She's Got the Look (21 page)

“Oh, yes, I certainly do,” he said, his tone wry. “Rosemary's folks must like you a lot.”

“They were like my family when I was growing up. I spent more time at Rosemary's house than I did at my own, sometimes spending days at a time there. I pretended she and Deidre were my sisters and Brian my pesky, spying brother.”

Most people would chalk that up to typical childhood stuff, when kids would practically take up residence in each other's houses during long, endless summers. Somehow, though, Nick saw past that to the truth she hadn't been revealing. “A real home, huh? A way to get away from the commercials and the photo shoots and the parties? An escape from the life everyone must have thought was perfect…everyone but you?”

Her jaw dropped. How the man had gotten that much information out of what she'd thought was a relatively normal comment, she had absolutely no idea. But he was one-hundred-percent dead-on.

Yes, Rosemary's family had been a little better off than the average middle schooler's. Still, their lives had been
way
more normal than Melody's. At least there was a mom and a dad, a sister and a brother in Rosemary's house.

Melody had only ever had directors and photographers. Designers and PR experts. And of course, through it all, her mother. Jessica Tanner hadn't been what anybody could describe as a Betty Crocker type. More like a Joan Crawford.

“How did you know that?” she finally asked, wondering if she was really so easy to read. Had the resentment she'd felt toward her mother for all those years
not
gone away, as she thought it had? Did something in her eyes betray the fact that she'd wanted to jump for joy when Jessica had moved to Europe with her new husband, and had barely even called for the past several months…so she had no idea about the divorce? Or had she just had a “poor little rich kid” tone in her voice?

“Me and my brother spent most of our summers at my cousin Virgil's house when we were kids. Maybe not for the same reasons you stayed at Rosemary's. But maybe not so far off, either.” A shadow darkened his eyes. “It was sort of a normal life at his place. Definitely better than being home alone with our dad when our mama was at work.”

His tight tone and the stiffness of his shoulders told her there was a wealth of meaning below his comment, and she wondered if he'd meant to reveal so much. Probably not. Nick was a contradictory man—at times flirtatious, at times dead serious—but so far, he hadn't been the type to reveal his feelings. Other than desire, of course.

So, no, she doubted he was trying to start some kind of “whose childhood sucked more” conversation with her. Which was almost too bad. Because as much as she loathed the thought of telling anyone about her crazy upbringing, she'd like to know more about Nick's. Every time she met him, she grew more and more curious about what made him tick.

Remembering something he'd said once—about his hometown being hell—she couldn't help wondering what Nick's life had really been like. What had prompted his shotgun wedding at the age of eighteen, and his quickie divorce? Had that thrust him into his military career, where he'd obviously charged full steam ahead into the danger zones from which others were fleeing?

She wanted to know. Wanted to understand him because then, maybe, she'd be able to make sense of the almost brain-zapping attraction she'd felt for Nick Walker since the first time she'd laid eyes on him. Even more…maybe she'd be able to figure out what to do with that attraction. Shove it into oblivion, in the furthest recesses of her mind?

Or grab it in both hands and
have
the man right on her living-room floor.

After being away from him for four long, lonely, hungry days, the living-room floor was looking better and better.

Stalling so she wouldn't have to decide what to do, she headed toward the kitchen. “I was about to put a pot of water on the stove,” she explained. “I'm making some pasta for dinner.”

“Good. I haven't eaten yet.”

She paused in the doorway to the kitchen, giving him an arched look over her shoulder. “You inviting yourself to dinner?”

Offering her a lazy smile and a slow nod, he followed her. “Uh-huh. That okay?”

There was that cockiness again. So why did she suddenly find it cute instead of annoying? “As long as you remember that I am not using my wiles to finagle you into a dinner date.”

“Given the way you said you cook, I definitely don't consider myself finagled.”

“That's not much of a way to get invited,” she retorted.

“I already was invited. By me. Remember?”

Laughing helplessly, she nodded. “Okay. But remember, certain topics remain out of bounds.”

“Like the
L
word?”

She nodded, glad he instantly knew what she meant. “Right. You say the word
list
or mention dead lawyers wearing my underwear and I'm kicking you to the curb.”

He stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

Before thinking better of it, she reached for his hand, to shake it and seal their bargain.

Bad move. Oh, Lord, bad move. Because his touch was so warm, so strong. Firm. Electric.

Their palms slid against one another, their fingers almost entwining. Nick's hands were firm, a little rough, not a soft dentist's hands like the only ones that had touched her intimately for most of her adult life. His were a man's hands. A lover's hands.

They touched absolutely nowhere else. But suddenly Melody felt more intimately caressed than she had in her entire marriage. “Nick…”

“It's okay,” he murmured, immediately understanding. As if to emphasize that, he pulled his hand away, looking at it with a somewhat dazed expression for one second before fisting it and shoving it into his pocket. “A friendly dinner, Melody. That's all I'm asking for. No lists, no panties. No stolen kisses.” A wicked half smile tugged at his lips and his eyes twinkled. “No talk of sensual late nights with sweet-smelling air and pools of moonlight on the bed.”

She gulped, her body immediately growing warm and aware, remembering the sultry words he'd said to her on the street the day after they'd met at the diner. “Yeah. Right. None of that.”

“We're only two people getting to know each other,” he added softly, stepping a few inches closer, until the tips of his shoes almost touched her bare toes.

She swayed a bit, drawn by his warmth, wanting to breathe a little deeper, to fall a little farther, to fill her head with the spicy scent that was unique to this man's skin. “Yes.” She slid her foot forward, her eyelids growing heavy as a slow, languorous sort of want oozed through her veins. “Are you sure this doesn't break your no-dating rules?”

“This isn't a date,” he whispered.

“Just a friendly dinner.”

“Right.”

So why was she already so tense, on edge, ready to jump right out of her skin?

“Melody,” he said, his voice low and intense, “there's one catch. One thing I need to say…that I want you to know.”

Oh, no. He was involved. He was in love. He was impotent.

“I know I'm not supposed to bring up the
L
word, but I have to tell you this before we…go any further.”

She scrunched her eyes closed, preparing for the worst.

“I'm glad you didn't do it.
Really
glad.”

Opening one eye, she peered at him. “You what?”

As if he could read her mind, he grinned. Pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing them in front of his chest, he admitted, “What, did you think I was going to say you were right that first day and I like guys?”

“I am pretty sure we've established that you don't.”

“I still haven't quite forgiven you for ever thinking it.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “I wasn't thinking entirely clearly that morning.”

“I remember.” His smile faded. “But you were clear enough to know you weren't going to hop into bed with somebody just because you'd given yourself permission to six years ago.”

Melody's jaw dropped.

Nick reached up and ran the back of his finger along her cheek, across her chin, finally scraping it over her lips, which she instantly snapped shut.

“What are you saying?” Her voice was thready and weak.

He met her stare, something warm and intense making his dark brown eyes glow. “I guess I'm saying I harassed you so much, gave you such grief about it, because I didn't
want
to be a name on a list to you. I wanted you to shoot me down.”

There was a strange note of vulnerability in his voice, which got to her more deeply than his words. For all his tough-guy persona and his no-nonsense-cop attitude, Nick Walker had the same deep-down worries and concerns that she did.

He didn't want to be used. Didn't want to be taken advantage of. Didn't want it to mean nothing.

Which was exactly the way Melody had been feeling. She simply hadn't admitted it to that extent, hiding behind the pretext that a man like Nick would be too hard to walk away from and that she didn't have the nerve to risk another heartbreak.

She'd been telling him that she was a coward. Weak. And this man, this big, strong, thoughtful man, had just basically admitted the same thing.

Amazing what his words did. Because as she stood there in the doorway to the kitchen, absorbing the fact that Nick, too, was afraid of being used, she began to feel a surge of strength. Her blood pounded in her veins and her head cleared, as if someone had blasted her with a heady dose of fresh air.

She suddenly felt sure of herself. Sure of what she wanted…at least for right now. She was suddenly brave.
Ready.

“I understand,” she said. “And you're right…I wouldn't have jumped into bed with someone for the sake of getting back in the singles game.” Willing him to understand, she admitted, “I know I need to move on—my friends are right about that. But my list definitely wasn't the way to do it.”

He nodded. “I know.” Then, his lips curling in a tiny smile, he added, “So maybe dinner is a good start.”

“Dinner?” He still wanted to eat, while she was beginning to realize that maybe she had grown some guts back? That maybe she was ready to reach out and take the man she knew, the man she
wanted
…not merely the one she'd dreamed about six years ago?

“Yeah,” he continued, still delicately caressing her jaw. “If you don't mind, I'd really like to stay for dinner. No lists, no ugly divorces, no murder investigations. Just you and me, starting over.” He moved his hand, now cupping her entire cheek, and she couldn't resist curling into his palm. “Starting
something,
” he concluded.

Starting something. Oh, those words were so simple but so surprisingly heady. Melody had always liked being at the start of something new, with glorious possibilities lying in wait ahead of her on the path.

The glorious possibilities with Nick Walker might be beyond anything she'd ever imagined. It simply remained to take that first step and see what happened. “Starting something. I think I like that idea.” She rubbed her cheek against his warm skin, until her lips brushed the fleshy part of his palm.

Nick's breaths grew more deep. “Me, too,” he said softly. “Let's not think about what's next. Let's just…start.”

Yes. That's exactly what she wanted to do. Somehow, all those doubts, those crazy wonderings about Bill and his other women and her own shortcomings didn't seem to matter right now. Despite a few hiccups with murdered lawyers and stolen underwear, things in Savannah were going well. When she evaluated it, she thought she might even have to describe herself as happy. For the first time in a very long time.

There were no whispering voices of doubt telling her to back off, to play it safe. Maybe they would have if Nick had kissed her passionately and said, “Let's go to bed.” But he hadn't. He simply wanted to have dinner. To start.

And after waiting a long, difficult six years, Melody realized she was ready to do just that. Oh, yes, she was definitely ready.

Only, she didn't merely want dinner. She wanted something much more dangerous. She wanted to be in the arms of a man who'd admitted he was almost as afraid of being used as she was.

Really, when she thought about it, there was only one way for them to move forward. To
start.
And that's exactly what she wanted to do.

“Nick?” she said, continuing to rub her lips, then the tip of her tongue, over his palm.

His eyes were closed, his breaths even deeper. Which somehow gave Melody the courage to say, “Can we
start
by making love?”

N
ICK HAD BEEN PREPARED
for a lot of things when he'd shown up at Melody's door. A lousy dinner and some good company. Some laughter. Some concern about the murder and worries about lists.

Not this. Not a sinfully sexy invitation from a woman he'd wanted since the minute he'd laid eyes on her. “Melody…”

“Shh,” she whispered, delicately kissing the inside of his hand, then nibbling a path to his wrist.

Her touch sizzled, fried him completely. Made every nerve ending in his body come right to attention in anticipation of where that sexy mouth would land next.

He could definitely make some suggestions.

But he couldn't go forward, not without being sure
she
was sure. And not without knowing why she'd changed her mind. “I didn't come here to pressure you,” he said, the words hard to push out of his tight throat.

“I know.” She stepped closer, until the front of her body—clad in a loose sundress that scooped low over her mouthwatering curves—brushed against the front of his shirt. “Now
I'm
pressuring
you.
”

He hesitated for a second, wanting it, wanting
her,
but wondering if he'd be a world-class shit for taking her when a few days ago she'd practically begged him for more time.

The woman had been through a hell of a lot in the past couple of weeks. A stalking ex-husband, pushy friends who kept embarrassing her. A twisted pervert murdered after stealing her lingerie.

And him. The guy who'd spent practically every minute he'd known her either harassing her or trying to get into her pants.

Nick dug down and found some deep reservoir of nobility. “You don't have to do this.”

She was silent for a second. During that second, he decided nobility was overrated.

“I know. I
want
to do this.”

He restrained from shouting hallelujah, but just barely.

Straightening, she looked him in the face, her blue eyes clear and unhesitating. “This isn't about any list or any past desires or any long-term plans for the future. It's about now. Being true to what I really want for the first time in as long as I can remember.” She reached up and pushed at the strap of her sundress, until it fell from her shoulder. Then she pushed at the other one. “And what I really want is you.”

Her softly spoken words repeated in his ears and he stared searchingly into her lovely face.

“So, Nick,” she whispered, reaching up to run the tip of her finger over the top hem of her dress, “Can I have you? Please?”

Could she have him? A bigger question might have been, did he have anything to give? What he could possibly have to offer this funny, sexy, beautiful woman, he really had no idea.

He was a cop making lousy money. An ex-marine who'd seen too much ugliness. A good old boy who'd never set foot inside a college classroom. A bad-tempered divorcé who didn't believe in love and had been estranged from his family for ten years.

God in heaven, why would she
want
him?

And more importantly, why should he get to have
her?

“Stop thinking about it, Nick,” she said. “I see you analyzing it, but just stop.” She didn't wait for his reply. Instead, she gave one tiny push. The dress gapped down, then fell to the floor.

“Oh, God,” he whispered, closing his eyes. It was his only defense. Because Melody looked like sin in silk.

Finally looking at her again, he let his gaze linger on the lacy, skimpy, strapless bra that pushed up from the bottom but did little to cover the top curves of her full breasts. Below that, a skimpier pair of panties barely covered the sexy triangle between her legs.

He wondered where the upset, nervous woman had disappeared to. Because standing in front of him was Eve incarnate.

“I'm not going to regret it,” she whispered, as if reading his mind. Her hand rose, shaking a little as she placed it on his chest. “If I'm going to start my life over, I want it to be now, with you, being as intimate as two people can get. I need you, Nick. I need this even if whatever we start doesn't last any longer than until tomorrow.”

That was all it took. That certainty. And her nearly naked body swaying toward his, silently begging as much as promising.

He was lost.

Wrapping one arm around her waist, Nick tugged her tightly against him and covered her mouth with his. She tasted warm and earthy, like the rich red wine she'd been sipping, and like sweet, tempting woman.

He licked at her full, soft lips, groaning when she parted them and met his tongue with her own. The kiss deepened, giving and taking, lethargic desire making every stroke a sensual delight, until he felt sure he knew every intimate detail of her mouth. He could hardly wait to know every intimate detail of her body.

Kissing this woman needed to go on a list of his own—the list of the top-ten pleasures of his life. He'd say it was number one…but he had a feeling that spot was going to be taken pretty quickly by what was going to happen next.

Needing to taste even more of her, to breathe deeply and inhale her soft, flowery fragrance, he ran his mouth along her jaw, then to the most delectable skin below her ear. Sucking lightly on her neck, he nibbled her earlobe before growling, “Where, Mel?”

She moaned and arched her head back, silently inviting him to taste his way down her throat, until he pressed a wet, openmouthed kiss to the vulnerable hollow. “Here. Touch me here,” she replied, moaning deeply as she took his hand and laced her fingers through his, before pulling it to her breast.

He groaned again as her soft mound filled his palm, unable to resist pushing the bra down so he could slide his fingers over its taut tip. She hissed when he caught the sweet, pebbled nipple between two fingers and stroked it, rolled it, lightly squeezing it until she was almost shuddering.

“I've been thinking about this for days,” he whispered.

“So have I,” she admitted. “Years.”

He stiffened, unable to help it. “I don't want to hear about the years, Melody. Not the years I was just a nameless stranger to you, a picture in a magazine.”

“That's not what I meant.” She cupped his face, running her fingers through his hair and holding him still so she could meet his eyes. Hers were clear, honest, genuine. “I meant, I've been dreaming of making absolutely incredible love—for the first time in my
life
—for years. I've fantasized about wanting someone as much as I want you
right this very minute
for as long as I can remember. Because I've never had that, Nick. Never.”

Even as he nearly groaned at the thought that this amazing woman had never had a decent sex life, a part of him—a big part—was damn glad he was going to be the first man to show her just how incredible it could be.

He'd show her that if it killed him.

Running his free hand up her back, he reached for the clasp of her bra and unfastened it. When it fell to the floor, he looked down at her beautiful breasts, heaving and tight, smooth and round and positively delicious.

Melody closed her eyes, arching her back in an unmistakable invitation. She wanted more…more of his hands, more of his mouth. More of everything.

Bending low, he held her around the waist with one arm while exploring one breast, then the other. Sampling here and nibbling there, he teased her, tasted her, licked her, blew on her…not taking one of those sensitive tips into his mouth until she was literally shaking in his arms and panting.

Only when she was frenzied, begging almost incoherently for more, did he cover her with his mouth and suck hard. She cried out, muttering, “Yes, yes, yes,” as he thoroughly suckled her. Twining her fingers in his hair, she held him tight to one breast, while with one hand he toyed with her other nipple, until she was whimpering and muttering needful things. Hungry things. Erotic things.

She tasted so sweet, her body a heady mix of a gentle fragrance and musky woman. And she felt so good, with her soft skin against his rough cheek.

“Where, Melody?” he growled against her breast, needing to know whether she wanted him here, now, or up against the wall in her living room? Or on the bed. Or the kitchen counter. Hell, he'd have her on the hard wood floor, as long as he got to
have
her.

She misunderstood again. This time, when she grabbed his hand, she was almost rough as she pushed it down her body…down over her soft belly. Then lower, until he was skimming the thin elastic waistband of her panties with the tip of his pinky.

“Here,” she cried as she arched her hips forward to take that intimate touch. “Please, Nick, touch me here.”

He didn't need to be asked twice. Closing his eyes, he dipped lower, tangling his fingers in her soft curls until he found her swollen clit and scraped a slow caress across it.

“Oh, Nick,” she cried, her weight growing heavier against his arm as her legs began to shake. “Please don't stop,” she cried.

He pushed her panties down, letting them fall to the floor. Continuing to stroke her with his thumb—to tease and tempt and arouse her—he watched as her excitement grew. With her hair wildly tangled around her face, her lips apart and a flush of color splashed over her cheeks, she looked every inch a woman being pleasured.

He'd never seen her looking more beautiful.
Never.

“Where?”
he growled, not sure himself now what he was asking. Because he was having a grand old time letting her dictate where she wanted his touch next.

She didn't answer with words. Instead, she tilted toward him, pushing her pelvis into his palm, inviting him to explore deeper. When he did—when he sank his finger into her tight, wet channel and felt her clench around him—they both began to pant and heave at the intimacy of it.

“Oh, yes,
there.
”

Not really caring anymore if she wanted it on a soft bed or up against a hard wall, he grabbed her by the hips and lifted her so she could wrap those amazing legs of hers around his waist. She rubbed against his cock, taking her pleasure as she had that night in Rosemary's office. But this time only
his
clothes separated him from the hot, steamy place where he planned to lose himself for ages.

Carrying her to the couch, he continued kissing her, pausing only to let her push his shirt up and toss it to the floor. Her cool hands memorized his body while she bit and licked and sucked as much of his neck and shoulder as she could reach with her hungry mouth. As if she couldn't get enough of him.

It was almost painful to let her go, let her drop to the couch so he could take off the rest of his clothes. But he didn't plan to be separated from her for long.

Remembering the condom he'd tucked into his pocket—just in case—he grabbed it and tossed it onto the coffee table. Then he reached for his belt buckle.

“Uh-uh,” she muttered, her eyes devouring him. “Not so fast. It's
my
turn.”

 

M
ELODY REALIZED
how crazy with need she was when she saw the way her own hand shook as she lifted it toward Nick's slim hips. It was intense, overwhelming, this desire. She wanted Nick Walker so much she could hardly think, could barely breathe. Any questions that had been in her mind before tonight were completely gone, replaced entirely by hunger.

Because she was about to get what she'd wanted for
years.

She hadn't been kidding when she'd told Nick that for the first time in her life, she was going to have some really fabulous sex.

The sex she'd had before her marriage had been uninspiring. The sex she'd had during her marriage had been boring.

This sex…well, she already knew it was going to be mind-blowing. Worth waiting a lifetime for.

Any lingering doubts about whether the sexual problems she'd had with Bill had been her fault—because she really was pretty but passionless, as he'd accused her of being—had completely evaporated. With Nick she felt not merely passionate but positively on fire. She needed him to do everything to her, with her. Once and then over and over again until the rest of the world ceased to exist.

She was shaking, flying, quivering, her entire body feeling like one giant nerve ending that sparked in reaction whenever he brushed the tips of his fingers over her. Or kissed her. Or licked her. “Oh, yes….”

Almost dying from the excitement, she reached for Nick's belt. Unfastening it, she slid the black leather out of each loop of his jeans with agonizing slowness, to heighten the delicious anticipation. Hers
and
his. Funny how desperate hunger was suddenly making her want to slow things down, to draw everything out so she could savor it. After she'd unfastened the metal button of his jeans, she even stopped completely.

Scooting to sit on the edge of the couch, she parted her legs and tugged Nick closer, until he stood between them. The rough denim scraped against her inner thighs and she quivered in response. “I've wanted you between my legs since the first time I laid eyes on you. You know that, don't you?”

“I know.” Then, as she brushed her bare breasts against his jean-covered hips, he groaned. “Melody…”

“Where?” she said, mimicking his sensual strategy. She leaned close, knowing her slow, steady breaths were touching his skin, increasing his tension. “
Where,
Nick?”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head back. “Anywhere. Everywhere.”

A half inch more and she was brushing her lips over the ropy muscles striping his flat stomach. His hiss of pleasure urged her on. Smiling, she licked ever so lightly, right beneath the top of his waistband. His hiss turned into a groan.

“Honey,” he said, his tone almost desperate. “You've got to let me…”

“I'm doing just fine.” And
finally
she began to unzip.