She's Got the Look (26 page)

“Of course,” she said, reaching around him, giving him the view he'd wanted.

Now things were
definitely
heating up. Drake was surprised to realize he was getting a hard-on, right here in the greenroom where people wandered in and out all the time.

Actually, he'd been feeling sexed-up a good bit of the day, ever since he'd had coffee with that photographer, Melody Tanner, this morning. The woman had the kind of mouth that could make a man beg. It'd been damn hard to keep focused on Jonathan Rhodes—and what he might have spilled to Miss Tanner…nothing, apparently—when all he could think about was exactly where he wanted her to put her juicy lips.

“Is that all right?” Marla asked, tucking in the few last errant strands of his hair before she sprayed it into place.

He nodded, not even able to speak, wondering why he was getting a world-class woody merely from sneaking a peek down a woman's shirt, which, frankly, he'd been doing since the age of ten.

He was usually much more controlled. Having had a lot of sexual experience—a
whole
lot—he'd become adept at keeping cool at inappropriate times. Usually it was no problem. But now…well, though he tried a few mental tricks, Drake Junior simply wasn't obeying orders. His faithful friend just kept swelling up until big Drake had to shift in his seat.

Even the thought of the ugly scene he'd had in the parking lot forty minutes ago couldn't calm things down. He'd been ambushed by a woman he'd been banging before Angie, who'd chosen now—two months after he'd ditched her—to confront him about it. The thought of the anger in her face should have been enough to shift his cock into standby mode, but even that didn't help.

“Watch your eyes,” Marla said as she coated his black hair with another layer of strong spray. When she was done, she put the bottle down and looked at him quizzically. “Are you going to be all right?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he mumbled, feeling hot all over. Particularly in the groin. Too bad he had to go on the air in ten minutes, because with the size and strength of his hard-on, he could undoubtedly turn Marla into a fan for life.

“Now you're getting flushed. Want me to get you your soda?”

Nodding, he watched her in the mirror. She jiggled as she walked to the other side of the greenroom to pick up the large foam cup he'd put there when he'd arrived.

He could definitely use his drink, because the cup didn't contain soda. With a hefty tip, the bartender at the place where Drake had stopped for dinner had been accommodating enough to put a Sea Breeze in a to-go cup, any hint of alcohol nicely disguised by the strong smell of grapefruit juice.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Marla asked after she'd brought it back over and handed it to him.

Oh, he could definitely think of one or two things. He smiled, wondering how she'd react if he took his hand off his lap and let her figure out exactly what he wanted her to do for him.

But no. Angie had taught him a serious lesson about messing around with anybody at work. “Thanks, Marla, but I'm fine.”

She gave him another smile—so pretty, so young and sweet—and then sauntered out, her little butt wagging. When he was alone in the greenroom, he rose from his stool, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. He actually almost stumbled, although that was probably no wonder, considering his dick was throbbing so much he was ready to fuck the first thing that moved.

“Down, good buddy,” he murmured under his breath before lifting his drink and sucking from the straw. Hopefully the alcohol would help him get through the next half hour.

Putting the nearly empty cup on the counter, he tapped his chest and took a deep breath. “Got to leave some juice for the old ticker.” It probably wasn't so great for his heart to have nearly every ounce of blood in his body centered in his wanker.

Still, as he walked out of the greenroom toward the sound-stage, he had to admit it felt good to know he was strong and virile enough to be able to get it rock hard, without even touching a woman, only a year after open heart surgery. Damn good.

And as soon as the eleven-o'clock news was over, he was going to say to hell with it, find Marla the makeup girl, and screw her until she couldn't walk anymore.

 

M
ELODY TOLD
Nick everything.

It wasn't easy. It wasn't pretty. And she couldn't do it without switching from tea to wine.

As if knowing she needed her space, Nick didn't sit with her on the couch, where she'd curled up with one arm wrapped around her upraised legs. Instead he'd taken a seat on the floor, his long legs crossed in front of him, one forearm resting on the seat of a chair.

Just looking at him down there, his thick hair tousled, his lean jaw lightly stubbled and his brown eyes so attentive made her shiver in reaction. Trying to disguise that, she sipped from her glass. The warmth of the rich red wine oozed through her body, helping her forget she was revealing some of her most painful memories to someone who'd made incredible love to her forty-eight hours ago. Who'd given her multiple orgasms and left her hungry for more. Many more.

“First man-induced orgasms I've had in a long time,” she murmured, not even realizing she was speaking out loud until she saw Nick's brow shoot up.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

Hell, once she'd gotten over her anger at him for investigating her, she'd spilled her guts to the man. After what she'd revealed, Melody had absolutely no blushes left. So she certainly didn't feel any heat rising to her cheeks as she explained, “Before Tuesday night, it'd been…a long time since I'd been intimate with anyone. In fact, that night at Rosemary's was the first time I'd had a man's hands on me in over two years.”

A flash of something hot and sexual appeared in his eyes, but just as quickly disappeared. “So you stopped sleeping with the prick with the drill long before the end of your marriage?”

She laughed softly, amused at how Nick had zoned in on Bill's nickname—the one she used with her friends, and in her own brain. “Yes. Like I said, it wasn't only the rumors of Bill's infidelity…which I strongly suspected but couldn't entirely prove. But it was how wild those rumors were. I became…
cold.
I guess that's the word. He left me cold.”

On the chair, his fingers curled into a fist. His voice low, he said, “You are not cold, Melody Tanner.”

She met his eyes, took strength from the attraction and warmth she saw there, then explained, “But I grew cold with
him.
As he did with me. There was no intimacy. How could I have trust and intimacy with a man who used to take out my modeling scrapbooks and show them to anybody who came to our house?” Sipping again and shaking her head, she fell silent.

“Like you were a trophy in a case,” he murmured, understanding without further explanation.

“Exactly. Can you imagine what it was like sitting at a dinner table with three other couples, knowing…just
knowing
…the men were remembering the first time they saw that peacock feather picture?” She shuddered. “Not to mention their wives who had to hate my guts.”

“Nobody could hate you. If anything, I'm sure it made them see Bill for what he was.”

“Yes. A collector. I was a prize, one he wanted other people to envy him over. The Peacock Feather Girl, the swimsuit model. The fantasy…not the real woman.
She
didn't interest him. Especially once the initial excitement of his possession wore off.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Thank God.”

Nick's entire body appeared tense, and his jaw was almost granite as he gruffly said, “You should know, since it's been an issue for you in the past, I don't…I've
never
had anything I could pass on to you. It makes me
sick
that a husband would put his wife at risk like that.”

She immediately knew what he meant, and though they'd used a condom the other night, she appreciated him saying it. “Thank you,” she whispered. Even after all these years, and even though she'd had absolutely no regrets about making love with Nick, something inside her warmed and unfurled at his openness. Maybe because she'd never had it before. “And for the record, the worst never happened. I'm—”

“You don't need to say another word,” he replied, still looking almost ferocious. On her behalf, she knew.

She imagined this man would be something to see if he ever truly got enraged at someone.

“He's never quite gotten over you walking out on him—denying him his prize. Has he.” It wasn't a question.

“No, I don't think he has, judging by the phone calls and the way he spoke to me when he was here.”

That did spark an even stronger reaction from Nick. He shot straight up, rising to his feet, his fists clenched and his eyes blazing. “He was here? In Savannah?”

“In this building,” she admitted. Still hating to remember the ugly scene, she explained, “The day we met. Do you remember when I was trying to move the mattress? That was why I was so stressed out that day. Bill had said he was in town on business and thought he'd stop in to say hello. What he really wanted was to gloat and show off the new Rolex he bought with
my
money.”

“Did you ask him what the hell kind of business he was doing? I thought he got all your money because he claimed he could never be in business again?”

“Good point,” she admitted with a soft laugh. “He said he was involved in something ‘big' with some businessmen here in town, again taunting me about what he had that I didn't. I asked him to leave me alone. To be content with what he'd taken from me, to go on with his life and let me go on with mine. That's all I'd ever wanted.”

“To go on with your life, just have him leave you alone?”

She nodded. “It seemed reasonable, and frankly, I thought the financial trade-off was worth it. Otherwise, I might have fought the judge's decision. Or at least dragged my feet, making him work harder for his victory.”

Nick paced across the floor, his boots pounding against the hardwood, revealing his anger. “And what happened? Did he do as you asked? Did he leave you alone?”

“Well, he hasn't stopped calling, that's for sure,” she said with a disgusted frown.

He finally stopped pacing, leaning against the arm of the couch and looking down at her. “Melody, do you think he could have had anything to do with what happened to Jonathan Rhodes?”

She immediately shook her head, the response instinctive. “No. He's a bully and an ass, but I don't think he's a murderer.”

Nick didn't appear convinced. “It's amazing what people will resort to when their pride is at stake.”

That certainly was an understatement. “Right. Like climbing up onto a billboard and vandalizing it.”

Some of the tension seemed to leave him and he managed a slight smile. “Yeah. Like that. But he's lucky you reacted with a paintbrush. Believe me, in the four years I've been on the force, I've seen wives resort to guns, knives and frying pans a lot more often.”

“Maybe if he'd come home that night, I would have reacted violently…directly at him. Instead I lashed out at his billboard, knowing I'd hit him where it would hurt the most—his pocketbook.”

He grunted. “Which is why it totally blows that he got all your money because of it.”

“Yeah, it totally blows,” she said with a deep laugh.

Her own laughter amazed her, and she froze, realizing what she'd just done. She'd never thought she'd be able to laugh about that awful night. But somehow, talking about it to Nick had seemed to open up something inside her. To allow her to let go of some of the humiliation and rage and view it from his perspective. God…to
laugh
about it.

Nick reached over to the coffee table and picked up his half-empty bottle of beer. After he sipped from it, he murmured, “There's one thing I don't get.”

“What?”

He hesitated for a brief second, staring into her eyes as if gauging whether or not to continue.

“What?”

“Tell me why you're so sure you're not ready to move on with your life. I mean, despite what happened between us Tuesday night, I don't think you've fully recognized yourself as the woman I see. The woman most of the world sees.”

His words took her completely by surprise. She'd been expecting something else on the murder investigation. Not something so personal. “I don't quite follow.”

“I mean,” he continued, “if you were totally messed up in the head about why he didn't want you—why he cheated—maybe I could understand you having some kind of confidence issues. Relationship issues.” He slowly moved down to sit beside her on the couch. His khaki-clad hips were just a few inches from hers, but they didn't touch. But it
felt
like they were touching.

Suddenly the air felt warmer, and she began to tingle. Not from the wine, but from something much more intoxicating. This sweet-talking, incredibly sexy man.

Who seemed determined to psychoanalyze her.

“But it sounds to me like you know exactly the way your ex's mind worked. You know it wasn't you—it had
nothing
to do with you. So why is your confidence still shaky?”

Melody didn't know what to say and not only because his physical proximity seemed to be sapping all her energy and her brain power. Nick's question was nothing she hadn't asked herself. Bill's betrayals, his attitudes, his obsessiveness had all been obvious from early on. Nick was entirely right: she'd still let the failure of their marriage—and even her husband's cheating—weigh on her as if they'd been her fault. Yes, she'd worked up the nerve to have an incredible, sinfully delightful sexual encounter with Nick, but in her mind, she'd never stopped wondering when the other shoe was going to drop. When Nick was going to see whatever it was that Bill had seen in her. What he'd found lacking.