Sure. She reached on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Mmm, Edgar, you smell divine. Whatever that is, keep it on for Emma tonight.”
“Will do.” He turned abruptly and strode down the sidewalk back toward his building. Something was odd about him today. She couldn’t tell what. She’d ask him Monday, make sure he was okay. She couldn’t bear to think of anything troubling him. If Emma ever broke his heart, Melanie would rip hers out, barehanded.
A deep breath and she headed for her car, got in, started the engine and buckled, still a little shaky from her encounter with Mr. Heartbreak Waiting To Happen. Then ta-da, through her windshield she saw the prize: a garbage can, mounted on a streetlight. Perfect. She’d get out right now and throw the damn card away, because if she didn’t, she’d be taking it home with her, and she did not want his name and number anywhere near her house, which had a phone in it. And a bed.
She held up the card, still clenched in her hand—Sledge Bolton, Artist—then shamed herself by pressing it to her nose and inhaling the faint scent of his apartment. Even that tiny hint of him made the card seem too precious to throw out.
Come on, Melanie. She was being ridiculous in precisely the way she’d promised herself not to be ridiculous anymore.
Seat belt undone, she was about to pull the door handle, when a car honked impatiently behind her, someone anxious for his own miracle parking space. She craned her neck and saw a line of cars behind the honker, waiting for him, waiting for her to get out of the way.
Oh, crap.
She tossed the card onto the passenger’s seat, buckled again and backed out in a hurry.
There was nothing magical about that trash can. She had plenty at home. First thing through her door, she’d march into the kitchen and throw his card away. No, she’d tear it up first, then throw it away. Or even better, put it through the shredder so she wouldn’t change her mind and try to piece it back together.
There. That was her plan. The New Melanie would follow through and be rid of The Temptation of Sledge Bolton in less than half an hour.
7
ALANA NEARLY JUMPED out of Sawyer’s car. The three of them, Sawyer, Alana and Melanie, had eaten a very good dinner at Il Mito on North Avenue, a small, cozy neighborhood restaurant, new to the area since Alana had lived here and indicative of how the restaurant scene in Milwaukee had become more sophisticated in the six years she’d been gone.
However. What should have been a nice, relaxed celebration of her last night was anything but. Melanie had been hyper and spent the evening trying to get Sawyer to flirt with her. Sawyer had been polite to Melanie, but spent the evening trying to get Alana to talk to him. Alana had avoided Sawyer by spending the evening trying to get Melanie to reminisce with her. And so it went, from the excellent salads to the fresh and unusual pasta and pizza dishes, to the deliciously rich desserts. As soon as Sawyer paid the check, the three of them had practically sprinted for the exit and jumped into Sawyer’s Mitsubishi for the silent drive home.
In the humid summer air, Alana opened their back door, aware of Melanie and Sawyer hovering behind her. Thank God she was going to Florida in the morning; she should have showed more backbone and started her trip today. The thought of leaving Milwaukee again hurt and, okay, she’d miss the thrill of Sawyer’s attention, but she couldn’t take much more of this weird triangle. Melanie deserved a guy like Sawyer, was clearly smitten with him, and Alana needed to be out of the way for them to discover if anything could ignite between them.
Inside, she flipped on the kitchen light, tossed her purse on the counter and glanced at her watch. Not late, but with the time difference too late to call Gran and Grandad. She’d left a message earlier telling them she planned to start her drive the next morning, Sunday. A hurricane watch was in effect for Central Florida; Cynthia was expected to land Tuesday morning. Alana should be there in case they hadn’t taken proper precautions and needed her help.
“Any messages?” Melanie hurried to the machine on the counter by the refrigerator. “Yes! One!”
“Maybe Gran and Grandad.” Alana watched Melanie curiously. She sounded awfully excited about a phone message. “Are you expecting a call?”
“More like dreading one.” She put on a big show of rolling her eyes, then whirled around and jabbed the button. “Might as well check.”
Uh-oh. Alana’s alarm bells started ringing. This was classic Melanie man-behavior.
“If that’s ‘dread,’ I’d hate to see ‘eagerness.’” The murmur came just over Alana’s head, private and intimate.
“Hmm.” Alana turned to smile coolly, which didn’t work because Sawyer was standing close, one hand up on the cabinet above her, and with wine from dinner still in her system, it was hard to do or feel anything but…hot. “I’m not sure she’s—”
“It’s Gran.” Clearly disappointed, Melanie turned up the machine and Gran’s quiet voice again filled the kitchen she’d spent so many hours in for so many years.
“…but don’t come down until this storm is over, Alana. We’ll be fine. There’s still a chance the worst will miss us to the north, which will make more of your trip more dangerous. Even if it hits here, we have friends who’ve already helped us secure the house and will drive us to the evacuation shelter at the high school. We aren’t taking any risks and don’t want you to, either, for your sake and because we’ll worry. Love you, girls. Grandad says hi and sends his love, too. Goodbye.”
Melanie deleted the message, frowning at Alana. “What are you going to do? If you leave tomorrow you’ll get there right when Cynthia hits on Tuesday.”
“I’ll have to drive in two days instead of three.”
Melanie nodded, chewing on a fingernail. “That would do it.”
“Two ten-hour days driving by yourself?” Sawyer shook his head. “That’s crazy. Plus there’s plenty of bad weather ahead of the actual landfall.”
“It wouldn’t be that bad.” Melanie was clearly not pleased to be argued with. “And she’d be there to help Gran and Grandad.”
“They already have help.” Sawyer spoke calmly, gesturing to the machine. “Your grandmother said so. Why should Alana put herself in danger?”
“She wouldn’t.” Melanie fisted her hands on her hips. “She’d be safe at the shelter with them.”
“They’ll worry about her driving all that way.”
“Not if they don’t know she’s driving until she shows up.”
“Stop.” Alana covered her ears. The more rational Sawyer sounded, the more shrill Melanie got. “I’ll decide. It’s my neck, and they’re my grandparents.”
“Hey.” Melanie jabbed a thumb into her chest. “They’re mine, too.”
“Melanie, for heaven’s sake, you know what I meant.”
“Okay, okay.” Sawyer backed to the kitchen door, hands up in surrender. “If you two are going to start shrieking, I’m going upstairs. Hate to miss a word, but…”
“Sorry, Sawyer.” Melanie deflated sweetly. “Sorry, Alana.”
“S’okay, Melanie.” Alana rushed to make peace. “We’re all tense about the storm.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it, Mel.” Sawyer’s cell rang. He fumbled in his jean’s pocket and hauled it out. “Hello…yes…Oh, right. Hi, Debbie.”
Alana peeked at Melanie to see her reaction at the same time Melanie peeked at her. Then both shrugged comically, which made them both cover their mouths to keep from giggling.
“Thanks. Yeah, um, I enjoyed meeting you, too.”
Alana lifted her eyebrows. Melanie mouthed, I’ll bet.
Sawyer rolled his eyes and turned his back on both of them, which started the giggling again. His fault they were listening, because his large and magnificent body was blocking the exit.
“Tomorrow…” His voice dropped. “I’m free then, yes.”
The giggles stopped. Melanie suddenly found her lack of manicure fascinating. Alana examined the floor for traces of dirt. Of course there wasn’t any because she’d cleaned like a
maniac all day.
She wasn’t going to be jealous. If Sawyer wanted to go out with this—
Her eyes jerked to his broad back. Wait! Debbie? The woman he’d been trying to pick up at the party? The woman he mistook Alana for that night? In bed?
She was going to be jealous.
“Okay, see you then.” He clicked off the phone and turned, glancing first at Alana, then at Melanie. “Well.”
“Ah.”
“So…”
“I didn’t thank you for dinner, Sawyer.” Melanie launched herself at him for a long hug, ostensibly to prove Debbie had a lower priority than she did. Alana quietly left the room to avoid watching the lingering full-frontal contact and trudged upstairs carrying even more jealousy, which she needed to dump out the window. Melanie, Debbie, Sawyer…She had more important things to do than moon over a man she wouldn’t know much longer. Like decide what to do about her trip.
There was no point staying here any longer. Sawyer was exactly what Melanie needed, and Alana needed to be in Florida to help Gran and Grandad through the hurricane. But to avoid heavy traffic in the Chicago area she couldn’t leave too early, and that would cut down the miles she could cover tomorrow, not a good thing if she planned to make the drive in two days. She didn’t want to arrive too late Monday or, God forbid, have to spend another night on the road and show up only hours ahead of Cynthia.
But wait. She stopped in front of her room door. Another option which would solve traffic and timing problems was to get up after a few hours of sleep and leave tonight. She’d stoke herself up with coffee, get more than halfway to Florida by tomorrow evening, then to Orlando by Monday afternoon, in plenty of time to help prepare for Cynthia and ride out the storm. Leaving silently would ensure no awkward goodbyes with Sawyer. Melanie wouldn’t object. She’d be relieved to be rid of her sister, at least on some level.
The house phone rang. Alana started into Melanie’s room to answer Betty Boop when Melanie’s voice rang clearly all the way from downstairs, too bright and too loud. “Oh! Hi. Um. Wow! Hi. Hang on.”
Footsteps, running upstairs. Melanie, flushed and agitated, giving Alana a distracted and guilty smile as she passed into her bedroom, closing the door firmly, practically in Alana’s face.
Was that the “dreaded” phone call? Alana’s stomach turned sick with instinct. More man trouble? With Sawyer right here under her nose?
Alana shouldn’t jump to conclusions, especially not again so soon. Melanie said she’d changed. Maybe she really had.
She trudged into her room and packed her bag, feeling sick and hollow. Sick with nagging uncertainly over her sister’s behavior, but also because she was packing to leave Milwaukee again. Before dinner, over drinks at the Firefly Café, they’d run into Lucy Vola, a friend of Alana’s from high school who’d shared Alana’s passion for photography, and who hadn’t sold out to practicality in her career but had a studio on North Avenue with her business-partner boyfriend.
Seeing her and having a lengthy catch-up chat about the business and about mutual friends and acquaintances reminded Alana not only of her disappointed hopes of a career in photography, but also of all the roots she’d put down here, the small-community feeling of Wauwatosa and the larger city. “Small-waukee,” some people called it.
But she supposed it was normal to be anxious about moving. Starting over would be hard anywhere. And she could do better about keeping photography as a hobby once she was in Florida. Somehow she’d let that side of her slip when she moved to Chicago.
She undressed, grumpy and ill at ease, and pulled on her camisole and girl boxers. No sleeping pill tonight, not when she’d be getting up again so soon, which meant she’d sleep badly. Especially if she started thinking—okay, she was already thinking it—about how tomorrow night this would be Sawyer’s room again, and he’d sleep in the bed she was about to climb into. Would he think about her? Every night? For weeks or only a few days? Would Melanie sneak in one night and claim her new territory, replacing their drugged, indistinct memories with vividly erotic new ones?
Probably. And when she did, Alana was going to be the dutiful saintly sister and be happy for her.
She slipped out into the hall and toward the bathroom, doubled back abruptly to get a shirt or other cover-up, then rolled her eyes and turned back again. Sawyer was still downstairs. He wouldn’t—
The bathroom door swung open.
Not downstairs. Here. Tall and masculine, looking her over thoroughly. “What a nice bedtime surprise.”
Oh, God. Alana took a step back, as if distance would make her outfit more conservative, and folded her arms over her chest. “I thought you were downstairs.”
“I’m not.”
Right. Just because she hadn’t heard him clumping up, yelling, “I’m coming up the stairs now, make sure you’re decent,” she assumed the coast was clear? She was definitely not firing on all cylinders. Too much on her mind.
“Need the bathroom?”
She stared at his feet for lack of anywhere else she could bear to look, and tried to gather her exploded wits. “Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”
“How much?”
Her gaze shot up. “What?”
“How much do you need to use it?” His eyes sparked mischief. “What’s it worth to you?”
“Sawyer…”
“Because I think I might charge a small fee to get out of the way. With you looking like that—” he took a step toward her “—I’m not sure I can let you off easily. I might have to—”
Melanie’s door flew open; she burst out, then froze at the sight of her sister in underwear and Sawyer standing very close to her. “Oh. Um. Hi, guys.”
Alana felt her face turn hot. “I’m about to use the bathroom.”
“Well.” Melanie nodded rapidly, her expression strangely distant. “That sounds great.”
Sawyer looked incredulous. “It does?”
It did? “Mel, are you okay?”
“Huh?” Her gaze snapped into focus. “Oh, sure. Yeah, fine.”
“That phone call…?”
“A friend.” She sounded exasperated. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Alana refused to let the dart hit. “Right. I know. Okay. You just seem a little—”
“I’m fine.”
“Good to hear, Mel.” Sawyer shrugged at Alana and shook his head nearly imperceptibly. “Alana and I were just standing here discussing her need to—”
“Stop.” She pushed past him, and threw a firm “good night” out the door before she closed it.
In the bathroom her eyes were bright and wide, her face flushed. She looked alive, slightly manic, but…pretty. She hadn’t looked like that in a long time. In fact, she’d started to think her bloom of youth was on its way out prematurely.
Not today.
Oh, brother. She really did not need to have this big of a crush on Sawyer. Damn good thing she was leaving, even if it didn’t feel good all the time. At any rate, she wouldn’t see him again, so there was no point thinking about him further. If that was possible.
In five minutes, she’d taken care of her bedtime routine and stepped out again into the hall.
Where Sawyer waited, toothbrush in hand, having changed into sexy soft-looking shorts and a T-shirt which hugged his shoulders, skimmed his chest and fell loose around his waist.
“You’re quick.”
“Oh. Thank you. Or whatever.” She was not going to blush again. Nor was she going to hesitate in the hallway any longer and gaze her fill of him. She was going into her room and closing the door.
C’mon, feet, move.
She managed it, closed the door behind her and breathed a huge sigh of relief. This would be the last time she’d see him. Nothing had changed. She’d sleep, get up, leave a note for Melanie and go. Then she’d call from the road and apologize for leaving without an appropriate farewell. Melanie wouldn’t care. Both of them hated goodbyes anyway, because the ones they’d said to their mother had been so unc
ertain. When would they see her again? The next day? The day after? Not for a week? Never? So not comforting for little girls to have to wonder.
In bed, as predicted, Alana couldn’t sleep. Every possible worry crawled out of whatever shallow crack had partly concealed it during the day and tormented her. Worry over Melanie, over Gran’s health, tension over the long drive, even worry over all her furniture and belongings being trucked down toward the storm.
And, yes, about Sawyer.
The longer she tossed and turned, the closer the clock crept to the hour she’d decided to get up, the less she realized she’d sleep and the more agitated she became. Honestly.
Finally, she felt her body relax as exhaustion took over. She could survive. Just a few hours of sleep…just a few…
It was time to get up. Her alarm was beeping, but she couldn’t get to it. Couldn’t make herself move. Someone was here in the room with her. Sawyer, taking her picture over and over again, then climbing into bed with her. Why couldn’t she wake up? She hadn’t taken a pill this time. She needed to wake up before his tongue and fingers and hands made her surrender again, before she fell so in love with him that she couldn’t leave at all.
No, Sawyer. Stop.
He didn’t, surrounded her with his body, undressed her, touched her everywhere. He was clothed, then naked, his chest hot against her, his thighs insistently parting her legs.
No, no, no.
He chuckled softly. No means yes when you’re with me.
Then he was inside her, and her body caught fire from the inside out while his stayed cool and solid, urging her upward toward a climax that hovered just out of her reach.
In Florida, Gran and Grandad were trapped by a fallen tree, calling for her, calling while she was in bed with the man of her dreams.
I love you, Alana. Stay with me. I can’t live without—
Alana woke up, breathless with panic, wildly aroused…and alone.
While She Was Sleeping... Page 8
