by Ruth Owen
“Chris Sheffield? Is that you?”
Reluctantly he drew his eyes away from Melanie. He turned toward the speaker and instantly regretted that he’d done so. Lily Fortnam walked up, her latest beau in tow. Two years back Chris had briefly occupied that position. Very briefly.
“Chris,” Lily gushed, “it’s been ages. Where have you been keeping yourself?”
“I’ve been busy,” he answered shortly, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.
She didn’t. “All work and no play,” she pouted sadly, shaking her blond curls.
“Well, you know how it is. Good to see you again, Lily. Keep in touch.”
He turned away, anxious to end the conversation. Lily wasn’t. “Roger, you simply must meet Chris. We went to school together. He taught me how to play … golf.”
Lord, deliver me. He shot an apologetic look at Melanie, but she was intently studying Lily. She was probably wondering how he was fool enough ever to get involved with the witch.
Lily noticed Melanie’s curiosity. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?”
Introductions appeared unavoidable. He’d hoped to spare Melanie this, but no such luck. “Melanie Rollins, this is Lily Fortnam. An old friend.”
Lily gave Melanie a thorough look, taking in her high-necked blouse and horn-rimmed glasses. She turned back to Chris and said, with a self-satisfied drawl, “Your tastes certainly have changed, haven’t they?”
He bit his tongue. Melanie was worth a dozen Lilys. Two dozen. “Melanie’s my business partner. We’re currently in the middle of an important discussion. I hate to be rude, but if you don’t mind …”
“Say no more, lover. I’ll leave you—for now.” She smiled and bent down. “Don’t be a stranger,” she purred in a voice he’d once thought seductive.
As she walked away Chris shook his head in disbelief. “She’s something else, isn’t she?”
Melanie didn’t answer. She watched Lily slink off in her tight dress, the faithful Roger in tow. Her mind was already analyzing the variables. Is that what it takes to interest Chris, she wondered. Is that the equation?
Old friend, he’d called her. The way Lily poured herself over Chris proved she’d been considerably more than that. It didn’t take a Ph.D. to figure out that Lily had been his lover.
“Melanie, are you feeling all right?”
No, she thought grimly. He’d introduced her to his former lover as his business partner. His ordinary, antiseptic business partner. And not likely to become anything more than that. Just once she’d like a man to look at her the way Roger had looked at Lily. The way Chris must have looked at her when they were lovers. Just once …
She thought about Lily’s pouting nature, the blatantly seductive motions, the tight clothes. This was the equation she was looking for: The romantic equation. It wasn’t an easy equation to reproduce, but she had the sum parts of the total. She could do it. For once she was going to get some practical use out of this summa cum laude brain of hers.
She pushed her wineglass toward Chris, letting her hand linger suggestively on the stem. “I think I would like another glass after all.”
Dinner arrived a few minutes later. Her gumbo was steaming hot and thick with a variety of savory seafood, but Melanie put her spoon down after only a few mouthfuls. Instead she sipped her wine, studying Chris over the rim. He seemed to have no more interest in his oysters than she did in her gumbo. Her mind studied the situation, deciding it was a good sign.
“Not the way you like them?” she asked, trying to sound breathless.
“They’re fine,” Chris said. Was it his imagination, or was there something different about her? “I’m just not very hungry.”
“I am.”
“But you aren’t eating your gumbo.”
She traced the rim of her wineglass. “I’m not hungry for gumbo.”
It was not his imagination, Chris assured himself. Something was definitely different. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Melanie was coming on to him. Heat at the thought caught him unaware. His fingers itched to touch her, his mouth to taste those maddeningly provocative lips …
Cool it, Chris, his inner voice warned. It’s just the wine. You can’t afford to think of Melanie like that. She’s your partner, for heaven’s sake. “Would you like to order something else?”
“Maybe.” She looked up, a secret, very unMelanie-like smile on her lips. “Maybe not.”
He barely heard her. Instead, he watched her index finger make a slow revolution along the edge of her glass. Images of other things that finger could trace came into his mind. He swallowed, struggling to keep his thoughts on an even keel.
“Yes, well … as I said, you can order something else,” he said, concentrating on his food.
Melanie frowned. Her approach wasn’t working. Apparently she was being too subtle. She lifted her glass to her lips and drained the wine, feeling its warmth spread through her and its potent effect on her senses. Tonight she was going to throw caution to the wind.
She leaned forward, watching Chris work on one of his oysters. He had the most wonderful hands, strong, yet softly gentle in their movements. She remembered those fingers touching her, burning into her skin like hot wire. “I’ve heard that oysters are an aphrodisiac.”
Chris’s fork came to a dead stop halfway to his mouth. Aphrodisiac. Did she know what she was doing to him?
She leaned closer, close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume: deep and secret, like the heart of a forest.
“Could I try one?”
That damn perfume of hers was having a nuclear effect on his senses. The restaurant grew uncomfortably warm, and a slow, deep pressure began to build inside him. He opened his mouth to speak, and found his mouth had gone dust dry.
Going for broke, Melanie took his still poised hand and guided the fork to her mouth. This was new territory for her. She felt frightened, vulnerable, and hoped her fear didn’t show in her eyes.
It did, but not in the way she’d imagined. Uncertainty made her wide eyes wider still, so that they were fascinating in a totally unexpected way. Chris couldn’t take his own eyes off them. Their darkness wove through him like a strong enchantment. He leaned closer, drinking in the smell of her, wanting to touch her with more than his eyes.
Melanie saw the change in him. It’s working, she thought, feeling the heat in his eyes quicken her own desire. She opened her lips, caressing the oyster as it slid into her mouth. She heard Chris gasp, and knew for the first time the thrill of arousing him. Their eyes met in a look as intimate as an embrace. She swallowed the oyster—and almost gagged.
The oyster tasted like a piece of rubber dipped in spicy sauce. She grabbed her napkin and held it to her mouth as she coughed. “That’s the most vile thing I’ve ever eaten.”
Chris’s eyes brimmed with laughter. He smiled broadly and pointed his fork at his plate. “I guess aphrodisiacs are an acquired taste. Want another one?”
Melanie shook her head, feeling miserable. Aphrodisiac? She’d never known anything to kill passion more effectively. She’d been done in by a mollusk. Humor had replaced passion in Chris’s eyes. Now whenever he looked at her he wouldn’t see a woman, he’d see an oyster-phobic.
“You’ve got some sauce on your cheek.”
She rubbed her cheek, vowing inwardly that, after this, she was sticking to fantasies. This man/woman equation was too tough for her to crack. “Did I get it?”
Chris shook his head. He leaned over and touched the edge of her mouth with his thumb. “Not quite. I’ll take care of it—” he began, and stopped.
Fire. It burned through him like a dynamite fuse, sparking every nerve in his body. And in hers. The simple touch connected them, joining them, making him aware of her as he’d never been aware of a woman before.
He moved his thumb across her lower lip, gently caressing its wine-moist surface. She closed her eyes, bending into his touch, giving him more pleasure than he’d ever thought possib
le. In another moment he’d—
“Chris!”
Chris looked around, ready to kill. The sight of the speaker, a large man in a pink-and-orange-striped shirt, making his way through the crowd, did nothing to improve his expression. Under the best circumstances Hank Bellows was a blight.
“Damn,” he said, turning back to Melanie. “It’s one of our hardware vendors.”
“Hardware?” Melanie was struggling to recover her equilibrium. The one word was all she could manage.
“Yeah. Hank consults me on system requirements, marketing specs—”
“Hey, Chris! You promised to help me with my grip.”
“And golf,” Chris added sourly. So much for impressing Melanie with his business acumen.
Hank sidled up to the table and wrapped his hands around an imaginary club. “Check out my wrists. I’ve heard it’s all in the wrists.”
“Your wrists are fine,” Chris answered, hoping his reluctance would put the man off. It didn’t.
“Well, maybe it’s my stance. Check out my legs.”
There was no way on God’s green earth Chris was going to tell him his legs looked fine. “Hank, could we talk about this later?”
Hank finally noticed Melanie. “Oh, yeah,” he said, winking broadly at Chris. “Know what you mean. ’Xcuse me, miss. Catch you later.”
“Not if I can help it,” Chris muttered, watching the man leave. Great timing, Hank. He turned back to Melanie. “Now, where were we?”
Melanie, however, was looking past him over his shoulder. “I think you’d better say hello to those two … er, CEOs who’ve been trying to get your attention.”
“CEOs?”
“Uh-huh. At the bar.” She paused, smiling mischievously before adding, “In the strapless dresses.”
Chris turned. The “CEOs” Melanie referred to were a pair of women he’d met on the beach last month. What was this? A reunion?
“Come on,” he said, rising from the table. “Let’s dance.”
“But your friends?”
“We played volleyball.” What was the matter with her? Didn’t she want to get back to what they were doing before Hank showed up? She’d felt the electricity between them. He’d bet his life on it.
There was lightning between them, and lightning struck only once in a lifetime. He’d shared a moment with the woman behind the wall. And, business partner or not, he wasn’t about to settle for just a glimpse.
Seven
This is a dream, Melanie thought as Chris drew her out onto the dance floor. Any moment now she would wake up and realize it was just another foolish fantasy. But the people on the closely packed dance floor looked real. And the red-hot beat of the island music sounded real. Most of all, Chris felt real. His strong arms held her close, and his touch stirred her insides into an emotional maelstrom. She felt raw, utterly vulnerable, and very, very alive.
“Why, Miss Rollins, you never told me you could dance.”
“I didn’t know I could until now,” she answered. She’d learned dancing as she’d learned almost everything else in her life: from a book. Through high school and college she’d danced alone in her room, loving the feel of the music moving through her, but afraid to admit the fact to her cerebral classmates.
But learning the steps didn’t prepare her for the reality of Chris’s body pressed to hers, sweeping her into the boiling hot center of the island rhythms. Instincts, long buried, took control of her actions. She felt hot and wild, and as free as the exotic beat throbbing through her soul. Maybe it was only a dream. Maybe it was the multiple glasses of wine she’d consumed on an empty stomach. Maybe it was Chris’s nearness, the feel of his body next to hers. But dream, wine, or reality, she intended to savor every minute of this evening. Every second.
She moved closer, swaying seductively against his chest. His arms stiffened, and he looked down at her with genuine concern. “Are you feeling all right? Your face looks flushed.”
He doesn’t know the half of it, she thought. Her whole body was flushed—flushed from the turmoil inside her. Her logical side warned her to examine these feelings, to determine scientifically what was real and what wasn’t. She told that side to take a hike. “I’m fine. I’m just a little hot, that’s all.”
“We can sit this one out,” Chris offered.
“No,” she said, pressing against him. She reached up and undid the top buttons of her blouse. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t ever want to stop.”
Chris swallowed. Melanie’s open blouse gave him a tantalizing view of the swell of her breasts and the dark valley between. A quick, potent vision of his hands covering those breasts jolted him like an electric shock. His step faltered.
“Chris?”
“Sorry,” he said, tearing his gaze away. He’d never felt this hot for a woman before, not from just dancing with her anyway. His body was running fast, too fast. He had to slow it down, or Melanie wasn’t going to leave this dance floor with her reputation intact.
He’d never considered himself a gentleman, and didn’t relish starting to behave like one now. But this wasn’t some fun-for-a-night-and-then-it’s-over good-time girl. This was Melanie, his partner and his friend. Reluctantly he stepped back, holding her at arm’s length. “I don’t want to step on your toes,” he joked.
Toes. Melanie’s hopes fizzled. She’d made a blatant pass at the man, and all he could think about was her toes. Frustrated, she began to doubt he would ever see her as anything more than a business associate. Then, unexpectedly, she received some badly needed help.
The music changed. The beat slowed to a steady, lazy rhythm. She closed her eyes, swaying to the exotic music until it seemed to come from deep inside her. It pulsated through her veins, drumming like a heart in the heat of passion. A powerful desire built within her, increasing with each measured beat.
She opened her eyes. With a dreamlike slowness she pulled away from Chris, her fingernails trailing lightly down his arms. She’d meant to use the teasing sharpness to ignite his senses, but again the intended effect backfired. He gave her a puzzled look, as if he wondered if she really knew what she was doing. “Melanie?”
Lord, why did she have to be so inept at seduction? Disappointment pierced her wine-soft mind. Her fingers were scorched white-hot from the feel of his skin, but the heat was obviously one-sided. She started to lift her hands away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
She got no farther. He caught her hands in his, pulling her to him with a force that took her breath away. “Don’t play games with me,” he warned.
She shook her head, trying to cope with the sensory overload from so much of his body touching hers. Every inch of her burned with living electricity. She swallowed, barely able to speak the words. “I’m not playing.”
He looked at her, his hungry eyes searching her soul. How could she have ever thought them soft? He lifted his hand and traced her jaw with his index finger, the light touch trailing a line of fire across her sensitive skin. He turned her head and pulled her to him, laying his cheek against her hair with a tenderness that counteracted the hard strength of his arms.
“That makes two of us,” he whispered.
They moved in unison to the slow rhythm. More couples crowded onto the dance floor, but it might have been empty for all Chris noticed. Nothing mattered but Melanie—holding her, feeling her, breathing in the deeply erotic scent of her. Holding her was like holding smoke, and he wasn’t at all certain she wouldn’t dissolve at the first puff of air. Impossible to believe this changeling creature was his straightlaced business partner. He rubbed his cheek against her hair, drinking in its deep forest scent, and whispered, “Who are you?”
She reached up and twined her arms around Chris’s neck. “Whoever you want me to be.”
His eyes looked deep into hers, robbing her of the last of her caution. It’s a dream, she thought, a fantasy like all the others. I’ll wake up soon. But, please, please, God, not yet. Not just yet.
“Melanie,
” he said, his word a caress. He brushed his fingers against the side of her neck, feeling the warm, frantic pulse of her heartbeat. Softly he lowered his lips to hers. “You’re driving me crazy.”
That makes two of us, she thought as she opened her lips to his. She felt hot and ripe, and so ready for him she could barely breathe. Underneath his gentle caress she parted her mouth and brushed her tongue enticingly against his lips. At the same time she pressed herself against him, her fingers making small circles around the small of his back. Shameless, the reserved part of her condemned. She couldn’t have cared less. She was throwing herself at him and she knew it, but all that mattered was the aching desire in her body.
Chris kissed her again, his lips ravishing her with subtle magic. He moved to her neck and placed his hot mouth against the vein, drawing a gasp of pleasure from her. He tugged back her collar, attempting unsuccessfully to expose more of her throat. For a moment she thought he was going to tear it, and wished he would.
Instead, he stopped abruptly and pulled her toward the edge of the dance floor. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”
His tone invited no argument, an unnecessary precaution since she was in no condition to protest. His kiss had left her speechless. That kiss, the music, and the wine had created a strange alchemy within her, blurring her sense of reality. The solid world retreated into shadows, and her vision began to fray at the edges. She blinked, trying to dispel the fog that was creeping into her mind. Only Chris seemed real.
Time skipped and she was settling herself into the seat of Chris’s convertible, watching him close the door behind her with an unnecessarily loud thump. As he walked over to the driver’s side she sank into the comfortable seat, enjoying the feel of the supple leather against her skin. “Feels nice,” she purred.
Chris slid into the car. He watched her stretch her lithe body against the seat, his abdomen contracting with her every move. Her enticing movements were pushing him dangerously close to the edge of control. He wanted her, yes—but he didn’t intend to let their first time together happen in some dingy parking lot. He looked away, concentrating on finding his keys. “Put on your seat belt, Melanie.”
