by Roz Lee
“I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life,” she said.
“Neither have I,” Hank replied, draping his arm over her shoulder and pulling her close.
* * *
At his touch, she came into his arms. She smelled of sunshine and fresh air, her lips were as sweet as cotton candy under his. He framed her face in his hands and drew his thumbs softly across her pink tinged cheeks. Exploding fireworks reflected in her bluebonnet eyes captivated him. Love for the woman in his arms filled him. For the first time in ages, he was happy. He liked a parade as much as the next guy, but with Melody by his side, he'd had more fun than he could ever remember.
Standing on the sidewalk earlier, her head tucked under his chin and his hands resting on her hips while she laughed and waved at the passing floats had been one of the best moments. She fit in his arms and his life. She fit in the recording studio. She fit with the band members and their wives. She fit with his friends in Willowbrook. Everywhere they were together, she fit right in.
He could see a future with Melody. She would be by his side in his career as well as here in his home. Maybe one day they'd watch their kids in the Fourth of July parade. He could see it happening with Melody, and only Melody.
He hadn’t planned anything beyond a few minutes alone with her to watch the fireworks, but he couldn't stop the words flowing from his heart.
“I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me, Melody Ravenswood?”
So, this is how it ends. Here, on top of the world, Hank's world, after the best day of my life.
Her heart skipped a beat. She’d thought they would have more time together.
His hands framed her face, and sincerity gleamed in his eyes. The truth of his words were written across his face and carried in the depth of feeling in his voice.
They could have a lifetime. It was up to her. The single, affirmative syllable trembled on her lips.
But she couldn't say it, couldn't sentence herself and Hank to the kind of life awaiting them. He was a dreamer, but she had given up on her dreams long ago. The life he envisioned just couldn’t be. Not for people like them.
Hot tears spilled from her eyes, brushed away by a tender swipe of his callused thumbs across her cheeks. The shiver began in her hands, loosening her grip on his forearms. It continued across her chest and down her spine until it erupted into an uncontrollable quaking. She forced the air from her lungs, across her vocal cords. “I love you, too, Hank, but I can’t marry you.”
The moment the words left her lips she wished she could take them back. But she couldn't. It was the right thing to do. The only thing she could do. For Hank. For herself.
He held her for the space of a heartbeat then he dropped his hands from her face and turned in his seat. She hugged the purple bear to her chest, squeezing as tight as she could to still her shaking. Even in the warm night air, a bone-deep chill crept over her.
Where his proposal had been as smooth and warm as silk, his voice was now as cold and sharp as chipped ice. “Can’t or won’t, Mel? Which is it?”
The one thing she could give him was honesty. “Won’t. Hank, don’t you see? If we were to marry, everything you see here would change.” She swept her arm across the sky showered in gold glitter, to encompass Willowbrook which sprawled like a blanket of twinkle lights below them. “I can’t stay here. Eventually, the tabloids will figure out I’m here. Add you into the mix and it will be nothing short of a disaster. I can’t do it. I won’t do it to you, to us, or to this town.”
“You’re wrong. But if that’s the only reason you can think of, we’ll live somewhere else. You’re making excuses, Melody.”
Fear gripped her, and pain shot through her heart, a knife twisting for good measure. “You have no idea what it's like living a shadow life, hiding who you are. I do, Hank. I've done it all my life. Living with an alias. Never telling people your real name or talking about your family. Avoiding places where other celebrities will be on the off chance someone might recognize you. It's the way I grew up. My mother constantly drilled it into me, ‘Don't do anything to draw attention to yourself or the paparazzi will find you.’ Marrying you, you marrying me? It would break every rule of self-preservation I know.” She clutched the bear impossibly tighter. “You know as well as I do it wouldn’t work.”
Fireworks exploded overhead. Multi-colored sparks fizzled and died, raining down like shattered dreams. The seat trembled, and he glanced at Mel. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she looked as frightened as a child on the deck of a sinking ship, watching in horror as the icy water crept closer and closer.
His anger vanished. He folded her into his arms. His broken heart was nothing compared to the demons she fought every day. He wrapped an arm around her back and cradled her head against his shoulder with his other hand.
“What is it you're afraid they’ll find out?”
She startled when a particularly big firework exploded and he wrapped her tighter, shushing her fears with soft, reassuring words.
“You can tell me, Mel.”
“They blame me. I know they do. Daddy would still be alive it wasn't for me.”
He rubbed his hands up and down her back. “That's not true, Mel. It was an accident, and you were just a child. No one blames you.”
“They do because it's true. If they find me, they'll never let it go. They'd drag you down with me. I can't let that happen.”
“I don't know how I can change your mind. None of what you say is true, but even if it was, I don't care. I want to be with you. I want to marry you. I want to raise a family with you right here in Willowbrook. You've got to know I'll protect you.”
“I know you think you can, but you can't.” Her muffled sniffle nearly broke his heart all over again. “Please, take me home.”
“Okay. Let’s table this discussion for another time. I’ll take you home as soon as the fireworks are over.”
He held her tight until the wheel came to a stop and the attendant raised the safety bar, all the while trying to make sense of what had gone wrong. She loved him. She’d admitted as much. He loved her, so everything else was immaterial. He’d find another way to make her see what they could have together. She needed more time. He could give it to her. He had waited a long time to find her—he could wait until she saw what he saw.
On the silent walk home, he held her close, matching his stride to her shorter one. At her front door, he kissed her gently, asking nothing in return.
“Will you be all right? I’ll stay if you need me to.”
She closed the short distance between them, laying her cheek against his chest. “I'm sorry, Hank.”
“Don't be. You can't help the way you feel, but the offer stands. We're good together. I'll convince you.”
“Oh, Hank, please don't.”
He pressed his lips to her hair, holding the contact for a moment before he let her go. “This conversation isn't over. We aren’t over.”
He forced his feet to move, leaving her there in the open doorway. Alone.
* * *
Mel indulged in what her college friends referred to as a massive pity party. She spent the remainder of the week on the sofa, eating ice cream from the carton and watching chick-flicks on cable. The giant purple bear was her only companion. When Jonathan returned on Sunday evening, she pulled herself together.
Hank’s proposal made her decision to chronicle the recording session even more difficult—if that was even possible. She would never forget the expression on his face when she’d refused him. She had hurt him, but it was nothing compared to the misery she would bring him if she’d said yes. The stubborn man would eventually see she was right and thank her for saving him. Until he did, she would just have to keep her distance from him and somehow finish the project she had started.
Her resolve to stay far away from Hank nearly crumbled the moment she stepped inside the barn. He came out of his office, looking good enough to eat, and from the set o
f his eyes, he either wanted to eat her up or murder her, she couldn’t tell which.
She drank him in and squashed the impulse to throw herself into his arms and tell him she had changed her mind. With a curt nod in her direction, he continued along the hall away from her. Well, what did you expect?
It was the week from Hell. She was a virtual stranger among a close-knit group of friends and her welcome depended on Hank. She couldn’t help but notice the derisive glances directed at her and her questions garnered the shortest possible answers. By the end of the week she’d had enough and cornered Hank in his office.
He was so incredibly handsome, sitting behind his desk with his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose his wrists and muscled forearms. With his reading glasses and his ultra-conservative haircut, he resembled a college math professor more than a rock star.
She closed the door and took a seat in one of the guest chairs in front of his desk. He continued to sort through a stack of mail, completely ignoring her. She couldn’t quit staring at his his hands. Desire raced through her veins as she remembered the feel of them on her, stroking, pleasuring. She knew the ecstasy of his skilled hands. With one, he kept her body pulsing to a steady rhythm, while the other coaxed her heart into a sweet melody. By varying the tempo, he kept her writhing in a constant state of need.
She hated the new mask of indifference he wore whenever she was around. Among his friends, he smiled and laughed, but as soon as she approached, the mask slipped into place, closing her out.
He was aware of her from the moment she’d stepped into his office. He’d spent the last week trying to avoid her, trying to keep from touching her. She was like a magnet, drawing him closer with nothing more than her presence. Without raising his head, he could just see her breasts, rising and falling. She was a sickness, he decided. A fever he couldn’t shake. An addiction. He needed a twelve-step program.
He wanted her with every fiber of his being, and no matter how hard he tried to stop it, his body reacted every time she came near. He hadn’t touched her in over a week. Hell, he had barely spoken to her.
Feigning indifference was killing him. It was affecting his work. He couldn’t concentrate on his job because all he could think about was her. Where she was. Who she was talking to. What she was wearing. The way her skin felt like satin. The taste of her lips. The way they fit perfectly together. Her insane denial of their love.
No one had said anything yet, but they had to be thinking about it. If he didn’t get his head on straight soon, one of the guys, or all of them, would do it for him.
“Hank, we need to talk.”
He tossed another envelope onto the trash-it pile. “About what?”
“Will you stop and look at me? I can’t stand your cold shoulder anymore.”
The last envelope dropped from his fingertips, and he looked at her for the first time since she’d invaded his office. She wanted a life without him in it. Well, this was what it was like. Get used to it, Melody.
“What do you expect from me? I’m not made of stone. I can’t act like nothing happened.” I’m not like you.
“This situation is unbearable, Hank. The wall you put up between us is bad enough, but it’s affecting the whole crew. The rest of the guys will hardly speak to me. Might I remind you, the book, me being here, was your idea.”
He tossed his reading glasses on the desk. The woman across from him inhabited the same gorgeous body he knew so well, but this woman was cold and distant. Not at all like the woman he’d fallen in love with. He wished she’d jump over the desk, do something, anything to him. He was so far gone, he thought letting her strangle him would be okay as long as she put her hands on him.
His kept his voice steady, controlled. “I’ll talk to them. There’s no reason for our problems to be theirs, too. Is that all you wanted?”
“I know you don’t understand, but refusing to marry you is for your own good. I love you. I love you too much.”
He bolted out of his chair. Her calm rationalization of the irrational was a match to the tinder of his banked emotions. Everything he had held in for the last week boiled to the surface as he faced her across the desk.
“I understand a lot more than you think I do. Don’t do me any favors, Mel. Don’t throw our love away and tell yourself it’s for my own good. I can decide for myself what’s in my best interest.”
He flattened his palms on the desk so he was eye-to-eye with her. She flinched, but he was through pretending he didn’t have any feelings in order to protect hers. It was time for her to face up to a few truths.
“You don’t love me too much, Melody. You don’t love yourself enough. Everything you said the other night is bullshit. You're using it as an excuse to run away again, just like you ran to Willowbrook. What happened in San Diego?”
He didn't wait for her answer, didn't care what sent her running before. All that mattered was what she was running from now.
“You’re hiding. I don’t give a shit about who your father was. I don’t care if the tabloids follow us to the ends of the earth. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We can make it work. But you have to want a future for yourself, for us, enough to let go of the past.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “The core of the problem isn't your guilt about what happened to your father. No, the real problem is you don’t trust me. If you did, you’d know I would never let anyone hurt you.”
He rounded the desk and crossed the room in long, angry strides. He had to get away. He had already said too much, and he needed to leave before he said something he didn't really mean.
At the door, he turned back to her. “You're right. You being here is my fault. I brought you into the recording. I won’t stand in the way of you doing your job. But hear me, Melody. You’re the only one for me. Run and hide all you want. And when you come to your senses, I’ll be here waiting for you. As long as it takes.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“Hey, Mel. Have you seen Hank?” She spun around at the sound of a man’s voice.
“No. Yes. He left, I think.” She gathered her wits and stood next to her chair, facing Stephen.
“Where did he go? Is he coming back?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t say.”
“Are you okay? You don’t look so well.”
Her legs trembled, and she put a hand on the back of the chair to steady herself. “I’m fine,” she lied. “I’ve got to go.” She forced her feet to move, pushing past Stephen in the doorway.
She drove home, but as she closed the front door behind her, she couldn’t remember a single detail of the drive. Did she stop at the four-way stop at the corner? She closed her eyes and leaned against the door.
“What’s wrong, luv?”
She jumped at the sound of Jonathan’s voice. “You scared me. I thought you were at the farm.”
“I was. Henry dropped me off a few minutes ago. I have to be back later, but no one’s going to miss me for a few hours.”
“That’s good,” she said. “You’ve been working too hard.”
“It feels good to be working again.” He stood in front of her. “Come on. You look like you could use some rest yourself.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and steered her to the sofa. He perched on the coffee table and took her hands in his. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She was so tired of being strong. For once, she needed someone to lean on, and Jonathan had strong shoulders. He had always been there for her. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over, and once they’d begun, there was no stopping them. Jonathan moved to sit beside her and drew her into his arms.
“Here, here now, luv. What’s got you so upset?”
The story came out in a rush. Between bouts of tears and hiccups, she told him everything. She told him about playing the piano, about Hank’s proposal, about turning him down, and, about his angry verbal attack.
He pushed a box of tissues into her hand. “Dry your tears. I’m going
to fix us a pot of tea and we’ll talk about you and Hank. Maybe I can help.”
She dried her tears, and when he returned, she welcomed the warmth of the mug he placed in her hands.
“Drink up. It’ll do you good.”
She took a sip. The hot liquid began to thaw the block of ice in her gut, and a maniacal drummer hammered a steady beat against her skull. “Thank you.”
Jonathan settled in the chair across from her. “Since you’ve calmed a bit, let’s talk. I understand you being upset about discovering you have some musical talent. That sort of thing would come as quite a shock to anyone, especially a full grown adult who just happens to stumble on it.” He paused to sip his tea. “Your father started playing the piano when he was a teenager, I believe. Even being the heir to the Earl, he wasn’t exposed to music in the traditional sense, not like I was. We were poor as the proverbial church mice, but my mother made sure I had piano lessons. I was always envious of Milton’s ability to hear a tune and play it back, note for note, almost immediately. It was a talent he took for granted, but one I often wished I had.”
Mom was right.
“Drink your tea. I’ll talk, you listen.”
Mel took another sip of tea. “He took enough music classes in college to learn to read and write music. That’s when he started putting his compositions down on paper. By that time, he had a whole library of original music in his head.”
He drank from his cup. “I would have given just about anything to have his talent, his ability to compose in his head and have the same composition just spill out of the instrument like some sort of magical birth. So now it seems his daughter has inherited his talent.”
He shook his head. “Instead of fighting it, you should be embracing it. I bet Hank feels the same way I did about Milton. Envious. Incredulous. Unworthy, even. I’ll tell you, it’s bloody difficult sometimes to be a lowly mortal around a musical genius. Bloody difficult. You should cut the man some slack. He can’t help the way he feels, but he loves you, so he’ll come around on that score. He did ask you to marry him, so I'd say he's coping pretty well.”
