Enchanting Melody (8 page)

M
el
couldn't bear to drag herself out of bed until half past noon. There was something about Will's bed that made her want to linger there. She'd heard Stephanie rave about Egyptian-cotton sheets and down pillows, but Melody hadn't put much stock in such things—until now.

Will's bed must have been outfitted with only the best, because right now, as she spread herself out on the soft sheets, she felt like she was being cradled in a cloud.

Suddenly Melody sat straight up in bed. Whoa. She had to get a grip on herself. She'd run into trouble once already when she let herself go all mushy for this guy. A trip to the shower was what she needed. That would clear her head.

But instead, as hot water streamed over her from dual shower heads, Mel slipped further into the lap of luxury. Somewhere in the back of her head she knew she could have provided many of these comforts for herself, but she'd always taken a certain pride in not relying on minor conveniences.

Mel had never fit the mold of a trust-fund baby, anyway. She had a decent relationship with her father, but her mother controlled the purse strings. And that relationship was tumultuous enough that she secretly expected to be disinherited by thirty. Besides, she was an artist—and artists were destined to suffer.

For today, drinking burnt coffee from Will's fancy coffeemaker would be the extent of her suffering. She'd briefly considered making a fresh pot, but there were so many knobs and buttons, she didn't have the patience to figure it out.

As the warmth and caffeine of the coffee began to fire up her neurons, Melody could no longer ignore the rumbling in her stomach. “What's he got in here to eat?” she wondered out loud, moving toward the refrigerator.

The narrow kitchen was outfitted with matching black-and-white appliances, some of which she recognized—coffeemaker, toaster oven—and some of which she didn't.

“What is that? Some kind of food processor?” she asked no one in particular, staring at a large black box with a clear plastic container mounted on top.

Melody was no whiz in the kitchen on her best day, but it was an understatement to say Will's setup was more sophisticated than most. More out of curiosity than a genuine desire to cook, Mel studied Will's stove with rapt fascination.

Close inspection revealed that there were no protruding knobs or buttons
anywhere
on the stove—just a large LCD panel that displayed the time and date.

“Wow, there's no way to turn this thing on,” she muttered, running her hands over the smooth brushed steel.

Suddenly the time and date cleared from the digital panel and were replaced with a greeting message.

“Good afternoon!” said a female voice from the stove.

Melody leapt back so far she banged into the counter, knocking over a spice rack. Holding a hand to her heaving chest, Mel surveyed the demon stove before her. “Good Lord, how do I turn this freaking thing off?” she shouted.

Immediately, the digital display blinked off, and Melody ran out of the kitchen, vowing never to go back.

Later, still wrapped in nothing but Will's warm terrycloth robe, Mel ate grapes by the handful in front of the wide-screen TV. Her angry stomach had overcome her fear of the stove, and she'd raided the refrigerator for non-cook items.

By two o'clock, Melody had begun to get bored. It was amazing how, even with five hundred channels, she couldn't find anything on television to hold her interest. Rising from the sofa, Mel began to prowl around the apartment.

Melody wandered into the spare bedroom Will used as an office. Sitting down with a sheet of typing paper, she found herself sketching Will.

This time, instead of focusing on his face, she concentrated on his body. Melody now had intimate knowledge of every smooth ridge of muscle cording his body. As her fingers transferred their tactile memories to paper, she automatically sheathed him in the form-fitting unitard of a comic-book hero. Will was the closest thing to a superhero she'd ever encountered in real life.

He moved with the fluidity and grace of a cat. And, he had lightning-quick reflexes, which she had discovered on the dance floor every time she'd stumbled and he'd caught her.

The sudden trill of the telephone ringing interrupted her thoughts.

Her first instinct was to ignore it. But what if Will needed to reach her? A slow smile spread across her face at the thought of another possibility. The hope that it could be Will's date from the restaurant made her snatch up the phone with wicked anticipation.

“Hello?”

“Melody, I'm glad you picked up,” Will said from the other end of the line.

“Oh, it's you.”

He snorted. “Thanks, I missed you, too.”

“Sorry. By the way, did you know your stove is possessed?”

He laughed. “Oh yeah, I should have warned you about that. These apartments are outfitted with ultramodern appliances.”

“No kidding. I nearly had a heart attack when the stove started talking to me.”

“One of these days I need to read the manual on that thing. Needless to say, I eat out a lot.”

“Smart man.”

“Listen, I'm calling because something's come up here at the office. One of the associates just made partner and we're all expected to attend a cocktail party in his honor.”

“No problem, I'll just head back downtown.”

“Actually, I was hoping you'd come down to the restaurant and meet me.”

Mel's mind went blank. “What do you mean? After everyone leaves?”

“No, it's being held at the bar on the ground floor of my office building. I just need to make an appearance there. Then we can leave and do whatever you want.”

She stared at the phone as though it were a foreign object. “Will, you know the only clothes I have with me are the ones I came over wearing.”

He paused for a second. “I know. If you want, my washer and dryer is located behind the door off from the kitchen. And feel free to steal anything you want from my closet. You're an artist, I know you can pull something together with your typical flare. I don't care what you have on, I just want to see you.”

Melody got directions and hung up the phone. A mix of emotions flooded her mind. The first and strongest feeling was flattery.

He trusted her to show up in whatever crazy getup she could pull together. Will really
got
her. Nothing in his tone implied that he expected her to run down to Saks and buy something more suitable. He was letting her know he accepted her just the way she was.

And while the largest part of her was flattered that Will wanted to see her no matter how she showed up looking, another part of her—the rebellious part—was challenged. Didn't he think she
could
clean up well? Her previous failed attempt aside, just because she chose to buck the trends didn't mean she wasn't able to make herself presentable when necessary.

A wicked grin formed on her lips. It was perfect that he was expecting her to show up with her “typical flair” as he'd put it. But Will was in for a surprise.

 

Will stationed himself near the opening to the private room in the Minute Man Pub where Paul Bellemy, the investment firm's newest partner, hosted a happy hour in his own honor. The public area of the bar was teeming with people, but for the most part he could see the door.

“You keep watching the door like a hawk, Coleman. Who the hell are you waiting for?” his colleague Mark Branson asked, peering over his shoulder.

“I have a date coming. I just want to make sure she can find us back here.”

“A date?” Mark slapped Will hard on the back. “Buddy, when are you going to learn? Bringing a date to the Minute Man is like bringing pizza to a barbecue. Aren't the girls around here hot enough for you?”

Will resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Mark. The guy was always on the prowl, but as far as Will could tell, he never actually got any action. “Branson, when you have filet mignon at home, why bother eating at a barbecue?”

“Well, if she's really that hot, maybe I'll stand here and wait with you. I'll check out the goods for you. Give you my stamp of approval.”

Will turned away from the door, trying to direct Mark's attention back to the throng surrounding Paul Bellemy. “You might want to get over there and grab some face time with Bellemy. Find out how he wrangled his way into Robert Geddes's golf circle.”

Just then, another colleague, Chris Walters, walked up. “I already beat that horse to death. Bellemy's not giving up any info.”

“Besides,” Mark chimed in, still looking over Will's shoulder, “I think I see something I like.”

Will turned and the first things he noticed were a sexy pair of shoes. They were black sandals that crisscrossed up shapely legs, stopping just below a pair of sculpted calves. From there his gaze climbed the long dark legs to the jagged gossamer hem of a black cocktail dress. When his sights zeroed in on the woman's narrow waist and the cascade of silky dark hair that surrounded it, he knew he was looking at Melody.

Like a rocket, his gaze shot to her face. Then he simply gaped like a fool as she continued toward him. Her halter dress revealed a deep V of cleavage. Not enough to be scandalous, but just enough to tease him with a hint of the supple brown mounds beneath the gauzy fabric. The hair at her temples had been pulled away from her face with gold clips, allowing the rest to stream down her back in glossy waves. As usual, Melody's eyes were darkly lined, but now they were highlighted with a smokey shadow. And he couldn't help but notice those shiny bronzed lips.

From somewhere in the back of his imagination, Will heard an announcer's voice-over.
Will doesn't know it yet, but we've secretly replaced his regular Melody with this supermodel version. Let's see if he notices
.

“Melody?” Will croaked incredulously.

“The one and only,” she said, sauntering over. When she reached the doorway where they stood, her heel faltered and she slid into Will's side.

All three men reached out to steady her. She gently batted the other men away. “Don't mind me, first day on the new feet. But, Will's used to my clumsiness. Can you believe that for the last five weeks this man has been teaching me to dance?”

“I didn't know that,” Chris answered.

“Lucky bastard,” Mark said. “Since when do you dance?”

Melody raised a hand to her lips. “Oops, was that a secret?”

Feeling himself flush, Will tried to explain himself. “It's not a secret, it just never came up in office conversation,” he said to Melody, then turned to his colleagues. “I teach ballroom dancing twice a week. It's a hobby.”

Mark's eyes were still locked on Melody. “And that's how you met this beautiful woman? Where do I sign up?”

Will swallowed hard. He'd never been the jealous type, but the way Mark was eyeing Melody made him want to dump his drink over the guy's head.

He didn't know why he'd never mentioned his dancing to his coworkers. Yes, things were hectic at the office, but there had been plenty of occasions like this one for him to have mentioned it. But, for some reason, he hadn't felt that any of them would have been able to relate to the fact that he needed something that brought peace, something he had control over.

When it was time to discuss trendy night spots, car accessories or expensive vacations, Will lined up to share. Office chatter was all just an adult version of show-and-tell anyway. But his dancing? He hadn't wanted to taint that part of his life with any snide remarks or crude jokes about getting to grope women.

Will wrapped his arm around Melody's waist and began to move away. “I hope you gentleman will excuse us while I escort the lady to the bar for a drink.”

The men made noises of protest, but Will didn't break his stride.

“Can't get away from those jerks fast enough, huh?” Melody whispered in his ear.

“Something like that,” he answered with a soft laugh. He paused halfway to the bar to fully admire her. “Where did you get these clothes? You look amazing, but it's not what I was expecting at all.”

Melody's grin was smug. “Saks Fifth Avenue—it's great for one-stop shopping. When I first walked in wearing my cutoffs, I thought they were going to pull a
Pretty Woman
on me. But, those chicks weren't fazed. I figure with the influx of wealthy rappers and rock stars, they've seen everything by now.”

Will couldn't take his eyes off her. “You didn't have to go to all of that trouble for me. It's just a happy hour. I wanted you to feel comfortable.”

“Don't worry about me, I know the drill. My father's a politician, remember? These are your business associates, therefore, their first impression of me reflects upon you. I guess some of my mother's teachings are more deeply ingrained than I thought,” she said sheepishly.