She's Got the Look (14 page)

Looking for Dex and Rosemary so he could say goodbye, he went inside. Rosemary's home was amazing—the kind of place often used as a B and B or a tourist attraction. He didn't know how her father had made his money, but he knew he had enough to give this house to his younger daughter. Rosemary lived here alone, since Deidre was married and Brian lived in an apartment building he managed for his stepfather.

The place was enormous, yet he doubted there was room for Dex here. Dex didn't fit. Sooner or later, he was going to realize that. Or Rosemary would. Nick didn't want to think about what was going to happen to his friend on that day.

Hearing voices in the dining room, he headed there. He'd reached the arched doorway when he heard Melody's blabbermouth, curly-haired friend say something that made him shake. The blood began to roar in his head and he stalked into the room. “You're telling me there are other men from that goddamned list here tonight? And that you ambushed her?”

Rosemary's mouth opened, but she couldn't say a word. Neither could any of the other people in the room—not even Paige, who he'd figured was never lost for words.

“How the hell could you do that to her?
Again?
”

Rosemary tilted her head up. “I want her to be happy. She needs to take her life back.”

“What she needs,” he said harshly, “are friends she can
trust.
”

With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, needing to find Melody before she came face-to-face with one of the men Paige had mentioned. He looked for the slimy guy from Channel 9 who'd been involved in a domestic dispute with his outraged and violent wife last year. And for the lawyer, Jonathan Rhodes, who Nick personally loathed after a few run-ins in court.

He didn't allow himself to think about Melody having once desired the two men. His brain couldn't even fathom being put in the same category as them, considering they were both scumbags, as far as he was concerned.

Figuring Mel would be upset, and thankful her bright dress would make her easy to find, he walked out to the veranda searching for a crying redhead in peacock-blue. And there he spotted her. Smiling. Laughing. Looking comfortable and relaxed with a small group of people by the railing.

She obviously hadn't bumped into one of her list guys. Yet.

As he approached her, Nick looked for signs of stress—a gleam of moisture in her eyes that would tell him she was putting on a front. But he saw nothing, not even a stiffness in her beautiful shoulders that said she was uncomfortable.

It wasn't until he got to within three feet of her that Nick realized
who
she was talking to. The two men had been indistinguishable in their dark suits, as was the other woman, who had her back to him. But when he heard the woman in the black dress laugh, he stiffened. There was no mistaking that laugh, or the hardened voice that went with it.

It was Angie Jacobs, the reporter he'd come close to hooking up with six months ago. He groaned inwardly, wondering why the hell the woman was at the party when she'd annoyed Rosemary by dropping the news piece. Then again, knowing Angie, not having an invitation wouldn't stop her from going somewhere she wanted to go. Even if she had to use deceit to get there.

That's how she'd gotten his super to let her into his apartment last spring, where she'd promptly searched for anything she could find on a high-profile case Nick had been working. Then she'd planted herself in his bed, apparently planning to seduce the information out of him. Which had led to their last confrontation and the circus-freak remark.

So, no, he wasn't particularly thrilled at the prospect of coming face-to-face with her again.

But he couldn't think too much about it. Because he suddenly recognized the two men standing with Angie and Melody. One of them was Angie's co-worker, looking just as fake and arrogant as he did on TV. The second guy wasn't hard to recognize either, with his pricey Italian suit and his slimy defense-lawyer smile.

They were Drake Manning and Jonathan Rhodes.

And Melody was standing right between them.

Nick
almost
turned around. Almost judged by the smile on her face and her relaxed posture that Melody was fine and dandy chatting up the two men to see if she was going to hop into the sack with one of them. Almost walked away thinking maybe she was exactly the kind of woman he'd once feared she was…a taker, someone who wanted a meaningless lay to get her confidence back.

Then Manning touched her. And Melody flinched.

She was definitely
not
all right.

“Here you are,” he said, striding into the group. “I promised Rosemary I'd bring you in for a toast.”

A quick, nearly imperceptible look of relief flashed across her face. Then her back straightened. “I was getting to know some more of Rosemary's
guests.
Such interesting people in her circle,” Melody murmured, her voice tight.

“Well, well, if it isn't Detective Walker,” Angie said, her cordial tone countering the malice in her eyes. “You do clean up, don't you? You
almost
look like you belong here.”

Melody's sharply inhaled breath told him she hadn't been prepared for Angie. But Nick was used to her. Raking a bored glance over the woman, he said, “Amazing how clothes can make a person look
almost
human, isn't it?”

Drake Manning stiffened and Angie's eyes blazed. Melody, however, sucked her lips into her mouth, as if she were trying not to laugh. Without another word for any of them, Nick reached out and took hold of Mel's arm, tugging her with him. “Let's go.”

He felt her stiff resistance at first, but she did finally move her feet and follow him. Once they were out of earshot of the others, she yanked her arm away. “You can't…”

“I just did, Melody,” he muttered, not in the mood to hear any excuses. Damned if he was going to leave her there with those three—the scummy TV anchor, the scummier defense lawyer and the bitch queen of Savannah.

Reaching the other end of the veranda, he tried a pair of French doors and found them open. Pushing her inside, he followed her, hoping no one had seen them disappear but not caring too much if they had.

In the silence, he heard her harsh breaths and wondered if she was about to go apeshit on him for manhandling her out of her own party. Not that he cared. Whether she'd realized it or not, she'd needed rescuing. Maybe even from herself…though he hated to think she'd even
consider
letting her dumb-ass list allow her to make a colossal mistake with one of those pricks.

Giving her a chance to cool down, he turned and glanced around the room. They were in Rosemary's office, where she worked at home doing her real-estate stuff. It was empty, nearly dark, lit only by a small lamp in the corner. Dominated by a large antique desk standing right in the middle of the floor, the room was otherwise relatively sparse. A shelving unit stood along one wall, and two overstuffed leather chairs were opposite the desk.

He pushed her toward one of the chairs.

“Would you keep your hands off me?” she snapped.

“I don't see you flinching when I touch you the way you did with that Manning guy. What number was
he
on your list?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, my God, Rosemary told you the whole thing?” Looking stunned, she dropped into the chair.

“Rosemary didn't tell me. Your friend Paige—”

“
Paige
told you that?” She looked truly stunned. “What, is everybody at this party talking about my sex life?”

“No. She was reaming out Rosemary for inviting the other two and I overheard.” Unable to help it, he frowned. “You sure didn't have the best taste in men, did you?”

“Obviously not, since I chose
you.
”

She'd just admitted again that she
had
chosen him—but he didn't call her on it. “I've got to say, you looked pretty calm talking to those two.”

“I was fine.”

“Not ready to murder Rosemary this time?”

She crossed her legs—those endlessly long legs—and leaned back in her chair. “I was…surprised. But not completely shocked. I'd wondered if she'd do it.”

He'd expected more indignation. More anger. More
something.
“So, what, you wandered right up to them and engaged them in conversation?” he asked, leaning back until he was half sitting on Rosemary's big desk.

“Something like that,” she admitted. “I think the two of them are friends.” Her voice was steady, but the way she shifted her eyes away made him wonder if she was being entirely honest.

“And there was no embarrassment, like the other morning at the diner.” He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “No concern, nothing?”

“Nope. They were both friendly, cordial and attractive.”

He stiffened, wondering why she'd gotten so damned chummy with the other two men so fast.

“Now, if we've finished the inquisition, Mr. Big Bad Policeman, can I get back to my party?”

Rising, he stepped closer. “Anxious to get back to scoping out the two other guys on your list, huh?”

“Maybe,” she retorted, her cheeks reddening. “If I am, it's certainly none of your business.”

She was definitely holding back. There was something she did not want him to see. It amazed him, really, how quickly he'd become familiar with her moods. The rapid pulse in her temple told him she was being evasive and the way she shifted her startling blue eyes away reinforced that certainty.

Keeping his voice deceptively quiet, he asked, “So which one's in the lead so far? I mean, for the list thing.”

“Would you shut the hell up about my list?” She rose to her feet.

Hot button. “Touchy, touchy.” He stepped closer, and so did she. “You are mighty sensitive about it, aren't you? Thought you were relaxed and calm about meeting those two.”

“I
am.
They're nice, attractive and not cavemen.”

He caught the insult. “I don't know that
nice
is a word I'd use to describe either one of them. That Manning guy has chased so many women in this town, he ended up giving himself a heart attack.”

Her chin went higher. “Oh, how nice, making fun of someone's health.”

“Not making fun, darlin', it's true. Happened last year.”

“Whatever,” she muttered. “But I'm still glad that Rosemary arranged for them to be here tonight so I could meet them both.”

He
nearly
let her words get to him, nearly left the party, like he should have an hour ago. But something made him wait. To think. To figure out what he was missing. So he remained still, staring at her from a few short inches away.

For all her flip words and her confidence, Melody was barely holding on to her control. Her hands were clenched in front of her, her fingers clasped so tightly together they'd turned white. Her breathing was ragged, color brightening her cheeks. The woman was in no way calm, cool and comfortable. In fact, she was totally and completely on edge. On the verge of exploding. Or running.

And suddenly, without another word, he understood. Everything came together in his mind and he got the whole picture. Melody hadn't been uncomfortable with the other two men, because she'd felt absolutely
nothing
for them.

Unlike with him.

Watching her, it was so easy to see the truth. She was upset, shaking, confused and dying to get away now for one simple reason: because she wanted
him.
And only him.

Now he just had to make her admit it.

The realization that she was trying to bluff her way out of here with false bravado, and that she really wasn't interested in anyone else, made a low, grateful laugh escape Nick's lips. The laughter held both amusement at the way she'd been fighting her own reactions, and pure, one-hundred-percent relief that he wasn't the only one feeling the intense, tangible attraction that had erupted between them from the moment they'd met.

“What is so funny?” She looked indignant.

“You,” he admitted. “You're trying so damn hard to keep me from figuring out why you're fine and dandy with those two when you can hardly hold it together with me.”

Her mouth opened in shock. “You're delusional.”

“Uh-uh. I'm not. I just got it. You could talk them up easy because there was
nothing
there. No spark. No interest. Nothing.” Knowing he was right and feeling so relieved he wanted to cheer, he moved even closer, until his suit jacket brushed against the front of her sparkly blue dress. “Admit it,” he said throatily, “I'm the only man on your so-called list who makes you feel
anything.
”

She froze, not pulling away, keeping their bodies close enough that he could practically feel the physical spark of energy and desire snapping between them. “Admit it, Melody.”

Breathing even more deeply, she stared searchingly at his face, not responding. She didn't have to. He knew he was right—her silence confirmed it. It only remained to see whether she'd have the guts to say so.

The sound of a voice from outside startled her, shaking her out of her reverie. Her face flushing red, she stepped back. “You're
off
my list. How many times do I have to say it?”

He shrugged. “Until you can convince yourself it's true.”

Closing her eyes, she threw her head back and groaned. “Why would I want you? You're arrogant and you don't like my best friend and you don't like cats and you're not a nice guy!”

One of her accusations deeply offended him. “Who told you I don't like cats?”

She opened one eye and peered at him. “So that's the only thing you're denying?”

He answered with a shrug. “Rosemary's okay. Sometimes.”