She's Got the Look (16 page)

Nick muttered about his bad luck with dogs and women throughout his drive to the historic district of Savannah. He was still muttering a half hour later as he parked outside Melody's building, holding a foam cup filled with crappy but hot coffee from a local twenty-four-hour market. It was late, about two in the morning, and the street was quiet. Empty. Most of the residents parked behind their own buildings at night, so there were only a few cars on the block.

Good. That'd make it easier to spot anyone suspicious.

Sipping his coffee, he put his window down, welcoming in the late-night air, which taunted him with a whisper of coolness that would be long gone by eight o'clock. He leaned back in the driver's seat, settling in for the night. It'd be a long one, but what the hell. He wouldn't have been able to sleep, anyway. Not when he'd be worrying about Melody until morning.

He hadn't liked hearing the fear in her voice. Hadn't liked it one bit. “Damn him,” he muttered, staring up at the second floor of her building.

He would love to get his hands on her ex-husband, the man who'd left that beautiful, vivacious woman nervous and jumpy, unsure of herself and unhappy. Like the one he'd first met a few weeks ago…the one he'd thought had disappeared for good.

Almost wishing he'd brought Fredo with him for company, he sipped his coffee again, settling farther into the seat. Never taking his eyes off the upstairs window, he immediately noticed when the curtain shifted. Then a silhouette appeared there.

A female silhouette.

Melody stood in the window. She looked down at him, her hair loose around her shoulders. He could barely make out some light-colored fabric floating around her body, a filmy nightgown, most likely.

Sleep was definitely out of the question now.

But hopefully not for her. Nick nodded once, silently urging her to go back to bed. Telling her she was okay, that she could rest easy, because he wasn't going anywhere.

She understood. A small, faint smile widened her lips. And from down on the street, he made out the words she mouthed.

Thank you.

Nodding, Nick continued to sip his coffee and watch the night shadows lengthen over the next couple of hours, until it was nearly dawn. Staying up all night on a stakeout was usually easy because he had Dex either in the car or within radio reach of his position. This was different. Being alone on the silent street left him vulnerable to his own imagination. To the image of Melody standing in her window, wearing that filmy bit of nothingness disguised as sleepwear.

To the way she'd look now, lying in her bed, her hair spilling over her pillow.

To the way she'd feel when he was inside her.

“Damn,” he muttered, trying to refocus his thoughts as the night wore on.

Unfortunately, his solitude also gave him a chance to worry. The thought of Melody's ex deciding to follow up his sick phone call with a visit made his entire body tense. “You'd better hope you covered your tracks, you cowardly son of a bitch,” he muttered, picturing her ex-husband.

By six o'clock, with no suspicious activity at all, Nick began to relax, confident that Melody was okay. The whole block had been dead silent for hours and she'd hopefully gotten some sleep.

Since the first streaks of orange and gold were appearing on the horizon, he figured it was time to go. Time to get out of here before Melody woke up and felt obligated to come downstairs. With his luck, she'd still be wearing her nightgown and Nick didn't think he was a strong enough man to see
that
close up. Not unless it was for the three seconds it would take him to tear it off her.

Adjusting his seat, he was about to reach for the ignition key when he realized the passenger door had opened.

“Morning,” she said. “I brought coffee.”

He shifted his gaze and saw Melody sliding into his car to sit beside him. “You didn't have to do that.” Then, his throat tight, he added, “You're not even dressed.”

And she wasn't. A silky robe dotted with little pink strawberries covered her from her shoulders to the tops of her thighs, but her incredible, mile-long legs were completely bare. As were her feet, so he could see the hot-pink polish on her toenails. His mind filled with the image of the flimsy nightgown she most likely had on underneath the robe.
Lord have mercy.

“I'm decent.”

She might be, but his thoughts definitely weren't.

“And I won't be long. I'm going right back inside.” She handed him a small, foil-wrapped paper plate, then a mug of steaming coffee. “I couldn't remember if you took cream, but I figured after an all-nighter you'd probably want some sugar. And I also made you an unburned bagel.”

He chuckled. “No crêpes suzette?”

“You're lucky you got the bagel. I'm not much better in the kitchen than Rosemary.” Nibbling her lip, she reached for the door handle, then softly added, “Thank you, Nick. You didn't have to do this. In the light of day, I'm embarrassed that you did, especially because I'm sure you have to go to work today.” Looking at him with blatant honesty in her blue eyes, she continued, “But last night, looking out the window and seeing you here, well…I felt very safe. I appreciated it.”

Nick wasn't comfortable with the hero role. He never had been. And gratitude was the last thing he wanted from
this
woman, in particular. So he shrugged off her thanks with a frown. “Forget it. Anybody would have done it. Don't make more of it than it was. I am a cop, remember?”

“Don't tell me
anybody
would have gotten up in the middle of the night and sat outside my building so I could get some peace of mind. It was very nice of you.”

Nice. He hadn't been called nice in…hell, longer than he could remember. Maybe never.

A loner, a loser, a lost cause—those were the words he most remembered people using about him…about
all
the Walkers, really. So hearing this woman call him nice made him just a mite uncomfortable. Because the last couple of times a woman had mistaken him for nice, he'd been hurt, lied to or royally screwed over. By his high-school girlfriend, who'd really been in love with his brother. By the woman he'd married, who'd been pregnant with somebody else's kid. Most recently by Angie, who'd tried to worm her way into his case files by way of his bed.

“I'm not a nice guy,” he muttered, reminding them both of that fact. “You said so yourself.”

“I didn't mean that,” she countered, obviously remembering her comment. “You've been very nice to me on a couple of occasions.”

“Don't get used to it.”

She chuckled. “Well, back to Mr. Grouchy. I've met him on a couple of occasions, too. Now I feel better.”

He couldn't resist her infectious good mood. Offering her a small smile, he sipped the coffee.
Awful.
But he managed not to grimace. “Hey, with last week, this is our second breakfast date, isn't it?”

“Thought you didn't date.”

“You keep tricking me into it,” he said, shaking his head mournfully. “You're a wily one, Melody Tanner. I'm going to have to keep my guard up around you. Next thing you know, you'll be calling about your leaky pipes and seducing me with a juicy pot roast and a home-made apple pie.”

She giggled, all hint of fear, of sadness gone from her face. Which made the cramp in his leg and the stiffness in his back from sitting in the car for the past four hours completely worthwhile.

“I told you I can't cook. So if I were going to do such a thing, it'd have to be with Kentucky Fried Chicken and Krispy Kreme doughnuts.”

“That's almost as dangerous.”

“I know. But I promise, I won't trick you into any more dates against your will. Your reputation is safe with me.” She made a cross-your-heart thing and lifted two of her fingers.

Nick had lived in this town long enough to know what
that
meant. “Scout's honor?”

“I wasn't a Girl Scout.”

His eyes widened. “I thought that was illegal in Savannah. All small females living within a hundred miles of this place have to be Girl Scouts.”

“I traveled too much as a kid.”

She traveled too much to be a Girl Scout. It made him wonder what else she'd missed out on. Not just because of her lousy marriage—but because of her crazy childhood. “I'd like to hear about it sometime.” Shoving an inner voice of caution down deep into his subconscious, he added, “Maybe while I check your pipes and try to resist the smell of fried chicken and twenty crispy, creamy cholesterol points pretending to be breakfast food.”

Her smile faded and she began to shake her head. “I can't.” Her voice grew softer. “I meant what I said…”

“Don't talk to me about that damn list again,” he growled.

“Not that,” she whispered. “It's not about any stupid list. It's about…”

“The bathing suit and the leather coat?”

She thought about it, then slowly nodded.

“So you're just a coward, huh?” He'd meant to spark a reaction. Not have her agree with him.

“Yes, I am.”

He nearly kicked himself for using the word. “You're not a coward. It took a lot of guts for you to get through that party Saturday night when your
friends
kept surprising you.”

“Surprising? Yeah, I guess that's one way to put it. Though humiliating is probably a better one.”

“You going to forgive them for that?”

“I did. They called as much as
you
did the past few days.”

She fell silent, not opening the door but not looking as if she was ready to share his coffee and nibble his bagel, either.

“Mel…”

“Nick…”

“Sorry,” he said with a laugh. Needing to know for sure, he added, “You really are a coward about
some
things, huh?”

“'Fraid so. And you're at the top of the list.” Wincing, she added, “My things-to-be-careful-of list. Not the…
other
one.”

“Fuck the other one,” he couldn't help muttering.

Her rueful laugh told him she wasn't offended. “Uh, I don't think so.”

Well, hell, didn't this blow? For the first time in forever, he'd started to let his guard down around a woman who seemed to want him every bit as much as he wanted her. But the timing was wrong.

Timing. What a stupid word.

Still, he could almost hear the thoughts going through her mind. Hadn't those same thoughts gone through his own whenever he'd even considered getting involved with a woman? The doubts and anger and hurt from the past whispered the loudest when the future looked the most uncertain.

“Okay,” he finally muttered. “But just so you know, I'm not going to let you get away with that for too long.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he explained, reaching over to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear, “that I suspect there's not a cowardly bone in your body. I'm buying it this time, but pretty soon, honey, you won't even be able to sell that line to yourself.”

 

A
TTORNEY
J
ONATHAN
R
HODES HAD
two deep, unwavering loves in his life. One had given him his greatest success, and the other had, in effect, taken it away.

His political ambition had been driving him for as long as he could remember. It had made him excel in law school and, when he'd graduated, had helped him in his quest to become a hotshot in the Savannah legal community. He'd then used his young Turk reputation, letting it parlay him into a congressional seat soon after his thirtieth birthday, achieving the first step of his political dream.

Yes…that political dream had been about to begin, with his first campaign just a small step on the journey. He'd had it in the palm of his hand, seeing his brilliant future laid out in front of him like a red carpet unfurling into eternity.

Then it had happened. His
other
favorite thing had cost him the seat in congress. It was lucky for him that the cops who'd caught him with that hooker up in Washington had been bribable, so the full story had never come out. Bad enough to have to leave D.C. without ever going any further than the house of representatives. But the whole truth could've done a lot worse, including preventing him from returning to his legal profession in Savannah.

So now his political dreams were shelved for the time being, but he was making the best of it. Savannah was home,
his
home of loyalty and suspicion, old values and new ambitions. Of secrets and of sex. He was making waves as the somewhat infamous former congressman turned defense attorney. And he still had time to fully explore his other obsession.

So it wasn't entirely a bad thing to be home, he reminded himself Thursday as he stood in his office looking out toward the Savannah River. Especially when he imagined what he might have missed out on if he'd been up in Washington.

He might not have met
her,
Melody Tanner. The Peacock Feather Girl.

He'd recognized her right away. Considering he still had a poster-size print of her hanging among his collection in a secret room in his apartment, it wasn't too surprising. Her hair was different and she'd aged a bit. She was also a little more filled out than she'd been in her Luscious Lingerie days.

But there was no mistaking those blue eyes that had so perfectly matched the bra and panties she'd been modeling. Not to mention that perfect, creamy skin that had complemented the underclothes so very well.

When they'd been introduced, he'd heard her name and had known for sure. It was her…the model from the lingerie catalog he'd lusted over and dreamed about for years.

It was fate, really. Fate or karma or mere good fortune had brought her into his life, just when he'd given up on ever getting what he had desired for a very long time.