“Melanie.” He sat, scootched his chair close to hers, took her hand. He was just going to say it. “Last night. In bed. That wasn’t Stoner. That was me.”
She raised her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for the punch line. He didn’t crack a smile.
The eyebrows sank slowly. “Edgar…don’t do that. It’s not funny.”
“I’m serious. It was me. It was dark, so you didn’t realize, and I thought…”
She took her hand away, eyes widening. Understanding dawned on her face, then rose and rose into full-blown horror. Not shock, not surprise, but horror. As if he’d just told her she’d slept with a person with active cases of every known STD. Or with her brother. Or with her dog.
He waited. Waited for the horror to change to surprise, for those wheels to start turning, for her to connect the man in front of her with the passion and tenderness, the wild erotic chemistry, the panting straining desperate need to join and climax, and for that surprise to soften her expression, to part her lips, Oh, Edgar, that was you!
None of that happened. She continued to stare as if she couldn’t imagine anything more disgusting than lying naked with him.
Okay. He’d wait longer. She had to make the connection soon. Tick…tick…tick…
Still nothing.
He couldn’t bear it. Not one more ticking, torturous second of this pain or this humiliation, not one.
A forced laugh, as real as he could make it. “Gotcha.”
Her laughter wasn’t forced. It was loud and long and full of so much relief that his pain, which he’d been pretty sure was as bad as it could get, got worse.
“Oh, my God, Edgar. You really had me. Ha!” She put her hand to her chest. “Damn. That would have been really, really—”
He must have shown something in his face to stop her. Something. Because thank God she did stop, and looked confused and contrite. “Horrible?”
“No, oh, no, Edgar. No. Of course not. It’s just that you and I…” She laughed again. Uncomfortable this time. He was glad. He wanted her to suffer, even just a little. “We’re not about…that.”
“Right.” She was wrong. She was so damn wrong, he wanted to jump up and bellow it, beat his chest and fling furniture around the office.
But that wasn’t him. He was sweet, gentle Edgar, who let the world walk all over him rather than trip people up to get what he wanted. Who adored this woman unreasonably and would do anything rather than make her unhappy.
So she’d go on being wrong, and he’d go on being her best friend, and she’d probably go on and try to screw Stoner again. And even when she did and the sex was bad compared to what they’d shared, even when she put two and two together as she writhed in bed with his brother and realized Edgar really had been in bed with her last night…
At least he wouldn’t be there to see that look of sick horror on her face ever, ever again.
4
“THIS WAS MADE FOR YOU.” Melanie held a pretty teal cotton sweater up to her sister. The color would look gorgeous with Alana’s dark hair.
Nose wrinkled, Alana gave the top a once-over. Melanie wanted to growl at her. She wasn’t wild about shopping with her sister under any circumstances, but since the trip had been Mom’s idea, Alana was being even less cooperative than usual. If she’d found the same top herself she’d love it.
“Yes! That is really cute. Alana, try it on, I want to see.” Tricia smiled so hard it looked painful. Melanie wished she’d relax and let Alana come to her when she was ready.
“Thanks, it’s not really me.” Alana walked to another section. Melanie turned away, embarrassed for her sister, hurting for her mother. Maybe Alana would never be ready, which was stupid.
They were at Wauwatosa’s Mayfair Mall, attempting to have a fun girls’ shopping day over way too complicated undercurrents. They probably should have stayed home.
But since they hadn’t, Melanie browsed the racks determinedly, trying to find something else Alana would like, and something Mom would like, and while she was at it, how about something Stoner would like on Melanie?
No matter how hard she tried to stop it, her brain played a constant soundtrack: Stoner, Stoner, Stoner, Stoner.
She burned for him, in a way she hadn’t ever burned for a guy except when he was right in front of her, taking off his clothes. It wasn’t just the sex, either, though mmm, no complaints there. It was that feeling. That emotion, that sense that they belonged to each other, that she was his most cherished possession, and he hers.
Melanie was falling in love. For real.
Yeah, she’d thought she was falling in love for real before. A dozen or so men had made the cut, but this time…this time it was for real. For one thing, she wasn’t telling anyone, and all the other times she couldn’t trumpet her passion loudly enough to enough people. And…well, she just knew.
The thought scared her but excited her, too. Wasn’t it about time? She was twenty-six, with too many lovers in her past. Maybe all of them had led her to Stoner, all those disappointments made her more able to recognize the real thing when it smacked her.
The terrifying possibility did remain that he wasn’t in love with her. How could he not be? Without words, everything he did had said it loud and clear all night long.
I love you, Melanie.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Melanie started and realized she was holding up an orange-and-green-striped blouse with ruffles, staring absently, not seeing a thing while she enjoyed her fantasy. Alana had busted her. “It’s beautiful! It will go perfectly with your orange eyes and green hair, sister dear.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Alana, how about this?” Tricia held up a soft pink sweater with a dipping neckline and diagonal, alternating smooth and pebbled-knit stripes. “You can dress it up for a foundation meeting or dress it down for a date. Sexy, but not provocative.”
Silence while Alana contemplated whether nursing her hostility was worth passing up a gorgeous sweater. Melanie goosed her firmly.
“Yeah, it’s nice.” She took the sweater from their mother and marched to the dressing room.
Melanie gave her mom a thumbs-up and a weak grin. She didn’t want to get stuck in the middle of this battle. Tricia had been a terrible mother, but…she was trying to make amends. Second chances were important, so Melanie would swallow her anger and get to know Tricia as a friend at least. She hoped Alana would eventually do likewise.
“Have you been in touch with Stoner yet?”
“Uh…no.” She ran her hands over a rack of skirts, loving the feel of soft material under her fingers. “I’m letting him make the next move.”
“Which he hasn’t done.”
“Mom, it’s only been two days. I can’t crowd him.”
“In my experience, when a man wants you, there is no mistaking it.”
“He’s…busy.” Her fear ran deeper. He couldn’t disappear, not like the others. Maybe Melanie had been with too many men, but she knew when sex was more than just sex, because she’d had so much that was nothing more. Sometimes it was even less.
“What’s up with this Edgar guy?”
“Edgar?” She felt all jumbled up at the question. “Why do you ask that?”
Tricia shrugged and pulled out a pair of soft gray dress pants, frowned, and put them back. “Just curious. You guys have been friends for a while, right?”
“A couple of years.” She extracted a flowered sundress from the crowded sale rack, feeling light-headed and strange. Kind of how she’d felt when Edgar had made that completely bizarre joke about him being the one in bed with her two nights ago. She couldn’t imagine many things more unsettling than making love to one man, then finding out he’d been someone else. Added to that, there was no way she could connect the goofy, lovable guy that was Edgar with the sexual Adonis she’d been writhing all over the previous night.
And yet…if it had been Ed? That’s where things got really unsettling. She’d felt panicky and disoriented,
excited and terrified. The relief when he admitted he was joking had been as overwhelming as the complicated feelings she’d just been fighting through. “He’s a good guy.”
“Seems like. Ever think of dating him?”
“No. No.” The denial was quick and automatic, then Melanie laughed, realizing that wasn’t quite true. “Well, sort of. I mean I thought I should date him because he’s nice, but one look at his brother, boom, there went that idea. You know me.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” Melanie had started perspiring. Did they turn off the air-conditioning in the store? “What, hmm?”
“It’s that when you talk about him, you—”
“What do you think?” Alana strutted over, modeling the sweater, which did all the right things in all the right places for her figure and brought out the color in her cheeks. Love-color.
“You’re beautiful.” Melanie couldn’t help a wistful sigh. Even if Alana had been wearing the green-and-orange shirt she’d be beautiful. Melanie had never seen her happier than since she’d met Sawyer. Okay, maybe not at first. At that initial meeting, he’d just moved in with Melanie because he needed a place to stay, and Alana had barreled up from Chicago to “save” her baby sister from a guy she’d assumed was Melanie’s next user jerk boyfriend. And, yeah, maybe Melanie had sort of given her the idea that she and Sawyer were involved…um, actually…engaged. Matrimony had been Melanie’s goal, anyway, but she couldn’t summon anything for Sawyer other than sisterly affection. So poor Alana had first met him when Sawyer crawled into her bed in the middle of the night by mistake. At the time Alana had been more furious and outraged than happy. Not only because of that but because she’d thought he was dating Melanie and couldn’t understand why he kept coming on to her. Eventually, of course, she had fallen, and how.
Melanie always fell first and became furious and outraged later. Maybe she needed to try it the other way around.
Except Stoner…Stoner was different. She felt him in her heart, whereas most of her previous passions she felt mostly in her fantasies and, to put it bluntly, between her legs.
“That’s a sale. You’re lovely, Alana.”
“Thanks.” Alana managed a tight smile at her mother and strode back to the changing room.
Tricia sighed. “She’s a tough one.”
“Give her time. Having you back for more than a quick visit is still new for us.”
“I know. I just wish…” She trailed off, looking wistfully after Alana.
“Hey, Mom.” Melanie glanced at her, then away, uncomfortable sharing personal stuff with Tricia, but determined to change that. “We’re both grown-ups now, but we’re also still your girls. We’re struggling with how to get those two sides to co-exist.”
Tricia gave Melanie a quick hug that left her surprised and pleased. “You are very wise…”
“Ha. I don’t—”
“…except when it comes to men.”
Melanie sighed. “Ya think?”
“I can help you.” She leaned back to examine Melanie’s face, hers still mostly unlined and beautiful. “For once I can help you. If you’ll let me.”
“Thanks, Mom. That’s really sweet.” Melanie extracted herself gently and turned back to browsing clothes. The last thing she wanted was help from someone who was an even bigger screwup with men than she was. “But this time I’ve got it right.”
Her mother stood next to her, absently fingering dresses. “When you talk about Edgar, something changes in your face and voice.”
“Oh, really?” Her voice quavered strangely. They had definitely turned off the store’s air-conditioning. “Well, I love Edgar.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“No, not like that.” Melanie forced a laugh, ha-ha-ha, and took a midcalf yellow-and-blue dress with a halter neck and plunging vee off the rack, hoping Mom would accept a change of subject. Talking about Edgar felt raw after that strange conversation at work yesterday. “How about this for you, Mom? It’s tasteful but has a good hit of sexiness. The new you.”
She wouldn’t mention that most of Tricia’s life she’d dressed like either a hooker or a hippie. Her recent overdue acknowledgment of her age had made for a definite wardrobe improvement. Today she wore a simple cream linen shirt with rose-beige cropped pants and looked casually elegant, but still way-hot. A mom any daughter would be proud to be seen with. Another first.
“Ooh, yes, I like.” Tricia took the dress, checked the tag and rolled her eyes. “Size six? Bless you, but how about a ten?”
“Ten. Coming up.” She found the size and handed it over. “You look like a six.”
“Flatterer.” She grinned. “Keep it up and I might even ignore the obvious way you dodged talking about Edgar.”
“Dodging talking about Edgar? Why?” Alana, back from the changing room, held up a short blue pleated skirt with a matching waist-skimming sleeveless top. “This was made for you, Melanie.”
“Ooh, it’s adorable!” Melanie immediately pictured herself in the outfit on her next date with Stoner. Which reminded her it had been half an hour since she last checked for messages. She’d forced herself to keep the intervals that long so she wouldn’t start feeling too anxious. She’d left him a casual friendly phone message the day before saying she was at The Wicked Hop with Jenny in case he wanted to stop by again. Then she’d spent the entire evening staring at the door. Jenny had finally cashed it in early, not that Melanie could blame her. She’d been terrible company.
No answer from Stoner. Maybe he had a gig last night. Or tonight. She couldn’t remember his schedule.
He’d call. He’d be in touch. No worries there. Men didn’t process time the same way women did. Women counted every second between text messages, phone calls, dates, imagined every possible aspect of every possible feeling the guy could be having, and drove themselves crazy over it. Men just were. Lucky bastards.
“Try it on.” Alana shoved the outfit at her. “And I repeat, why would you dodge talking about Edgar?”
Melanie took the hangers, feeling that odd shakiness again. “Mom has this idea that I’m in love with him.”
“Really.” Alana’s eyes zeroed in on hers with such intensity that she got even more jittery.
“Give me a break. Both of you. Edgar is a friend, period. That’s all he’ll ever be. Stoner on the other hand…” Her voice thickened. “Is someone really special.”
“Uh-huh.” Alana rolled her eyes. “I feel I know Stoner just by the lovely sound of his name. Go try that outfit on. I have to go soon. I’m meeting Sawyer in half an hour. I want to see you in it.”
“Oh.” Tricia sounded disappointed. “I thought we could all have lunch. My treat.”
“Sorry.” Alana’s lips twisted in what was apparently supposed to be a smile. “Not today.”
“Sure. Right. Okay.” Tricia turned away to a rack of swimsuits.
Melanie sent Alana a silent glare of disapproval. Her sister shrugged, defensive and cranky, probably partly from guilt.
Life was complicated.
“I’m going to try this on.” Melanie jerked her head urgently toward their mother, indicating that Alana should go talk to her. Then she practically ran to the dressing room, avoiding the mirror until the skirt and top were completely zipped and snapped, thinking how odd it was that Alana and her tastes had coincided for once. Melanie wasn’t becoming more conservative. Maybe Alana was loosening up. They had Sawyer to thank for that.
Three-two-one. Melanie turned. Oh, yes. The skirt and top were made for her. Not slutty but definitely hot. Her legs looked long, her boobs actually counted for something, and the color suited her skin.
Sold. She couldn’t stop smiling, turning one way, then the other, imagining Stoner’s gentle, strong hands on her, imagining them taking off the top. He had the most incredible touch, lingering and sensual yet masculine and possessive. Taking what he wanted, yet making her feel she was giving it all.
She was getting hot just thinking about it
.
Her cell rang. She yanked it out of her bag to peer at the number, and clutched the phone to her chest in a grateful prayer before she answered. Stoner.
Okay, Melanie. Keep it casual. Keep it cool. Keep it together. Guys like Stoner didn’t want to know you were falling in love with them after one night. She had to act as if she didn’t much care if she ever saw him again. Why she had to play that stupid game she’d never understood, but she’d learned the painful rules of dating early on.
“Hey, Stoner, how’s it going?”
“Mel-a-nie. How’s my favorite girl?”
Her shoulders thumped back against the dressing-room wall as if her leg bones had melted. She was so happy to hear from him she wouldn’t even remind him—again—that she was no longer a girl. “I’m fine. Shopping with my mom and sister.”
“Find anything?”
“Mmm, yes.”
“Whoa-ho, that sounds promising. Is this an outfit I can see?”
She pushed herself off from the wall. “Well…sure. I don’t see why not.”
“Tonight?”
Melanie took the phone from her ear, pumped her fist in victory. Yesss! “Uh, tonight…hmm. Well…I guess I could be free after ten.”
She was free now, but this way it sounded as if she already had plans she wouldn’t change for him. As an added bonus, seeing him late would guarantee they get to the fun part of the night very soon.
“I have a gig in Waukesha. I was thinking maybe an early drink.”
“Oh.” Crap. She’d lied her way out of a date. “How early?”
“Eight?”
Now what? She should say no, make herself unavailable, as she’d already implied she was. Changing plans for a guy? No-no-no. But he was in town for only a couple more weeks and she so desperately wanted to see him. Maybe Stoner wouldn’t mind a little eagerness after that amazing night. “I might be able to swing that, yeah.”
“Cool. How about at your favorite, The Wicked Hop?”
“Okay, I’ll try to make it.”
She hung up the phone, feeling slightly disgusted with herself for caving, then grinned at the mirror again. So? She had what she wanted, a date with destiny and a great outfit to put on.
Isabel Sharpe Page 5
