Lost Melody (27 page)

“What is it you're afraid they’ll find
out?”

She startled when a particularly big
firework exploded and he wrapped her tighter, shushing her fears
with soft, reassuring words.

“You can tell me, Mel.”

“They blame me. I know they do. Daddy
would still be alive it wasn't for me.”

He rubbed his hands up and down her
back. “That's not true, Mel. It was an accident, and you were just
a child. No one blames you.”

“They do because it's true. If they
find me, they'll never let it go. They'd drag you down with me. I
can't let that happen.”

“I don't know how I can change your
mind. None of what you say is true, but even if it was, I don't
care. I want to be with you. I want to marry you. I want to raise a
family with you right here in Willowbrook. You've got to know I'll
protect you.”

“I know you think you can, but you
can't.” Her muffled sniffle nearly broke his heart all over again.
“Please, take me home.”

“Okay. Let’s table this discussion for
another time. I’ll take you home as soon as the fireworks are
over.”

He held her tight until the wheel came
to a stop and the attendant raised the safety bar, all the while
trying to make sense of what had gone wrong. She loved him. She’d
admitted as much. He loved her, so everything else was immaterial.
He’d find another way to make her see what they could have
together. She needed more time. He could give it to her. He had
waited a long time to find her—he could wait until she saw what he
saw.

On the silent walk home, he held her
close, matching his stride to her shorter one. At her front door,
he kissed her gently, asking nothing in return.

“Will you be all right? I’ll stay if
you need me to.”

She closed the short distance between
them, laying her cheek against his chest. “I'm sorry,
Hank.”

“Don't be. You can't help the way you
feel, but the offer stands. We're good together. I'll convince
you.”

“Oh, Hank, please don't.”

He pressed his lips to her hair,
holding the contact for a moment before he let her go. “This
conversation isn't over. We aren’t over.”

He forced his feet to move, leaving
her there in the open doorway. Alone.

* * *

Mel indulged in what her college
friends referred to as a massive pity party. She spent the
remainder of the week on the sofa, eating ice cream from the carton
and watching chick-flicks on cable. The giant purple bear was her
only companion. When Jonathan returned on Sunday evening, she
pulled herself together.

Hank’s proposal made her decision to
chronicle the recording session even more difficult—if that was
even possible. She would never forget the expression on his face
when she’d refused him. She had hurt him, but it was nothing
compared to the misery she would bring him if she’d said yes. The
stubborn man would eventually see she was right and thank her for
saving him. Until he did, she would just have to keep her distance
from him and somehow finish the project she had started.

Her resolve to stay far away from Hank
nearly crumbled the moment she stepped inside the barn. He came out
of his office, looking good enough to eat, and from the set of his
eyes, he either wanted to eat her up or murder her, she couldn’t
tell which.

She drank him in and
squashed the impulse to throw herself into his arms and tell him
she had changed her mind. With a curt nod in her direction, he
continued along the hall away from her.
Well, what did you expect?

It was the week from Hell. She was a
virtual stranger among a close-knit group of friends and her
welcome depended on Hank. She couldn’t help but notice the derisive
glances directed at her and her questions garnered the shortest
possible answers. By the end of the week she’d had enough and
cornered Hank in his office.

He was so incredibly handsome, sitting
behind his desk with his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose his
wrists and muscled forearms. With his reading glasses and his
ultra-conservative haircut, he resembled a college math professor
more than a rock star.

She closed the door and took a seat in
one of the guest chairs in front of his desk. He continued to sort
through a stack of mail, completely ignoring her. She couldn’t quit
staring at his his hands. Desire raced through her veins as she
remembered the feel of them on her, stroking, pleasuring. She knew
the ecstasy of his skilled hands. With one, he kept her body
pulsing to a steady rhythm, while the other coaxed her heart into a
sweet melody. By varying the tempo, he kept her writhing in a
constant state of need.

She hated the new mask of indifference
he wore whenever she was around. Among his friends, he smiled and
laughed, but as soon as she approached, the mask slipped into
place, closing her out.

He was aware of her from the moment
she’d stepped into his office. He’d spent the last week trying to
avoid her, trying to keep from touching her. She was like a magnet,
drawing him closer with nothing more than her presence. Without
raising his head, he could just see her breasts, rising and
falling. She was a sickness, he decided. A fever he couldn’t shake.
An addiction. He needed a twelve-step program.

He wanted her with every fiber of his
being, and no matter how hard he tried to stop it, his body reacted
every time she came near. He hadn’t touched her in over a week.
Hell, he had barely spoken to her.

Feigning indifference was killing him.
It was affecting his work. He couldn’t concentrate on his job
because all he could think about was her. Where she was. Who she
was talking to. What she was wearing. The way her skin felt like
satin. The taste of her lips. The way they fit perfectly together.
Her insane denial of their love.

No one had said anything yet, but they
had to be thinking about it. If he didn’t get his head on straight
soon, one of the guys, or all of them, would do it for
him.

“Hank, we need to talk.”

He tossed another envelope onto the
trash-it pile. “About what?”

“Will you stop and look at me? I can’t
stand your cold shoulder anymore.”

The last envelope dropped
from his fingertips, and he looked at her for the first time since
she’d invaded his office. She wanted a life without him in it.
Well, this was what it was like.
Get used
to it, Melody
.

“What do you expect from
me? I’m not made of stone. I can’t act like nothing
happened.”
I’m not like you.

“This situation is unbearable, Hank.
The wall you put up between us is bad enough, but it’s affecting
the whole crew. The rest of the guys will hardly speak to me. Might
I remind you, the book, me being here, was your idea.”

He tossed his reading glasses on the
desk. The woman across from him inhabited the same gorgeous body he
knew so well, but this woman was cold and distant. Not at all like
the woman he’d fallen in love with. He wished she’d jump over the
desk, do something, anything to him. He was so far gone, he thought
letting her strangle him would be okay as long as she put her hands
on him.

His kept his voice steady, controlled.
“I’ll talk to them. There’s no reason for our problems to be
theirs, too. Is that all you wanted?”

“I know you don’t understand, but
refusing to marry you is for your own good. I love you. I love you
too much.”

He bolted out of his chair. Her calm
rationalization of the irrational was a match to the tinder of his
banked emotions. Everything he had held in for the last week boiled
to the surface as he faced her across the desk.

“I understand a lot more than you
think I do. Don’t do me any favors, Mel. Don’t throw our love away
and tell yourself it’s for my own good. I can decide for myself
what’s in my best interest.”

He flattened his palms on the desk so
he was eye-to-eye with her. She flinched, but he was through
pretending he didn’t have any feelings in order to protect hers. It
was time for her to face up to a few truths.

“You don’t love me too much, Melody.
You don’t love yourself enough. Everything you said the other night
is bullshit. You're using it as an excuse to run away again, just
like you ran to Willowbrook. What happened in San
Diego?”

He didn't wait for her answer, didn't
care what sent her running before. All that mattered was what she
was running from now.

“You’re hiding. I don’t give a shit
about who your father was. I don’t care if the tabloids follow us
to the ends of the earth. I love you, and I want to spend the rest
of my life with you. We can make it work. But you have to want a
future for yourself, for us, enough to let go of the
past.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but
he cut her off. “The core of the problem isn't your guilt about
what happened to your father. No, the real problem is you don’t
trust me. If you did, you’d know I would never let anyone hurt
you.”

He rounded the desk and crossed the
room in long, angry strides. He had to get away. He had already
said too much, and he needed to leave before he said something he
didn't really mean.

At the door, he turned back to her.
“You're right. You being here is my fault. I brought you into the
recording. I won’t stand in the way of you doing your job. But hear
me, Melody. You’re the only one for me. Run and hide all you want.
And when you come to your senses, I’ll be here waiting for you. As
long as it takes.”

Chapter
Twenty-four

“Hey, Mel. Have you seen Hank?” She
spun around at the sound of a man’s voice.

“No. Yes. He left, I think.” She
gathered her wits and stood next to her chair, facing
Stephen.

“Where did he go? Is he coming
back?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t
say.”

“Are you okay? You don’t look so
well.”

Her legs trembled, and she put a hand
on the back of the chair to steady herself. “I’m fine,” she lied.
“I’ve got to go.” She forced her feet to move, pushing past Stephen
in the doorway.

She drove home, but as she closed the
front door behind her, she couldn’t remember a single detail of the
drive. Did she stop at the four-way stop at the corner? She closed
her eyes and leaned against the door.

“What’s wrong, luv?”

She jumped at the sound of Jonathan’s
voice. “You scared me. I thought you were at the farm.”

“I was. Henry dropped me off a few
minutes ago. I have to be back later, but no one’s going to miss me
for a few hours.”

“That’s good,” she said. “You’ve been
working too hard.”

“It feels good to be working again.”
He stood in front of her. “Come on. You look like you could use
some rest yourself.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and
steered her to the sofa. He perched on the coffee table and took
her hands in his. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

She was so tired of being strong. For
once, she needed someone to lean on, and Jonathan had strong
shoulders. He had always been there for her. Tears welled in her
eyes and spilled over, and once they’d begun, there was no stopping
them. Jonathan moved to sit beside her and drew her into his
arms.

“Here, here now, luv. What’s got you
so upset?”

The story came out in a rush. Between
bouts of tears and hiccups, she told him everything. She told him
about playing the piano, about Hank’s proposal, about turning him
down, and, about his angry verbal attack.

He pushed a box of tissues into her
hand. “Dry your tears. I’m going to fix us a pot of tea and we’ll
talk about you and Hank. Maybe I can help.”

She dried her tears, and when he
returned, she welcomed the warmth of the mug he placed in her
hands.

“Drink up. It’ll do you
good.”

She took a sip. The hot liquid began
to thaw the block of ice in her gut, and a maniacal drummer
hammered a steady beat against her skull. “Thank you.”

Jonathan settled in the chair across
from her. “Since you’ve calmed a bit, let’s talk. I understand you
being upset about discovering you have some musical talent. That
sort of thing would come as quite a shock to anyone, especially a
full grown adult who just happens to stumble on it.” He paused to
sip his tea. “Your father started playing the piano when he was a
teenager, I believe. Even being the heir to the Earl, he wasn’t
exposed to music in the traditional sense, not like I was. We were
poor as the proverbial church mice, but my mother made sure I had
piano lessons. I was always envious of Milton’s ability to hear a
tune and play it back, note for note, almost immediately. It was a
talent he took for granted, but one I often wished I
had.”

Mom was right.

“Drink your tea. I’ll talk, you
listen.”

Mel took another sip of tea. “He took
enough music classes in college to learn to read and write music.
That’s when he started putting his compositions down on paper. By
that time, he had a whole library of original music in his
head.”