Everything I Hoped For

by Ann Christopher

  The night was, clearly, a glorious success.

  He let his eyes roll closed, praying there was no photographer nearby memorializing this intimate moment for the tabloids and not really caring if there was.

  She eased back enough to look at him, leaving his lips bereft. His consolation? The fact that her glittering eyes and high color reflected every bit of the lust he currently felt for her.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t dance.”

  “Don’t get complacent,” he said, stroking the side of her neck for the pleasure of feeling her shiver. “Still plenty of time for me to break most of your toes.”

  She laughed. “I’m glad you said yes this time. I’d have to wonder about a man who claimed to be attracted to me, then missed the opportunity to hug me while pretty music played for five minutes.”

  “Don’t waste your time wondering anything about how much I want you. It’s going to make me break out in a sweat in a minute.”

  More of her throaty laughter made his muscles tense with the effort of keeping his hands to himself. He wanted to clamp them on her delicious arse. To run them up and down her bare arms. To hold her face still so he could kiss those unbelievable lips.

  “And yet you’re still glowering at me like a great horned owl from the top of a barn.”

  “Or perhaps my features are strained with the effort of trying to control a monstrous erection. Ever think of that?”

  Regret or something like it shadowed her eyes.

  “That’s good, because I’m not coming up to your room tonight.”

  He made lazy circles on her neck, enjoying the way her breath hissed.

  “You sure about that? I was just about to make a direct request. I know how you like those.”

  She stared up at him, unsmiling, while several beats passed.

  Yeah. It was definitely regret.

  “I’m sure,” she finally said.

  “And if I developed a medical emergency?” He shifted his hand so he could massage her shoulder. Her lids lowered to half-mast. “Perhaps required some assistance upstairs?”

  She laughed. “I would call 911 for you.”

  “Ghastly woman.”

  “It makes sense for us to get to know each other a little bit first, don’t you think? Unless…” Her face fell. “If you just want a quick hookup—”

  “Shhh.” He pulled her closer so he could kiss her forehead again. “I think we’re getting things mixed up here. Do I want you? Yes. Would I be deliriously happy if you joined me upstairs tonight? Or any other night? Yes. And do I also want to get to know you much better? Yes. If you joined me tonight, would that stop me from wanting to get to know you much better? No. Just so we have things straight.”

  He felt the apple of her cheek swell against his chin as she smiled. But then she eased back enough to look him dead in the face, and her shadowed expression told him exactly what was coming.

  “Where do you live, Anthony?” she asked quietly.

  He opened his mouth. His brain floundered, stalling for time, but there was no sugarcoating this.

  “London.”

  Dr. Harrison had a serviceable poker face, but he felt her shoulders droop.

  “London,” she said, looking away and putting a bit more daylight between them.

  He couldn’t quite smother his harsh sigh at this appearance of a brick wall in his face. But he’d come this far with her. He wasn’t going to go down in flames now. Not without a bloody good fight.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “You don’t want to get too attached to a man who lives on another continent.”

  She glanced his way again and attempted a wry smile. “What would be the point? Between my scar, my work schedule and the usual game-playing between men and women, I’ve done very poorly with the men who live on this continent.”

  Much to his surprise, the answers rolled right off his tongue for once. Absolutely no awkwardness. Only heartfelt sentiment.

  “Then maybe you should try someone who doesn’t live on this continent and also doesn’t play games,” he said, staring her in the face. “And in terms of us getting too attached to each other? I believe a great deal of damage has been done already. Back on that elevator.”

  Melody went very still, her gaze sliding out of focus.

  Meanwhile, Joe Cocker’s unmistakable growl faded away as the song ended. Anthony tightened his hold on her, ready to stay right where they were until they reached some kind of accord. Besides that, there really was something to be said for dancing, wasn’t there?

  “Melody.”

  She looked at him, her expression inscrutable.

  “Give me a chance. Let’s see what happens,” he said.

  It was tough to regulate his breathing and pretend as though this was a standard conversation about, say, their dinner or movie options for a date night. Tougher still to let her decide and not plead his case like a salesman on some lot for used cars.

  They stared at each other. He aged a thousand years with each passing second.

  But then her eyes crinkled at the corners, generating a wild swoop of relief in his belly.

  “I live here. You live in London. You’re going home in a couple days. What could possibly happen?”

  He snorted out a laugh. Honest to God, when she looked at him like that, he felt the distinct possibility that it, whatever it was, had already happened.

  “I’ll take that. Thank you.”

  She worked hard to repress her answering smile. “Don’t get too grateful just yet. I have to go.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, the song’s ended and we’re standing in the middle of the dance floor. Plus, I have an early shift tomorrow.”

  “But tomorrow’s Sunday,” he said, well aware that he sounded like one of the brats from the Willy Wonka books. “And you promised me a drink.”

  The thing was, he didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to stop touching her or let her out of his sight. He wanted to prolong this magical night forever if possible, but at least until one or two if it wasn’t. And the thought of turning her loose in the world, where she might find out much more about him than he was ready to tell her just yet, made all the long muscles in his body tighten with tension.

  “I know it’s Sunday,” she said. “I keep explaining the days of the week to sick kids, but they just never listen. We should get off the dance floor. We’re in the way.”

  “Let’s go over here,” he said, holding her hand as he took a step—

  And nearly collided with Mrs. Carmichael, whose hideous Medusa stare threatened to turn him and any other unfortunate men inside her blast radius into stone.

  Acting reflexively, he stood in front of Melody and tried to protect her from those horrible prying eyes.

  “Mrs. Carmichael.” It was a real effort to keep his voice pleasant. “You’ll excuse me, won’t you?”

  As it turned out, she wouldn’t. He could almost see her implanting her feet in the floor like a time-lapse video of an oak tree growing roots.

  “Evidently you do dance, after all,” she said, tipping up her chin and craning her neck—albeit in as well-bred a manner as possible—in her effort to get a good look at Melody. Melody, he saw out of the corner of his eye, ran a hand through her hair, making sure it covered her scar. He instantly disliked Mrs. Carmichael all the more. “Maybe now you’d like a dance with Annabella. If your lovely friend can spare you, of course.”

  Annabella, who stood off to one side, looked a bit hurt. But, to her credit, she kept her chin up and flashed Anthony an apologetic smile as she put a restraining hand on her mother’s arm. “Come on, Mummy. Let’s leave the man in peace.”

  Anthony’s heart sank. He felt bad. He’d never wanted to hurt the girl’s feelings, and it wasn’t her fault her mother saw dollar signs and a ticket to the higher ranks of society every time she looked at her.

  “Another time, Annabella,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, of course,” Annabel
la said brightly.

  “You won’t forget?” Mrs. Carmichael asked Anthony.

  “Mummy. For God’s sake.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” By now, Anthony had depleted his supply of patience and begun dipping into the reserves for tomorrow—he didn’t have time for this marriage-minded mama’s nonsense! Melody had to leave! He had to figure out when he could see her again!—but he somehow kept it all polite. “Until next time.”

  Tightening his grip on Melody’s hand, he led her toward—

  “Oh, but you haven’t introduced us to your friend, Anthony,” Mrs. Carmichael called after them.

  Anthony mouthed sorry to Melody (she raised a brow at him, looking amused) and turned back.

  “Another time, Mrs. Carmichael.” He infused his expression and voice with a finality that even this old fool couldn’t mistake. “Good night.”

  7

  Anthony plowed through the crowd, determined to physically harm and perhaps maim the next person who tried to prevent him from saying a proper good-night to Melody.

  She held tight to his hand and leaned closer, laughter heavy in her voice. “Who were they?”

  “Just a silly woman from back home,” he said as they finally emerged into the lobby. “She’s been trying to pawn her daughter off on me since the poor girl was in pigtails.”

  “Are you sure you’re not already betrothed? Mama Bear seemed very proprietary to me.”

  He led her to a quiet spot between the reception desk and the elevator, where there was, thankfully, no further sign of the repairman, and turned to face her and all her banked amusement at his expense.

  “I can assure you there’s not—and never will be—a match between myself and Annabella.”

  “If you say so. But I’d never want to get you in trouble with your future mother-in-law.” She paused. “Or keep you from your one true love.”

  His one true love.

  The words snagged in his brain, sending a frisson of something dancing across his skin.

  He frowned, trying to snap himself out of it. “Annabella could never be my one true love, and we’ve wasted enough time with those two—oh, for God’s sake.”

  “What?”

  He tipped his head at the scene unfolding behind her. She turned to look just as Nick, who was several feet away and had evidently had his lips surgically attached to a busty redhead’s and his hands to her ass, came up for air. Catching their eyes, he gave them a sheepish, what did you expect? shrug and wolfish grin.

  “I see you’ve convinced Melody to give you another chance,” he called. “You’re not as hopeless as I’d feared.”

  Anthony shot him a repressive glare. “Thanks for that overwhelming vote of confidence.”

  Nick laughed, one hand tracing lazy circles low on the redhead’s bare back while she nuzzled his neck. “You’re very beautiful and accomplished, Melody. I understand Anthony’s interest. A shame for you, of course. A woman like you prefers a sexier man. I, myself, could—”

  Melody snorted. “Don’t you have your hands full right now, Nick?”

  “Yeah,” the redhead said, pouting as she smacked Nick’s arm.

  Nick laughed, then gave the redhead a soothing kiss to her cheek.

  “There’s always room for one more,” he told Melody, alight with more mischief than a family of leprechauns. “If you’d like to ditch Anthony and join us…?” Nick trailed off, shrugging.

  The redhead glanced around and regarded Melody with increased interest.

  “No, thanks,” Melody quickly said. “I’m good.”

  “Bugger off,” Anthony told Nick at the same time, pulling Melody closer for good measure. This wouldn’t be the first time that a woman he’d had his eye on defected in favor of Nick’s Mediterranean charms. He wasn’t taking any chances with Melody. “This one’s spoken for.”

  Tart frown from Melody.

  “This one?” she told Anthony. “Well, this one can speak for herself.”

  Anthony gestured to Nick. “Be my guest, then. Tell him.”

  “Bugger off, Nick,” she said.

  They all laughed.

  “Next time,” the redhead told Melody with a wink.

  More laughter from Nick. “Melody, if you have a sister, you must introduce me to her right away. Although I doubt she could be as fascinating as you.”

  “I do have a sister, and I’m going to make it my life’s work for you to never lay eyes on her,” Melody said with a dramatic shudder.

  “Buona notte, amici.” There was a lazy wave and final laugh from Nick, who pressed the Up button and dove back in where he’d left off with the redhead.

  “Typical,” Anthony muttered, facing Melody again and trying not to hate Nick for teasing him like that and, more to the point, for succeeding tonight where Anthony would fail. Yet Anthony felt a soaring lightness in his chest every time he looked at Melody, and that went a long way toward soothing his aching blue bollocks. “That could have been us, you know.”

  “With the redhead?” Melody asked brightly.

  “No. With each other. I hope you’re happy.”

  “Eh.” Melody’s expression turned a bit melancholy as she tore her gaze away from Nick and his conquest and focused on Anthony again. “Happy is overrated. I’m smart. Isn’t that so much better?”

  “No,” he cried. “It’s not remotely better.”

  They laughed together for a delicious moment. Until he remembered that he was being selfish for not letting her go when she had an early day tomorrow.

  “Shall I drive you home? I have a rental.”

  She shook her head. “My car’s out in the parking lot.”

  He nodded, trying not to feel too disappointed at this loss of the chance to spend a bit more time with her tonight. To see where she lived so he would know where to find her.

  Then he eyeballed the big dark world on the other side of the lobby’s sliding doors and thought about Melody driving herself home at this late hour. He’d never been particularly protective about anything, unless you counted his attachment to his first dog, a border collie he’d named Fitzroy, or his first car, a royal blue Aston Martin, but the idea of Melody out there by herself did not thrill him.

  “You don’t live far, do you?” he asked.

  “Just five minutes.”

  “You’ll drive safely, won’t you? Really, it would be better if I drove you.”

  She studied him with dawning incredulity. “You’re not worried about me getting myself home safely, are you? How do you think I’ve managed my late-night shifts and being called into the hospital in the middle of the night for all these years before you showed up?”

  Christ.

  The idea tied his gut up in knots.

  “If you’re trying to reassure me, you ought to rethink your strategy,” he said darkly.

  “I’m a grown woman. In a perfectly safe small town.”

  “Only think of all the drunks that will be hitting the streets once this party lets out.”

  “I’d rather take my chances with them than with a guy who may or may not know how to drive on the correct side of the street,” she said, laughing.

  The urge to kiss her in that moment damn near tackled him to the ground and pummeled him into submission. Some of his sudden tension eased back, leaving him to feel sheepish.

  “My driving is perfectly fine. I’m as American as you are. I believe I’ve mentioned that already. It’s just that…”

  He paused, not wanting to get into it.

  “Just that what?”

  “It’s just that…” He ran a hand over his nape. “When you’ve been overseas, you quickly learn that things can happen to people. And I don’t want anything to happen to you before I can get to know you better.”

  She stared up at him, looking a bit shaken.

  Probably because she’d realized what a nutter he was.

  “Sorry,” he said, cheeks burning. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. Thanks for tellin
g me.”

  She seemed sincere. And her quiet understanding felt as though someone had gifted him with a few of the lesser Crown Jewels.

  Now he felt a bit shaken. Because this woman and her reactions and understandings shouldn’t loom so large in his life. Not this fast. This couldn’t be healthy.

  He cleared his throat. “Right, then. Coat?”

  She quickly blinked and pulled a claim ticket out of her little bag. “In the cloakroom. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to—”

  Yeah, he did.

  He gave her a look. She hesitated, then handed him the ticket. He retrieved her coat and helped her into it, breathing in her hair’s fragrance when she pulled it out from beneath the coat’s collar.

  When she faced him again, sudden unsteady nerves made his throat burn and the words stick.

  He cleared his throat, pulled out his phone and strove for some modicum of nonchalance.

  “I don’t have your number.”

  Melody hesitated. Ducked her head. Looked down at the floor, then back at him, eyes shining. He felt relieved and grateful that her nonchalant routine wasn’t any better than his. They were in this thing, whatever it was, together. There was a great deal of comfort in that.

  “This really isn’t a good idea, Anthony. I live here. You live in London. I’m focusing on my career. I’m perfectly happy with that. Why muddy the waters?”

  “I thought we’d settled this,” he said quietly. “Our waters are already muddy.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe, but they’re only a little muddy. Why not quit while we’re ahead?”

  How quaint. She’d somehow deluded herself into thinking they could each go on their merry way as if tonight had never happened.

  “You’re in denial,” he said. “And I don’t have your number.”

  They stared at each other. He found himself fascinated by the slight flare of panic in her eyes and the way it so perfectly matched the growing tightness in his chest.

  This thing between them could be big. She had to know it. Why fight him so hard, otherwise?

  “Plus, this is where men blow it,” she said with a shaky laugh. “They ask for your number, then they never call again. Or they ask for your number, but they wait a month before texting Hey so they can show what hard-asses they are. Meanwhile, women are stuck trying to decode these signals and figure out what it all means. It’s exhausting. A man should never ask for a number unless he intends to use it.”