Surprise Me...

Right.

His heart sank. The queen of the one-nighters had bolted.

Except she had to know by now how he felt about her. He’d dropped plenty of hints, even made up a girlfriend, Emma, so Melanie would feel more at ease with him. Amazing how close a skittish woman would let a guy get when there was no threat of a relationship developing. And amazing what that guy could get away with saying to said skittish woman when he was supposedly safely attached. Edgar had said it all.

She had to know. Especially once she found out Emma wasn’t real. She’d have put it together. And there was no way Melanie would mess with his head so extremely by showing up in his bed, then ditching him. She was neither that cold nor that desperate.

The real Emma, his black cat, jumped gracefully down from the bookcase and fixed him with a feed-me-or-die stare.

He fed her, glancing at the clock. Early still. He could work out now in case Melanie wanted to go out after work.

Adrenaline burned through his system, bliss and torture in equal measures. He’d been patient so far. Knowing Melanie, he’d have to be even more patient now, when he was the most eager for a continuation of what they’d started last night.

If they had started anything last night.

Had they?

He wasn’t the kind of guy she usually went for, which was the understatement of the millennium. That fact could work in his favor now. Because he didn’t fit any of her hot-guy criteria, maybe she’d been after more than a quick lay. Maybe she was even open to that most terrifying of all things as far as Melanie was concerned—A Relationship.

Down, boy. He couldn’t get ahead of himself like this; he’d only drive himself crazy with tantalizing hope, and in the process set himself up for a huge and potentially castrating fall. He needed to prepare to hear from Melanie that last night was a nutty aberration, both a beginning and an end.

Or she could come through the office door with a special secret smile meant only for him.

God, he was going to have to jerk off if he thought about that any more.

He went into the spare room where he kept his treadmill and weights, and spent an hour trying to calm himself down with exhaustion. It didn’t work. He could have spent the rest of the day lifting and running and still have enough nervous energy left over to power a rocketship.

Out of the shower, he made himself eggs, whole-grain toast and a banana yogurt shake, sat at the breakfast nook and could barely eat.

Damn. He was a wreck. A geeky pathetic wreck in love with a woman who went through men like doctors went through latex gloves.

But he was also a geeky pathetic wreck in love with a woman who’d slipped into his bed and allowed him to show her every bit of that love, who’d responded, trembled in his arms, climaxed twice, and gone to sleep calmer and more relaxed than he’d ever known her to be, as if she understood as clearly as he did that she’d come home.

If only she’d stayed.

The apartment door burst open, making him jump, but for once he was glad Stoner forgot to lock up when he left, or Melanie wouldn’t have been able to get in last night and surprise him, practically to the point of cardiac arrest.

“Hey.” His brother looked like hell, cheeks stubbled, skin pale, eyes ringed dark.

“G’morning. Good time last night?”

“The best, man.” He high-fived Edgar on his way to the refrigerator. “I’m parched this morning, though. Parched.”

“There’s more juice in the cupboard if you want it.”

“Thanks. How was your evening?”

“The usual.” If he’d been with anyone but Melanie, he would have given in to his pride and told his brother what really happened, maybe gotten up for a manly, growling chest bump or two.

But no one would know what went on with Melanie until he was damn sure all of it would happen again. Repeatedly.

“You gotta come hear me play, dude.” Stoner finished the carton of OJ and belched impressively.

“I’ll come to a rehearsal. I’m not into the club scene. Crowds, smoke, noise. It’s not my thing.”

“Geez, Eddie, you gotta live.”

Edgar didn’t bother mentioning that living the way Stoner did would make him feel half-dead most of the time. “I live. Just not your way.”

“More like Pater and Mater.”

“If you mean cleaning happens, yeah. If you mean I’d rather hear a symphony or jazz band than garage-band rock, again yeah. If you mean I live only to impress other people with my possessions and my good taste, then no.”

“Boom, you got ‘em. Don’t know how they stand the charade.”

Edgar shrugged. “They’re surrounded by it in that town. Hard to escape.”

“No kidding. It’s like a science dish. Petri. Swarming with obscenely rich bacteria.”

Edgar chuckled. “Stoner, that was sheer poetry.”

“Yeah?” He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “There’s a song in there. Gotta think about that one later.”

“You been in touch with Mom and Dad lately?” Edgar asked casually, but he knew they both worried when they didn’t hear.

“I mean to. I just forget.” He tossed the juice carton into the trash. “Hey, I saw your friend Melanie last night at The Wicked Hop.”

“Yeah?” Edgar managed not to look smug. “She goes there a lot after work.”

“She told me. Hot chick. Great ass.”

“Huh.” He ate toast to avoid talking about her, uh, finer points with Stoner.

“I was going to see if she and I could hook up later, but then I got all into the party where I was.” He shoved a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster. “Tell her I said hey, and sorry last night didn’t work out.”

“Sure.” Edgar stacked his plates, hiding a smirk. As far as he was concerned, last night had definitely worked out. “I’ll tell her.”

“So what’s the plan today, bro?”

Edgar set his plates and cup in the dishwasher. “I work, remember? Every day? Big office? Cubicles? Paychecks?”

“Right, right. Have fun with that.”

“I’m sure I will.”

He brushed his teeth, gathered a few disks and files he’d need at the office, and glanced at the clock. Early, but he couldn’t wait to get to work and see how Melanie would react to him, whether she’d acknowledge their intense connection of the night before or whether she’d balk. Either way, she couldn’t erase what they’d shared, which gave him a better chance than ever of winning her.

Winning Melanie. He wanted to break into a crazed dance at the mere thought.

He pictured her waking up this morning craving more of him the same way he’d woken up craving more of her, wishing she’d conquered her fears in the middle of the night and stayed with him.

It could happen. Miracles did.

And if that was the case, then why not order up another, so he could be with her again tonight?

3

EDGAR PUSHED OPEN THE door to Caffe Coffee, his every-morning java shop on Chicago Street, halfway between his apartment and work. Melanie couldn’t live without Starbucks’ mocha frappuccino but he preferred the organic Blue Mountain here, flown from a family farm in Jamaica, roasted on the premises, brewed by his favorite barista, Kaitlin, just the way he liked it—strong enough to dissolve paint. He could make the same coffee at home, but the croissants at Caffe Coffee were nearly as good as the ones he’d loved so much in Paris, and the ritual of coming here every morning appealed to him. So did Kaitlin. She was the kind of little sister he would have liked to have, serious and shy, with a dry sense of humor that hit when you least expected it.

Lately, though, he’d been starting to wonder, by the way her light brown eyes lit when he walked in, by the way she lingered to chat even when customers were behind him in line, that she might have ideas concerning him that weren’t exactly sisterly.

Oh, the irony. Kaitlin was sweet, funny and in his league, a student at Marquette University, studying marketing. But even on a normal day, he was so full of Melanie he couldn’t imagine dating Kaitlin. Today…well, he’d considered skipping today’s visit, but he knew Melanie would be late to work, and he’d sit in his cubicle for what seemed like forever, a nervous wreck waiting for her. Better to stop for coffee and delay that agony by a few minutes.

Not that caffeine would do much to calm his nerves.

“Hi, Edgar!” Kaitlin had his coffee ready—he didn’t have the heart to say he wanted half-decaf this morning. “Croissant today?”

“Not today, Kaitlin, thanks.”

“I was thinking about you last night.” She snapped the lid on his cup and rang up the purchase.

“Really?” He wasn’t thinking about her last night.

“I saw that movie you recommended. Cane Toads?” She giggled. “You’re right. It was hysterical.”

“Glad you enjoyed it.” He handed over a five, wishing he could have fallen for someone uncomplicated like Kaitlin instead of beating his head against Melanie’s brick wall for so long. He hoped he’d survive until she showed up at work. His heart was already beating so hard he was afraid it would give out, classic heart attack in the middle of the shop. He should probably pour his coffee down the office sink. “Pretty odd cast of characters, wasn’t it?”

“Yes! Where did they find those people?” She put the change into his hand, her fingers lingering.

He was getting even more anxious. From her touch, from his guilt that he might be encouraging her by showing up every day, from the sudden fear that Melanie might have come in early today and he was missing her. What if she was so eager to see him again after last night that—

“I, um, was wondering.” Kaitlin glanced at whoever was behind him, and leaned forward so her words wouldn’t carry.

Instinctive panic. She was going to ask him out. He couldn’t handle this. Not today.

“Listen, thanks for the coffee, Kaitlin. As always.” He spoke loudly, pretending he hadn’t heard the beginning of her sentence. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, um.” Her eyes dropped. “Yeah, I…okay.”

Smiling, he backed away a few steps, waved and turned, feeling like a schmuck. A prime schmuck. Why couldn’t she have asked him another day, when he wasn’t completely insane to be near Melanie?

Because there weren’t any days like that. He knew he was obsessed; he knew his feelings weren’t rational or smart or probably even sane. No woman had ever affected him like this—okay, not since junior high school, when crazed hormones made obsession the norm. No woman should affect him like this. He understood about balance, about healthy infatuation gone too far; he knew all of it. But try convincing his id.

He left, feeling Kaitlin staring wistfully at his back, imagining the customer behind him already annoyed that his barista was not baristing.

Why Melanie? He’d asked himself over and over again. He didn’t know. He only knew he had a solid-as-rock conviction that she was the woman for him, and nothing, no amount of talking to himself or reading self-help books, had been able to shake it.

After last night…well, this morning, Melanie could, with a single glance, wipe out every long-dormant hope that had sprung ecstatically to life the previous night.

Forget heart attack. He’d have a stroke and be a vegetable the rest of his life.

Luckily, the morning was cool and refreshing, so he could arrive at work a nervous wreck, yes, but not a sweaty nervous wreck.

He pushed through the front door of Triangle Graphics, greeting Anna, the receptionist, who was stationed in front of a huge analog clock.

Eight forty-five.

If Melanie showed up at her usual time, nine-thirty at the very earliest, that gave him forty-five minutes to find out if he’d be the happiest man on the planet or the most broken.

He strode down the short hall to the open room where the graphic designers worked, including Melanie; said good morning to Todd Maniscotto, his and Melanie’s boss; nodded to Jenny, Melanie’s good friend; sat at his cubicle, which was right next to Melanie’s.

Melanie. Melanie. Melanie.

Roughly forty-minutes later, thinking he could expect Melanie any second, he checked his watch to find it was actually roughly five minutes later.

Not heart attack, not stroke; aneurism. One big pop in his brain and done, before he knew what was happening.

He opened the file he’d been working on last night before he went home, ate dinner alone, went to bed and was awakened by the sexiest woman alive sliding into his bed and.

Get a grip, Edgar.

Where was he? Working on a sporting goods catalog for Premium Sports. Today’s challenge: how to make a package of golf tees look like the sexiest product in the world.

Paint Melanie’s picture on it?

Grip, Edgar, remember?

He grappled with the tees and won, rotated a baseball mitt this way and that, changed the text to wrap more snugly around it, all with a few clicks of his mouse.

As convenient and time-saving as computers were, part of Edgar couldn’t help romanticizing the idea of Man at His Drafting Table, like his architect father, pencils sharp, straightedges handy. He’d grown up playing trucks around his dad’s legs, since his father had worked around the clock. Whenever Dad had taken time off, he’d sit blinking at his family in surprise as if he couldn’t quite figure out how they had gotten there.

“Good morning, Ralph.” He heard Melanie’s voice down at the end of the line of cubicles.

Edgar fumbled with his mouse, selected something he shouldn’t have, reached to fix it and hit the wrong button on his keyboard; his computer started shutting down.

Damn it. Edgar, the epitome of cool. No wonder Melanie had been able to resist him for so long.

A glance at his watch while he tried to steady his breathing. Nine-fifteen. Early for her. Good sign? Bad sign?

Hang on, Edgar, you’ll know all too soon.

Her perfume rounded the corner of his cubicle a split second before she did. Just the scent had him buzzing with arousal. She’d been everything he dreamed of in bed. No, everything and more because his dreams had been dreams and last night she’d been real.

“Morning, Eddie.”

“Hey.” He grinned up at her, as tenderly as he dared, knowing no matter how she felt underneath, she’d still be skittish this morning. Whatever had made her bolt in the middle of the night wouldn’t have resolved itself this soon. And with their coworkers all around, she couldn’t exactly launch into praises of his sexual technique or drop to her knees and confess undying love. Which was a damn shame.

But she’d have to give some sign, wouldn’t she?

God, she was beautiful. Yawning, clutching her Starbucks cup, hair disheveled as if someone had been tangling his fingers through it all night in order to kiss her as often as possible. Her lips were dark, chin pink from his stubble. He hated to think he’d hurt her at all, but the man part of him—yes, there was a man part even to him—enjoyed a cheap macho thrill that he’d left his mark.

She wore a clingy rose-colored knee-length skirt that molded itself to her gorgeous thighs. Her ass looked firm and strong underneath and he nearly sighed when she sat, and he lost the view. Last night his hands had been a-a-ll over that—

He had to stop thinking about it right now.

Or else he was going to stand up, yank the skirt up those strong soft thighs, lift her onto the desk, step between her legs and—

He had to stop thinking about that right now.

Or else he was going to— “How was Chicago?”

He blinked. Back to earth. How was what? “Chicago?”

“Hello? Edgar?” She leaned down, smiling, waved in front of his face. “Last night? Remember?”

He remembered every second. “Oh, yes.”

“So…?”

He was lost. “So what?”

“Tell me how it was.”

He stared blankly. “I don’t.”

“You know, Chicago?”

Chicago? Was that her code word for what they’d done? So they could talk about it in the office and no one would guess? Very odd. She was not acting the way he expected. “It was…God, Melanie, it was fabulous. The best night of my life.”

“Wow. That’s…wow. Great.” She tipped her head, looking a little surprised. “What made it so great?”

“Uh…” He was not really sure he liked this game. “The sights. The, um, sensations. And really, most of all the. emotions. More than I’ve ever felt in…Chicago.”

“Oh. Well. I’m glad you had fun.” Her eyes narrowed. He’d said something wrong. She’d blindsided him with all this coded talk; he was hopelessly confused. And hopelessly in love with her.

What else was new?

“Edgar.” She leaned closer to whisper, her shy smile so sweet he could barely keep from kissing her. Last night those lips had belonged to him. He still couldn’t get over it. He probably never would. “I had a fabulous night, too.”

His heart rose like a rocket, the hope almost as painful as the countless rejections. “Yeah?”

“Mmm, yeah.”

Oh, dear God. He was getting hard again, not the best place or time. But this was everything he’d hoped for. Melanie, acknowledging what went on between them, admitting she enjoyed it. “You had a good time, huh?”

“Ohh, yes.” She blushed. “You know what I mean, right?”

“I do.”

Her smile turned a little anxious. “I hope it’s okay with you.”

“It’s more than okay, Melanie.” He was whispering, too; his passion for her made voice impossible. “It’s what I’ve dreamed of for the last two years.”

Her shy smile froze. She looked as if she’d eaten something rotten. “Uh…really?”

Crap. Crap. He’d gone too far. He had to remember whom he was talking to. That she wasn’t in the same emotional place he was. That letting herself be so open to him was undoubtedly a new and frightening experience. If he pushed too hard now, this soon after the breakthrough, she could bolt.

“Okay, not everything I’ve dreamed of.” His laugh came out goofy and strained.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, her face relaxed and she laughed, too, considerably more musically than he had.

“Well, I’m glad you approve. I wouldn’t want anything to upset our friendship, Edgar.”

His heart sank. Lower than he thought possible. Friendship?

No way. No effing way. What went on between them last night was not friendship no matter what she wanted to tell herself this morning. It was not friends with benefits, it was not getting their rocks off just for the hell of it. What they had last night was everything sex with love should be. And if she blew it off like it was another romp in the hay, he was going to check himself into a psychiatric hospital. Or have her committed.

“I think we’re talking a hell of a lot more than friendship, Melanie.” His voice actually came out with strength.

“Whah?” She looked bewildered.

“Last night. It was not about friendship.”

“Oh, no.” Her face cleared. “No, Stoner and I aren’t friends, not the way you and I are. Nor will we ever be, I’m sure. Don’t worry.”

He gaped at her. “Why would I worry whether you’re friends with Stoner?”

She gaped back. “I mean, after I was with him last night.”

Last night? With Stoner?

No, no, wait, Stoner had mentioned he’d bumped into her. “You mean when you saw him in the bar?”

“Ed-gar.” She rolled her eyes. “What is with you this morning? No, not in the bar, afterward, in your bedroom.”

“What does that have to do with Sto—” The rest of his brother’s name refused to leave his lips. This morning Stoner had said a planned late-night date with Melanie hadn’t worked out. Melanie had been worrying that sex with his brother would affect her friendship with Edgar. Her ugly, dorky buddy, Edgar.

“Excuse me.” He got up, staggered across the room, nearly knocking down his boss, coming out of his office.

Todd looked concerned. “Edgar? Something wrong?”

Yes! Everything! “No. Nothing. I’m fine.” Suicidal, maybe, but nothing serious.

Luckily, there was no one in the men’s room. He made a beeline for a stall, horribly afraid he was going to be sick.

Melanie had thought she was screwing Stoner last night. She didn’t know she’d been making love to him. All that passion, all that emotion, all that sweetness between them.

A dream after all.

He wanted to puke even if his body wasn’t ready to. Melanie hadn’t come to him; there was no miracle there. Of course not. She’d come to his brother, the sex god, the hot masculine jerk without a shred of depth, without much intelligence, without room in his monstrous head to care about anyone but himself.

Melanie’s type all over. What had Edgar been thinking? How could he even have imagined she’d crawl into bed with him?

Stoner had bumped into her at the bar, invited her up to Edgar’s room, Edgar’s bed, knowing Edgar would be sleeping on the couch so as not to inconvenience his brother.

Chicago? That would be Stoner’s invention. Which helped only a little, knowing at least Melanie hadn’t come into his apartment expecting to step over Edgar on the sofa bed and then screw his brother’s brains out a few feet away.

He leaned back against the partition, making himself breathe slowly and carefully until the urge to lose his breakfast subsided. This was worse than when he’d introduced Melanie to his jewelry-artist downstairs neighbor, Sledge, in order to buy her one of his pieces. Sledge repaid him by hitting on Melanie and then telling Edgar all about it. This was much worse. His own damn brother, who had everything Edgar didn’t—except brains and integrity, which didn’t count for enough in this world.

Edgar had grown up invisible to women, one of those kids fawned over by adults, a “good worker,” a “great help to his parents,” a “responsible citizen,” while his mess of a brother was like a bug zapper for the female sex. One after another, drawn to his light and his high voltage, zap, zap, zap, they went up in blue smoke one after another, the destruction of so many not slowing the lineup at all. While “responsible citizen” Edgar sat on the sidelines in awed misery.

This time it was his heart that got busted, not his ego.

Zap.

He turned to the wall, took a few more deep breaths; the cold metal felt good against his forehead. Solid. Impartial. Calming.

Okay, Edgar. Deal with facts. Fact: Melanie hadn’t known in the dark that he was himself. Fact: they’d had incredible sex. Fact: she’d left in the middle of the night, which he happened to know she didn’t usually do, because generally she was hopeful the relationship would continue and she wanted to be around in daylight. So something had been different last night for her.

That was good. He’d concentrate on that. Regardless of whom she’d thought he was, she’d experienced emotion so intense she’d ducked out rather than face it. Which meant that on some level, however subconscious, she had feelings for him. Only she didn’t know it yet.

Therefore, logically, all Edgar had to do was go out there and tell her she’d been with him last night. Make sure she knew he was an innocent party in this, explain the bed mix-up. She’d be shocked at first, but then her wheels would start turning, she’d remember what it had been like with him, Edgar, and she’d come around. She’d realize—she had to realize—that they were meant to be together. And once she realized that.

There would be nothing stopping them.

He lifted his head and grinned at his homely face, mind whirling, stomach at peace. He’d get to be with her again, maybe tonight. Those eyes, those lips, that body.

Edgar closed his eyes and groaned, tortured by his so-long-yearned-for happiness now so closely within reach.