She's Got the Look (13 page)

In any case, he wasn't laughing at her, unlike most of the other people here. Which was the
only
reason she let him lead her away without a word to anyone. The last thing she noted was the concern—and a hint of speculation—in Rosemary's eyes.

Strolling down the garden path, he steered her toward the carriage house. From behind, it probably looked as if they were merely admiring the night-blooming jasmine instead of escaping.

He didn't say a word for the first several steps, and he didn't remove his arm, either. He simply walked with her, kept her close and held her tight enough that she couldn't compound the humiliation of this awful night by bolting for the street.

Behind them, she finally heard the sound of activity resuming. The musicians began to play. Rosemary's voice rose above the din as she entertained her guests with some bit of historical lore. At last Melody could breathe again.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Is everyone still staring?” she whispered.

He slowly turned his head, casting a casual glance behind them. “Nope. Nary a one.”

Good. That meant she could step away. Gain some distance. Take back possession of her arm.

But she didn't.

“Those are some friends you've got,” he said with a disbelieving shake of his head. “Remind me to go look up that Paige woman whenever I'm on a case and need to hear everything that's goin' on in this city.”

“She doesn't mean any harm. She's got a good heart.”

“And a big mouth.”

Finally relaxing, she even managed a smile. “I suppose.”

Curiosity furrowed his brow. “So who was on
her
list?”

“Say the word
list
one more time and I'm shoving you in the koi pond ahead of me.”

He chuckled, low and deep, and she wondered why the sound washed over her the way it did. All warm and soft. Like something physical, tangible. She swallowed hard, trying to dispel the feeling but unable to completely manage it.

“I hope you're kidding about there being some koi pond back here, because if this heat wave doesn't let up, your friend Rosemary's going to be serving up boiled fish at her parties.”

“Eww.”

“Though, I suppose it's better than the raw fish they're serving back there.”

Scrunching up her nose, she couldn't help agreeing. “I've never developed a taste for sushi, either.”

“Fish eggs are bad enough.”

“Ah, caviar, now
that's
another story.”

“You like that stuff?”

She licked her lips. “Mmm.”

Nick finally slid his arm out from around hers and moved away. Stepping off the stone path onto the lawn—out of the last bit of lantern night—he crossed his arms and leaned against the trunk of a huge oak tree, watching her with hooded eyes.

Melody stepped closer, brushing aside some long tangles of Spanish moss, until she, too, was close enough to lean against the tree. Not that she
would
—the glitter from her dress wouldn't last ten seconds against the bark. And it wouldn't do to get that close to the man watching her so intently in the shadowy night.

Turning a little, she glanced across the lawn, toward the party going on twenty yards away. Yet they seemed almost separated from it. Hidden by the trees, as if curtained in some private wooded glade.

That was when her senses really kicked up a notch and she caught the danger of the situation. Escaping had seemed like a good idea. Escaping with
him
into a dark, shadowy corner full of sweet night smells and tangible expectation? Well…that had been about as wise as the Trojans bringing a big wooden horse into the middle of their city.

“So tell me about your caviar days,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Well, from what I hear tell, I'm not the only one who ended up in a magazine. You were famous.” A grin tugged at his lips.
God, those lips.
“A
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit model? Am I a creep for saying I would have liked to see that?”

Rosemary's ruthless campaign of complete exposure of all Melody's secrets had obviously swung right back into full force. If she'd told Nick—or
anyone
—about the billboard incident in Atlanta, Mel was going to go all over town blabbing about the Braves player and the New Year's Eve party. “It wasn't
Sports Illustrated,
” she mumbled. “It was a little knockoff magazine that was probably only purchased by the mothers of the minor-league players interviewed in it. And I was wearing a one-piece.”

“I'd bet the dads bought at least
one
issue every year.”

Her eyes narrowed.

He backtracked. “So you don't model anymore, I take it?”

“No. I quit several years ago, before I got married.”

That distracted him. “How old are you, anyway?”

Well, how polite.
“Why?”

“I'm just wondering. Judging by when you had to have made your list, I figure you got married around six years ago. What were you, all of eighteen?”

“I was twenty-one,” she replied primly. “Not a kid.”

“Not far from it.”

Remembering something he'd said once, she asked her own questions. “What about you? You said you went through something similar some years back. Were you eighteen when you got married?”

His answer stunned her. “Yeah. I was.”

“Really?”

His jaw tightened. “I had what you might call a shotgun wedding. And a quickie divorce.” He didn't sound teasing and flirtatious anymore. Now he seemed tense. As if he regretted starting the conversation.

Well, so did she. She was nowhere near ready to talk about her marriage, to him, or to anyone new in her life. So she couldn't blame him for not wanting to share the details of his. “Maybe we should get back to the party.”

“Chicken?”

“Hardly.”

“You sure?” Straightening, he dropped his arms to his sides and stepped closer. The moonlight cast shadows of light and dark on his face. Shadows shaped like the leaves of the tree and the tangled gray moss. He looked mysterious, his eyes glittering. His big body seemed almost dangerous, though she wasn't afraid he'd do her any harm. Not physically, anyway.

He lifted a hand and traced the tip of one finger along her shoulder strap. Because the strap was thin, his warm touch brushed her skin as well as the fabric. She hissed out a slow breath. Because
that
was the danger. Her reaction to him.

“You're not nervous being out here in the dark with me?”

“N-no. Of course not.” Melody crossed her fingers behind her back at that lie. Because she was definitely nervous. The longer she spent here in the shadows with this man, the more in trouble she could be. When he touched her, whispered to her, she began to think about those late-night fantasies she'd once had about him. And the harder it was to remember all the reasons she'd told herself she couldn't act on her attraction…or her list.

He leaned in. “Your pulse is racing, Melody.”

Oh, she liked how he said her name. That low, husky whisper scraped over all her nerve endings. He was close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek. Close enough that she could breathe deeply and inhale his clean-scented cologne.

What were those reasons again?

“I think I'm going to kiss you before the night is out,” he whispered, his voice floating over her like the evening breeze.

“You can try,” she replied, going for a flip dare. But there was no doubt in her mind, or probably in his, that her words had sounded like a plea instead.

Meeting her gaze, he stared at her for one long second, gauging her mood. Judging her seriousness. Then, with a helpless, throaty groan, he leaned in and touched his mouth to hers.

He tasted like the night. Warm and moist. Heady and erotic. His lips slid across hers, slowly, as if he savored the feel of skin on skin. Then he licked delicately at the seam of her lips until, with a sigh, she opened for him and met his tongue for a slow, deliberate exploration.

Heat uncoiled inside her and rolled through her blood, making her hotter than the Savannah summer ever could. His mouth was heavenly on hers and the way he delicately stroked her tongue with his own made her sure she'd melt into a puddle of want.

She moved closer, resting her hand on his impossibly broad chest, feeling the pounding of his heart beneath her fingers. Their bodies brushed against each other, lightly, effortlessly, almost swaying to the music from the party, which somehow seemed very far away. As did the rest of the world.

The kiss continued with lazy eroticism. No frenzy, no frantic thrusts, just a lethargic exploration that hinted of long, sultry nights filled with sensuous pleasures.

Melody sighed when Nick lifted his hand to cup her face, his touch incredibly tender but also evocative. Possessive. The feel of his other hand on the small of her back made her arch closer against him in helpless response. Instead of that suggestive scrape of dress on jacket, they were now pressed close together. Melody's breasts grew tight and heavy and her legs went weak at the feeling of his hard form—so
very
hard—pressed against hers.

She hungered. Truly,
wanted,
for the first time in a very long time. Physically
and
mentally.

Finally he ended the kiss, lifting his head to look down at her with dark eyes that caught and reflected the sheen of moonlight above them. They stood there, face-to-face for a long moment. Melody heard her harsh breaths, felt her heart pounding and slowly let thought return and sensation slide away.

Of course, as thought returned, she began to wonder what she'd just allowed to happen.

Not the kiss. Yes, it had been divine—the first time she'd kissed a man other than Bill in more than seven years. But the kiss had only been part of it.

She'd acted on her attraction. Encouraged it. Thrown gasoline on the fire she'd already sensed she could feel for the man. The fire she knew could rage out of control if she didn't get a grip on herself. “Oh, my,” she whispered.

“Yeah,” he murmured softly. “You think I've earned back my number-one spot?”

Her instinctive reaction was to nod, but she kept herself from doing it. Because every concern, every fear she'd had about going for it with Nick—her number-one fantasy—had been justified by that one kiss.

He could shatter her. He could leave her quivering and shaking with desire, desperate to have him, growing addicted to whatever he offered.

Once wouldn't be enough, but once was all she could allow herself with any man. No more than that, not until she pulled herself back together emotionally from her miserable marriage.

She knew she needed to begin living her new life, but she didn't want to open up her heart and let somebody start shooting holes through it again. One night of sex with no emotions shouldn't be too dangerous. So until she felt good enough about herself to think she might be able to bring something to the table in terms of a real relationship, she needed to steer clear of anything more than a single, forgettable encounter.

Nick Walker would be utterly unforgettable. His kiss had proved that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

This was definitely a case of the wrong man, wrong place, wrong time. Or maybe he was the right one. But it didn't matter. It was still the wrong place and wrong time.

Perhaps Rosemary would have been strong and determined enough to take what she wanted and forget about it. But Melody already knew she was never going to forget this man. He could never be meaningless. Now, having been in his arms, she was absolutely certain of it.

So, stepping away, she slowly shook her head. Wondering if he could hear the heavy regret in her voice, she said, “No, I don't think so. I'm sorry…so sorry. But you
definitely
can't be on my list anymore.”

Stiffening her shoulders—and her resolve—she silently turned and walked back to the party before he could say a word.

T
HOUGH
R
OSEMARY WAS BUSY
entertaining her guests and trying hard to come up with something her father might have in common with Dex that they could talk about—instead of just avoiding each other like they had since she'd introduced them—she kept one eye out toward the rear of the gardens. Just in case.

Melody could be out there going for it—healing her broken heart and salving her wounded spirit with a man hot enough to tempt a saint into sinning.

Okay, hopefully they weren't going for it right in her backyard. Particularly since her gardener had fertilized very recently. But still, Melody might be indulging in a few stolen kisses and planning for a future assignation.

She had to sigh at the romanticism of it.

“What was that heartfelt sound for?”

Dropping the lace curtains draped across the dining-room window, she spun on her heel and greeted Dex with a smile. Oh, he did look
fine
in his dark suit, so nicely fitted against his big, hard body, and such a good shade with his light brown hair. He was a very handsome man, capable of taking her breath away.

“Just thinking about Melody,” she finally replied.

He crossed his arms and gave her a scolding look. “When are you going to learn to mind your own business?”

She waved an airy hand. “I do mind my own business.”

“Rosemary…”

“
Most
of the time. But when someone I care about is hurting, well, I can't help it if I want to do something.”

“She might not forgive you for it, you know,” he murmured, relaxing his rigid stance. “Even if you did it for her own good.”

“If it gets that bastard she married off her mind and gives her something to smile about for a few nights, I think she will.”

“A few nights?”

“Well, yes, if she has a fling with her fantasy man, it'll be the perfect way to start her life over.”

“And that's all she's after? A fling? A couple of nights?” He looked tense again. Dex's pale green eyes narrowed.

“What?”

“Rosemary, I don't know that Nick's the kind of guy who'll take that very well—being used for a couple of nights by a woman who needs to make herself feel better.”

She hadn't thought that far ahead, frankly. “What red-blooded American man doesn't dream about being used as a sex object by a gorgeous former lingerie model?”

He shook his head and frowned deeply. “One who's a loner. Who's been burned by women one too many times and doesn't have much faith in them as it is.”

She refused to look at it that way. What difference did it make if Nick had faith in women or not? It wasn't as if he and Mel were going to fall madly in love. They just needed to fall passionately between the sheets.

Determined not to worry about it anymore, she walked over to Dex and slipped her arms around his neck. “Have I told you how handsome you look tonight?”

His lips quirked up a tiny bit. “Yeah.”

She waited for a reciprocal remark and when she didn't get it, she yanked his hair.

Laughing, he pulled her close. “You're beautiful.” His laughter faded as he stared intently into her face. “I sometimes look at you across the room and wonder how this ever happened.”

“How what happened?”

“You and me,” he replied, stroking a lazy circle on the small of her back that soon had her ready to melt. Like his touch always did. “How we're making it work.” His smile faded. “How long we're going to be able to keep making it work.”

Rosemary didn't even want to think that way. What mattered was that they
were
making it work. And they'd continue to do so, if it was the last thing she ever did.

Before she could say so, Dex lifted his hand to her face. Gently rubbing his thumb on her cheek, he murmured, “You look tired. Have you eaten anything?”

“You know I can never eat at my own parties,” she said. “I get butterflies trying to make sure everything is just right.”

“It is tonight. You've outdone yourself. Now sit down and eat a plateful of food.”

Ugh. Her stomach rebelled at the very thought, obviously still knotted up with worry over what was happening with Melody and Nick out in the backyard.

But before she could say that, her sister entered the room, Brian close behind her. “Good, you're alone. I can finally get the scoop.” Deidre gave Dex a quick smile. “No offense—I meant the
rest
of the party's outside.”

“Glad to know I'm considered part of the inner circle,” Dex said, his good humor quickly returning. He got along well with Rosemary's siblings, who seemed to see the same streak of honor and integrity that had so drawn Rosemary to him. As her father would—if he ever gave him a chance.

“Don't be too glad,” Brian murmured. “You n-never know what these two are going to talk about.” Staring at Deidre, he added, “If you start talking about w-women's stuff, I'm leaving.”

Rosemary smiled, noting her stepbrother's reddened cheeks. God love poor Brian. He had never known what had hit him when his mother had married their father twenty years ago. He'd suddenly been thrust between two high-strung sisters and had never been quite quick enough to keep up with them.

“I want the dish on Melody. And…
him.
That gorgeous man.”

“
He's
my partner, and
I'm
leaving,” Dex said, turning on his heel. “Sounds like female stuff, Brian.”

Her brother ducked his head and smiled. “I can handle names. Just not body parts.”

“Suit yourself.” But as Dex strode toward the door, he glanced over his shoulder and gave Rosemary a look with which she'd become very familiar. A warning one. “You've set the wheels in motion, Rosie. Now let it be. Whatever happens, happens.”

“Rosie?” Brian said with wide eyes once Dex had left.

Shooting her brother a glare, Rosemary said, “If you ever tell anyone he calls me that, I'll…I'll tell Paige you had a mad crush on her back in high school.”

Brian paled, his mouth opening then closing. Rosemary immediately regretted teasing him, because he was so ill-equipped to deal with it. “I'm kidding. Your dark secret is safe with me.”

“Now, tell me about this man. And the list! What
is
this list?” Deidre asked, gesturing widely with her arms.

Rosemary didn't keep secrets from her sister, but the story of the lists they'd made the night before Mel's wedding was one she hadn't shared. “It's that silly list I have on my refrigerator. We
all
made one the night before Mel's wedding.”

“The list with Dex's name all the way down?” Deidre asked, looking confused.

Dex. He'd changed her list again. Oh, goodness, she did have a good time with that man's possessive streak.

She explained the whole story as quickly as possible, keeping her tone light. But no matter the tone, Brian began to flush, then his eyes grew wide and his earlobes red. “Maybe I should go,” he mumbled, edging toward the arched doorway.

Ignoring him, Deidre clapped her hands together. “That's wonderful. I want to make a list.”

Rosemary lifted a droll brow. “I don't think Carl would approve. You know, Carl? Your husband.”

Brian mumbled something else, then turned to leave the room, as if he couldn't stand hearing any more sex talk from his sisters. But before he could do so, Paige and Tanya burst in. Paige was out of breath, her face bright red. And even tough, implacable Tanya looked upset.

“What is it?” Rosemary asked, more curious than concerned.

“You have to hide,” Paige said between choppy breaths. “Because she's going to kill you.”

“What?”

“Though, I guess I should thank you for getting me out of the hot seat for opening my big mouth,” she continued, still gasping a little as she tripped over her words.

“What are you talking about?” Rosemary asked, instantly stiffening. “Who's going to kill me?”

Tanya answered before Paige could, a feat in and of itself. “Breathe, Paige.” Then she stepped closer, her dark brown eyes snapping in righteous anger. “How could you do it? First I hear you sent her out to breakfast with the
Time
magazine guy who showed up here tonight?”

“I need a drink,” Paige muttered. She elbowed past Tanya and grabbed a glass of champagne from a tray on the dining-room table. It was half-empty, obviously someone else's, but Paige hardly seemed to notice as she lifted it to her mouth and drained it. Even Brian paused, cringing as he watched, as did Deidre.

“You're toast, Rosemary,” Paige said with a mournful shake of her head when she could speak again. “Deader than a doornail.”

“You got that right,” Tanya said, for once agreeing with Paige when she usually rolled her eyes at their friend's antics.

Rosemary almost stamped her foot out of frustration with these two. She had a feeling that half glass of champagne hadn't been the first drink Paige had had all evening. “Say it!”

“They're here,” Paige said, shaking her head mournfully. “I just saw them. That stiff hair of his is hard to miss.”

Oh, God.
Rosemary's heart tripped as she grasped what they meant. She'd almost forgotten. They hadn't responded to the invitations and she'd figured that was for the best. But now…

Paige continued to shake her head. “Yep, you really did it this time.” She glanced frantically around for another drink and finally stared at the watery remnants of a cocktail in a small, nearly empty tumbler. Deidre deftly grabbed it and moved it out of the way, tsking in disapproval.

Groaning, Paige dropped into one of the dining-room chairs and put her chin on her fisted hands. “Oh, I hope she doesn't think we had anything to do with this.”

“Me, too,” Tanya replied, lowering herself to another chair. “I wouldn't have come if I'd known you'd invited…them.”

“Invited who?” Deidre snapped, looking unable to contain herself. “Who's here?” Her sister did stomp her foot, which made Rosemary glad she hadn't, because it was terribly silly to watch.

“Jonathan Rhodes and Drake Manning,” Tanya said in disgust.

“Yeah,” Paige added, her voice rising in a near wail. “And Mel is going to absolutely go through the roof when she finds out Rosemary arranged for
all three
of the men on her sexual-fantasy list to be here tonight.”

 

A
FTER
M
ELODY STUNNED HIM
by walking away after their surprising, erotic kiss, Nick remained in the garden for a while. Thinking. Wondering. Reliving.

Yeah. He definitely relived every moment of their conversation, the way the glitter on her dress had reflected in the moonlight. The reddish sheen of her hair under the flickering glow of the lanterns. The sound of her laughter. Their kiss.

God, that kiss. That incredible kiss. He'd kissed a lot of women in his life, going way back to seventh grade when Cherry Hilliard had dragged him into the locker room at Joyful Middle School, and showed him that a tongue was good for a lot more than licking ice-cream cones.

But he'd never shared a kiss that had seemed so…intimate. He'd had sexual encounters that had seemed less erotic.

One kiss. That's all it had been. But he had a feeling he was going to remember it for the rest of his life.

“So why did you walk away?” he wondered aloud as he stood beneath the oak tree for the longest time, watching Melody move through the party. She was so easy to spot in her peacock-blue outfit, which stood out among all the women in their little black cocktail dresses. She mingled and chatted, was air-kissed by a bunch of women and ogled by a bunch of guys.

That made Nick tense up, which was crazy since he had absolutely no claim on the woman. Except that she'd once wanted him above all men. And despite her claims, he wasn't ready to let her stop wanting him.

Finally, about a half hour after she had left him standing alone in the far corner of the yard, Melody worked up the nerve to look at him. She cast a quick glance in his direction, as if making sure he was no longer there. Their eyes met, their stares locking. She went very still, as did he, while they shared a long, revealing moment.

He knew she'd been pretending not to notice him.

She knew he hadn't taken his eyes off her.

Then someone spoke to her. With a quick shake of her head, she looked away, but not before revealing a flash of something in her face. A hint of regret? A promise that they weren't done yet? Maybe even a plea to be left alone?

Well, that was impossible.

She couldn't pretend their kiss hadn't affected her, because they both knew it had. And her protestations about her stupid list meant nothing. The list be damned—they'd met, there was attraction, something was going to happen. The predetermined plan she'd laughingly made up with her girlfriends had
nothing
to do with them from here on out.

The list hadn't made her look at him with those dreamy eyes, hadn't made her whimper and sigh when their lips had touched. Hadn't made her tilt her head and open her mouth wider, meeting every thrust of his tongue with a languorous one of her own.

Now this was just about them, Nick and Melody, who'd kissed in the moonlight.

Realizing he was going to start looking like some kind of voyeur if he kept standing here watching from the shadows, he returned to the party. Melody had disappeared, as had Dex, which was probably for the best. He probably should get out of here. Common sense told him to wait a day or two for Melody Tanner to get her head together—to stop pretending she could control what her body wanted by saying so with her mouth.

Then they could start over. Hell, maybe he'd even risk swimming in the dating waters again. Because spending an evening with her over a leisurely dinner sounded
really
good to him.