the clock on the opposite nightstand. Over-worked muscles reminded her of the night before, and the morning, too. Even if she wanted to forget, and she didn’t, the heavy scent of heated bodies and sex hung in the air and clung to the tangled sheets. The delicious smell of bacon cooking wafted through her open bedroom door. She’d never had a man cook her breakfast before. Hank was, and it was enough to make her stop and think about what she’d done. She clutched the sheet in tight fists, remembering. She’d never felt anything as perfect as having Hank inside her. And the way he touched her and cared for her…

  Her lips stretched into a smile. Hank’s shirt lay discarded on the floor, and her inner thighs protested as she bent to pick it up. She slipped the shirt over her nakedness, loving the feel of it as the hem skimmed across her legs. A vision of him wearing nothing but his open shirt, her clinging to him, her legs wrapped around him, taking him inside herself, heated her skin. Embarrassed by her wicked thoughts and the flush creeping over her body, she tiptoed across the hall to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face.

  She padded on bare feet to the kitchen, coming to a stop in the doorway. He stood at the stove, wearing only his jeans. She admired the broad expanse of his shoulders as he hummed a tune while he cooked. Leaning against the doorjamb, she watched and listened. The melody was familiar, yet different. A horrible realization dawned, painting her vision red and eclipsing everything else.

  “Stop.”

  Hank turned, spatula in hand. Whoa. Something was wrong here, and he didn’t have a clue what it was. The volcano standing in the doorway was not the same happy and satisfied woman he’d left sleeping in bed a short while ago. This was an angry, distant version he thought he'd seen the last of after what they’d shared last night and again this morning.

  “I thought you'd be hungry. I know I am,” he said with a smile.

  She straightened, her body impossibly rigid. He could almost see the bricks rising up to form a wall between them. “I meant, stop humming that song.”

  His smile vanished as he realized what he’d been humming. Her song—but the way he envisioned it now. “I’m sorry. It just comes out sometimes, unconsciously.”

  “You’ve changed it. Why?”

  She was quick, he’d give her that. Most people, even trained musicians, probably wouldn’t have noticed the subtle changes so quickly or could have identified the song as easily, but of course, it was a part of her. “It’s something I’ve been toying with. A cover, my interpretation of the song.”

  “Don’t.”

  The single word was like a bullet to his heart, delivered with cold and deadly accuracy. She turned and hurried down the hall.

  “Mel, wait!” He tossed the spatula in the sink and followed after her, reaching the hallway in time to see her slam her bedroom door shut. He stood there, unsure whether he should plead with her to listen or barge in and demand she hear him out.

  “Shit,” he said, staring at the closed door. He’d really screwed things up, and he didn’t have a clue how to fix them. “Mel,” he called through the door. “Can’t we talk? Please, let me explain.”

  He held his breath, waiting for an answer. When none came, he sighed and returned to the kitchen. He cleaned the mess he’d made and left what was edible of the breakfast on the counter for her. He approached the bedroom with caution. His shirt and shoes sat on the floor beside the closed door. He picked his shirt up and tapped lightly.

  “I’m going, Mel. When you’re ready to talk about it, I’ll be at the farm.”

  She huddled against the headboard, the covers pulled up to her chin, trying to staunch the tremors racking her body. She wanted to open the door and fall into his arms. She wanted to beg him to make it all go away, the way it did when he made love to her. In his arms, nothing else mattered. Fear held her back. They'll break your heart. Her mother's words echoed in her brain. Wisdom or prophecy? Either way, it was a true statement.

  The squeaky hinge on her front door, followed by his truck engine coming to life confirmed his departure. The tears came, soaking her pillow, and carrying her grief and panic into the open.

  He’d only changed a few notes, but in doing so, he’d completely altered the essence of the song. Her father had written her a lullaby. Hank had written her a love song. There was no use denying it any longer. She was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Hank Travis, and in the space of a few hummed bars, he had broken her heart.

  * * *

  Hank set out two cereal bowls and juice glasses as he had every day since the night he spent with Melody. An hour later, he placed the unused bowl back in the cabinet. “She isn’t coming, Betty.”

  The dog wagged her tail and grinned at him, grateful for the scrap of attention from her master. Hank tossed her a treat, insuring she would follow him to the barn. If not for the dog’s needs he wouldn’t have come out of the barn at all for the last few days. He spent hours at a time in the rehearsal room, and later in the week, he’d moved to the recording studio.

  He couldn’t bring himself to sing the song in front of anyone, so he managed the rough recording himself, erasing track after track until he had it right. It was raw, just his voice and the piano, but he knew it was good, as good as anything he would ever do.

  His hands shook as he spun the dial on the wall safe in his office. Betty Boop stood silently by, offering her support in exchange for treats and a few head rubs. He’d managed to feed her, but he’d had little appetite himself. He’d barely slept in the last five days for thinking of Mel and how he’d hurt her with his carelessness. Her silence told him how much he’d wounded her.

  The new version of the song landed on top of his previous version. He slammed the safe door, spun the dial, and replaced the framed platinum record over the safe. It was done. It might never see the light of day, but it was out of his head. He’d done what he had to do, even if no one else ever heard it.

  “Let’s go, Betty,” he said, snapping his fingers to get her attention. “I need some sleep.”

  * * *

  She spooned the last bit of brown powder out of the can and threw the empty container in her overflowing wastebasket. She’d indulged in the pity party to end all pity parties, and since she’d run out of ice cream, cookies, and hot chocolate, it was time to put her big girl panties on and rejoin the living.

  She owed the Gazette something for all the time she’d spent with Hank, so she decided on a series of articles chronicling his daily life. Thank heavens she had enough material already, so there wasn’t any need to continue following him.

  Saturday morning she swung by the Gazette, dropped off the first article, and headed to the farm to give Hank an advance copy and say goodbye.

  There was no sign of life when she drove up. His truck was in the driveway, and the back door stood open behind the screened door. She called out and knocked to no avail. He’s probably in the barn.

  Grateful she wouldn’t have to confront him, she tried the screened door. Finding it unlocked, she stepped into the kitchen and
dropped the article on the table—a place he was sure to see it, eventually. As she walked out the back door, Betty Boop sauntered around the house and wagged her tail in welcome.

  Mel wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck, hugging her tight. “I love him, Betty, but I can’t do it. He changed my song for one thing. And there’s his job. I’ve seen it before. Lived it. If I went with him on tour, the paparazzi would be all over us. They’d never leave us alone, so I’d be here all alone while he went on tour for months at a time. All those groupies and fans falling at his feet…and the traveling. Flying.” She shook her head. “I’d be a basket case, waiting at home, wondering who he was with, and always expecting the phone call. Just like my mother.”

  Betty wagged her tail and licked Mel’s face.

  “I can’t do it. I just can’t.” Mel stood, and with one last head rub for the dog, she said, “Bye, girl. Take care of him for me.”

  * * *

  Hank sat at the kitchen table reading the article he’d found when he’d woken up. Too lazy to eat properly, he tossed down handfuls of cereal straight from the box.

  Mel had done an excellent job. The information was accurate, the quotations precise, and the story compelling. If it hadn’t been about him, he'd be eager to read the next installment. He tossed the papers across the table, wondering what Pandora’s Box would be opened by printing it. One of the Dallas papers would pick it up soon. From there, who knew? She couldn’t remain anonymous for long.

  He faxed the article to his publicist, along with a short explanation and a strongly worded message stating he wouldn’t do any follow-up interviews with anyone, for any reason.

  Melody was next on his list. He wanted to see her. He needed to see her. He needed to tell her he understood about the song, and maybe she would at least hear him out. If she would just listen to the song, she’d know how much he loved her. She might even give him a chance…or he might never see her again.