Bedeviled Angel (9 page)

When he did, finally, lean close, Melody's heart tripped, and her insides pulsed in anticipation. Then he grinned, his eyes crinkling with mischief, shattering the taut thread of need inside her, distancing them without separating them, and Melody was grateful.

"Care to tell me which of those soft, skimpy little numbers you're wearing under there?" he asked with a sexy rasp that might have turned her weak at the knees, if she weren't so shocked by the question.

With a gasp, she stepped back and shook her head, denying the request, marveling over the kind of teasing that did not fit her pinstriped image of him, though it unnerved her in a new and different way. He had best not step out of stuffed-shirt mode too often, she thought, too close to caving for her own good.

"I've already seen everything," Logan coaxed.

"Not while I was wearing it, you didn't."

"Hey, I'm willing." The tension eased with Logan's laugh, but Melody was left off balance and wanting. "I'm ready," he said.

Me, too
, she thought, stepping away. "Sorry about my booby-trapped bag," she said, going for safer ground.

"Booby-trapped is right." Logan went to pour a lime seltzer and offer it to her.

When she shook her head, he sipped it thoughtfully. "It wasn't your fault, not really.

You did tell me the zipper was broken."

"Truce, then?" she asked.

"Sure… if you tell me whether you're wearing the red or the black—"

"In your dreams, Kilgarven."

"Right," he said. "Definitely. Can't blame a guy for trying, though. How about lunch?"

"I can't," Melody said, pondering his response. Definitely? Was he dreaming about her the way she had been dreaming about him? She grinned, her spirits uplifted by the possibility. "Sorry, I already have a lunch date."

Logan raised a brow. "Okayyy."

"Don't you want to know who I'm lunching with?"

He turned to shuffle the papers on his desk, pretending disinterest, Melody thought. "Your dates are your business," he said.

"Big of you."

He stopped and gave her a cocky grin. "Hey, I'm a big guy. Anytime you want proof…"

"Proof, I can get elsewhere."

That threw him.

Her turn to smile. "I'm lunching with Nikky."

"Shit!"

MELODY did not return before Logan closeted himself in with Max Peabody, the station owner, and his daughter Tiffany, an educated, cultured young woman with a calm, finishing school polish. A perfect turn of events, Logan thought. He needed a new focus, and an education major could be just the ticket.

Logan gave Tiffany a genuine smile and listened to her enthusiastic, if entry-level ideas on how to promote
The Kitchen Witch
.

It didn't bother him that Melody had a lunch date. He wouldn't care if she said she dated one of the crew, but the fact that she planned to swap stories with Nik had thrown him. Sure, he and Nik had shared a blazing, mutually agreeable, no-strings…

hot and sweaty bout of sex. Okay, so several bouts, which only revealed a healthy sex drive on both their parts. No problem, no looking back. Melody should try it sometime. Several times. With him. Hey, Nik might be piquing Mel's interest right now. Logan grinned.

Tiffany bristled just enough to draw his attention.

"What?" Logan said.

His mind had been drifting while she had been talking. Oops. Logan hoped he'd at least kept her in his sights.

Hey, what was with the gleam in Max's eye?

"So," Tiffany said. "You'll come, then?"

"Sure… but you'll have to remind me of the details closer to the date." Logan took a chance with ambiguity… and got away with it, apparently.

He didn't know what his problem was. Peabody's daughter was attractive and available. She seemed honestly to enjoy his company, and she must like children, or she wouldn't have studied early childhood education. Logan figured he should take her out for his son's sake, if not for his own, but he couldn't seem to come to the point of asking.

Perhaps he could start slow and offer to walk her to the elevator, but he kept blanking on her name. Once, he nearly called her Melody.

As the meeting dragged, Logan's gaze strayed to the clock more often than it should. Not that he was anxious to see Mel; he just wanted to know what Nik said.

As it happened, finding out had to wait, because the next time he saw Mel, she was standing in the parking garage, outside day care, Shane's hand in hers.

They looked good, as if they belonged together, her and Shane, laughing and chatting, and he was an idiot, Logan thought. Melody would never stay around for the long haul. She was made of glitz and sparkle, bright as magic itself, smoke and mirrors, a flash in the pan.

His son was simply enjoying the show. Any kid would.

Mel was like a sea squall—made of nothing but air, but mighty powerful all the same.

Tiffany was more like a spring day, a staying kind of woman, smart, nurturing, stable, a keeper. Tiffany would make a good mother, a good… wife? Logan guessed he'd have to think about that.

Okay, so maybe he enjoyed Melody's magic as much as Shane did. She was sweet, her laugh a treat, but she was also flighty, unable to hold a job, flashy, feisty… habit forming… and Shane adored her. Logan shook his head as he stopped the car in front of them.

If he thought Shane had been talkative that morning, his early energy hardly compared to the enthusiastic, ongoing monologue he delivered on the way home.

Craig, Scott, and Torrie were the names his son repeated most often. They had welcomed him into their exalted circle and taught him any number of new and exciting "games," not all of which pleased Logan.

Shane was especially proud of the fact that they had gotten away with playing while they were supposed to be napping.

At a red light, Logan looked into the rearview mirror and made eye contact with his loquacious son, the sight of him, happy and easy going, still new enough to be a source of pride and not a little gratitude. "Guess you had a good time today, sport."

Shane beamed. "It was bitchin', Dad."

THE word
bitchin'
echoed in the silence, and Logan slid his gaze toward Melody without turning his head, as if such a word from the mouth of a four-year-old did not make him want to jump the seat, shut down the car, and stunt Shane's formative years. Damn it, he didn't know the first thing about being a father.

Melody turned to look out her window, but not before Logan caught her grin.

"You're a big help," he muttered.

Her only response was a muffled squeak.

"This is serious," he said.

"Everything with you is."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, lighten up." Melody nodded toward the backseat, and Logan checked his rearview mirror only to find his son playing a palm-sized video game, as if he had not just dented his father's confidence.

Melody leaned close, distracting Logan with her fresh vanilla scent. "All kids do it," she said, bringing him back.

"Yeah," he said, ceding the point, remembering how he'd passed Cussing 101

with honors… except that Shane was not supposed to be like him. Logan scowled.

"Tell me you're not gonna punish him or something." Melody kept her voice low, her expression mirroring his. "Way to make the word important, Dad."

Damn it, he wasn't any better at this parenting business than Shane's mother.

Good God, what if he was as bad as his own father?

"Glory, Logan, lighten up," Melody said again, watching him.

Logan raised a brow. "Glory?"

"Hey, you'd rather 1 say something like—"

"Never mind. I've resorted to
freaking
, myself, since you know who moved in."

Melody smiled. "Seriously, ease up on him, will you. It's not like he robbed a liquor store or something."

Logan did a double take, nearly missed the turn, and laid rubber as he chose a hard right over a wrought iron fence. Damn! "Sorry about that," he said, three fast heartbeats later, as he glanced in the rearview mirror to catch Shane's grin. "You okay, buddy?"

"Do it again."

"Great," Logan said.

Melody regarded him assessingly. "What was
that
about?"

Logan shrugged. "You okay?"

Melody rolled her eyes. "Sure, roller coasters are my favorite, especially at rush hour."

Logan smiled despite himself. She wasn't a sea squall in their lives; she was a roller coaster, his honest-to-God favorite ride. Hell, no wonder he liked her; spending time with her made him feel as if he was at an amusement park. Figured, what he liked best about her drove him the craziest… fine for a punk juvie with no responsibility, not so fine for a conscientious father.

Logan sighed. "It's the whole discipline thing," he admitted. "Being on the giving end as opposed to the receiving end took me by surprise. Guess I wasn't ready.

Sometimes this parenting business worries me."

"Being
with
him, raising him, listening to him… your daily presence… that's what counts, Logan, take it from me. He can depend on you for anything, and he knows it."

"But he's never needed discipline before."

Melody leaned close. "That's nothing to write home about."

"What?"

"He's been too good," she whispered. "Normal is better."

"Now I've heard it all."

Melody frowned. "You got a problem with normal, Kil-garven?"

"No, but I have a problem with the Melody Seabright version. Hell-o-o—" Logan lowered his voice. "He had a
bitchin'
day at nursery school, remember?"

Melody grinned. "Gotta love a precocious kid."

"Oh, I love him. That's the easy part." The fist around Logan's chest eased, though. Shane could be precocious at times. Probably best if they didn't make a case out of this. Otherwise, the kid might use the word just to get a reaction.

With relief, gratitude, and not a little surprise at the help Mel had been, Logan gave her a wink. "As for precocious, I'd say it takes one to know one."

"Those are not my genes he's carrying," Melody said, taken off guard by a wash of longing. The thought of a child—with Logan's genes and hers—had actually crossed her mind, a mind obviously taking flight.

By the edgy look on Logan's face, it seemed entirely possible that he sensed her longing, or thought the same.

Either way, he seemed no more comfortable with the notion.

Like both of her parents, she was a loner, and she liked it that way. A child of hers would be in deep trouble. The way things stood, she had no one to screw up but herself when unemployment reared its ugly head. Fantasizing about a child—of hers and Logan's, no less—was nothing but a backasswards step into her Barbie and Ken years, way back when Daddy took care of everything… by paying all the bills…