She's Got the Look

Besides, deep down, she knew she wouldn’t have stabbed Melody in the back by stealing her number-one guy. Not that she’d even realized he was her number-one guy at first. When she’d first met Dex’s partner, Rosemary hadn’t recognized him right away. It wasn’t until Dex mentioned that his new partner had been a fifteen-minutes-of-fame war hero that she’d begun getting the whole picture. That had been right around the time Melody had been talking about coming back to Savannah after her divorce.

It had seemed like an omen.

But it wasn’t going to go anywhere if Mel didn’t have the guts to go after what she’d always wanted. Self-confidence was among the things her bastard of an ex had stolen from her, along with her money. When she closed her eyes, Rosemary could still hear the raw pain that had been in her best friend’s voice over the past year, when Melody had let her rotten marriage undermine her belief in herself as a woman. She needed that confidence back. And a hot man was a good place to start getting it.

As for whether Nick would go for it? Well, he was…unpredictable. She had the feeling, however, that he was going to like Melody Tanner just fine. That the two of them were somehow meant to come together. Figuratively and literally.

Rosemary was a superstitious woman—most people born and raised in Savannah were. So she fully believed in fate. And it seemed like fate had fixed this up. That Melody had seen Nick’s face that night and fantasized about him for a long time for a reason. That a house Rosemary had been brokering had been robbed, requiring her to call the police—which was how she’d met Dex—for a reason. And that Nick had become Dex’s new partner for a reason. That her sweet friend was gullible enough to believe in the plausibility of a cockamamie murder idea for a reason.

Fate. Who was she to argue with it? And if she had to nudge it along a little by concocting murder plots? Well, so be it.

“Don’t be mad, sugar,” she told Dex. “Nick’s not gonna be.”

He quickly figured out what she’d done. “Your friend Melody, is she one of the ones who did those silly lists with you? The one you wave at me when you don’t get your way?”

She chuckled because there was no real anger in his voice. The man did react so nicely when she teased him to try to make him jealous. Telling him about her sexual-fantasy list last winter had inspired a delightfully powerful reaction. That night had been one of the sexiest she’d ever experienced. “Uh-huh.”

“And Nick’s name is on hers?”

“Right again.”

Dex tsked into the phone. “When are you going to learn to stop meddling? She’s not going to thank you for embarrassing her.”

Not now, maybe. But someday she would. Rosemary was absolutely sure of it.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN MELODY FELT she’d pulled herself together as much as she was able, she emerged from the ladies’ room and returned to the table in the café. Nick was watching her closely, his expression serious. “Are you all right?” he asked when she sat down.

Oh, great. She’d been in the ladies’ room having a meltdown, and he’d been sitting here thinking she was throwing up. Lovely.

“I’m fine.”

As for whether or not she was really okay? No, she wasn’t. She was losing it. She’d been spinning whimsical fantasies in her mind about this poor, wonderful, wounded soldier she’d met this morning, when, in reality, he’d been dressed like a criminal, hanging around doing heaven-knows-what in her neighborhood.

The possibilities had filled her mind during her time-out in the bathroom. She’d gotten past his hero qualities enough to wonder what the heck he’d been doing that day. Who he really was…a real cop? Or had that been another one of Rosemary’s embellishments. “Why were you parked by my building that week?” Keeping her anger—and her concern—in check, she leaned in. “Did my ex-husband hire you to spy on me? Is that why you were in a disguise? Are you one of those detectives…guys who get a badge off the Internet then go out and spy on people?”

It was his turn to look shocked, even a little indignant. “No, of course not. It had nothing to do with you.”

“So what did it have to do with?”

He leaned in over the table, as well, until their faces were only a few inches apart, right above their cups. His coffee was hot, steamy and fragrant, recently freshened up. Her cup was still empty. She could have hit him just for that.

“I’m with the Savannah-Chatham PD’s Crime Investigation Unit. Didn’t Rosemary tell you why I was undercover? Didn’t you hear about your neighbor, the drug importer?”

A real undercover cop. And she had heard something about an arrest near her home. The relief flooding through her couldn’t be denied. “I’m sorry.” She tugged her ball cap off her head and tossed it onto the table, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. “I didn’t know for sure who you were.”

“So who did you think I was when we were talking a few minutes ago?”

She sighed, wondering what to say. About him, the list, his fifteen minutes of fame. Before she had to decide, he spoke again.

“It’s okay, I think I get it. Rosemary spun some kind of story to get you here, right?” He shook his head. “That woman sure loves to pull people’s strings, doesn’t she?”

Melody seized on the explanation. “Rosemary. Yes, of course.” Forcing a laugh, she added, “She is rather outrageous.”

“How do you know her?” he asked. Waiting for her to respond, he leaned back in his chair, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing one foot over the other.

Those long legs. Those big feet. Which instantly had her trying to remember what they said about big feet.

Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Those thick arms. Those big hands. Which also got her wondering about the whole big-hands, long-fingers thing.

God, she had to get out of here. Because now he was even more dangerous to her peace of mind than he’d been before, when she’d thought he was just the guy from her list.

Now he was the guy who’d helped her move into her new place. The one who’d risked his own undercover assignment, somehow seeing the desperation Melody had thought she’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding, and helped her when she was most in need.

He was gorgeous. He was sexy. He was a hero. And she was in way over her head.

Because even if she did something unthinkable, like go for it with a man she’d once named on a list, he wouldn’t be one she could do it with. Nick wasn’t the kind of man a woman could have and then forget. He was completely unforgettable; she knew that already after their two brief interactions. Which kind of defeated the purpose of the list, didn’t it? Joke or no joke.

“You still breathing over there?” he asked, a teasing look in his twinkling brown eyes.

Before she could respond, the waitress came over to their table. “He took the dregs, and said to get you a nice fresh pot,” the woman said, giving Melody an impersonal smile.

Oh, no. He’d done something kind again. Something thoughtful. She really needed him to stop doing that if she was going to be able to maintain any willpower at all around the man.

Once the waitress had filled her cup and left, Mel answered Nick’s question. “Rosemary and I met as kids. She and Paige, the woman who was helping me move in that day, were my best friends from fourth grade on.” She smiled, remembering how it had felt to have a normal kid life for the first time. “Then Tanya burst into our lives. A strong-willed, feisty black girl who had no idea the kind of crap that could go on in the genteel South. The three of us rallied around her because some of the stuck-up white kids in our private school were so rotten to her.”

“Rosemary wasn’t one of them?” He sounded skeptical.

“Rosemary’s spoiled and is from a rich Southern family, but she’s definitely not a racist.” Chuckling, she added, “The two of them love to harass each other. They’re a riot when the one-liners start flying—the pampered Southern belle and the tough, proud, African-American woman. They are a perfect foil to each other. I guess, when you think about it, all of us complemented one another pretty well, which is why we got along from day one.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “So are you like Rosemary? A real-live Southern belle?”

“I was born in Florida. My mother and I moved here when I was ten and we rented a place in this area.”

She didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to know that they’d moved to Savannah precisely so her mother could play Southern belle. Or that the place they’d rented had been a gorgeous estate a few blocks from the river. Or that the money Melody had been making as the most popular kid on just about every TV commercial on the air and almost every kiddie show on PBS had paid for it.

That was all on a need-to-know basis. And this man didn’t need to know anything more than the three spots on Melody’s body that could give her an almost-instant orgasm.

In five-and-a-half years of marriage, Bill had found one of them. Sort of. But she’d bet this guy could zone in on all three in under five minutes if they ever got naked.

It’s not happening. The list was a joke!

“You’re not a native,” he said. “Me neither.”

“You’re not from Georgia?” she asked, surprised since that’s about all she’d ever known about her Time magazine hero.

“Yeah, but not here. I moved here after high school. I’m from the northwest part of the state, a place called Joyful.”

Joyful, Georgia. “Sounds quaint and sweet, like a picture-postcard small town.”

“It’s hell with white picket fences,” he replied matter-of-factly, indicating that subject was closed. “Now, come on, tell me. How’d Rosemary get you here?” he asked. “And why?”

Uh-uh. No way was she going into detail on either of those questions. “Doesn’t matter. She was obviously playing a joke on both of us, so I think I’ll get my check and go.”

His eyes narrowed. “Not so fast. I think it does matter. She got me here with some story about you knowing of a link between a murder in Atlanta and the death of a local restaurant owner.”

Though her heart skipped a beat, Melody managed to keep her expression serene. “Really? How strange.”

He stared for a moment, then slowly asked, “So you’re saying you don’t know anything about the death of Charles Pulowski in the kitchen of his own restaurant?”

She gaped. “Pulowski? His last name was Pulowski? And he owned a restaurant named Chez Jacques?”

“So you do know him.”

Shaking her head, she said, “No, but I’ve heard of him. I lived on his chocolate volcano cake during finals in college.”

He didn’t react at all. Some men would have made a comment about the cake not hurting her figure. Some women might have been fishing for such a comment. But he wasn’t such a man. And she wasn’t even going to think about whether she was such a woman.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Detective Walker murmured, his voice steady, that soft drawl low and warm but strictly business…as if he wasn’t the least bit distracted by any thoughts of her appearance.

This man was so different from most of the men she met. So completely the opposite of her ex-husband, whose smooth delivery back when they were dating had made his incessant compliments and comments about her looks seem almost charming, instead of piggish. Now she knew better.

Detective Walker seemed to have flipped a switch. From self-deprecating charmer when he’d arrived, to no-nonsense cop now.

His current disinterest was…unsettling. Not that she was drop-dead gorgeous or anything. She’d always been more of a fresh-faced, wholesome, big-smile model rather than a classically beautiful one…which was why the Luscious Lingerie thing had been such a fluke. And an embarrassment.

She’d put on a few pounds after she’d quit modeling. And she’d eaten her way through her divorce, needing to sample every form of chocolate ever invented. So she was nowhere near her size-four model days. Several sizes from it, in fact.

But she still turned heads on occasion when she made the effort. Then again, she hadn’t made much of an effort this morning, doing nothing more than yanking her hair into a ponytail and scraping some lipstick across her lips. So maybe that explained it. Mental note: start making an effort. You never know when you’re going to run across somebody from your sex list.

Realizing he was still waiting for an answer, Mel finally said, “I can say with perfect honesty that I have never met this Charles Pulowski, and unless he disguised himself as a waiter and delivered my chocolate volcano cake, I have never even laid eyes on him.” Perfectly truthful. And as much as he needed to know.

“I don’t think he’d have gone incognito as a waiter without you noticing him.” He sipped his coffee, then added, “He was seventy years old and weighed almost four-hundred pounds.”

Gulping, Melody sent up a quick thanks that she hadn’t met the man and that the list had been a joke. Besides, even if Rosemary thought it hadn’t been, the list was still only a guideline…she was allowed to hop into bed with any of the men on it. That didn’t mean she was required to. At least, that’s how she interpreted it.

She wasn’t so sure Rosemary would say the same. Especially after today. Then again, Rosemary might still be dead by the end of the week, depending on how much she groveled over this ambush, so who cared what she thought?

“Well, then I definitely never met him,” she replied.

He didn’t appear entirely convinced, but didn’t press. “So it was a scam. Why is Rosemary trying to set you up?”

Again, no flattery. No smarmy comment like Bill might have made when trying to pick up a woman he’d just met about how ludicrous it was to think she’d need someone to set her up.

A part of her wondered briefly if he wasn’t flirting simply because he wasn’t interested in her. But she quickly put that thought under a sharp stiletto heel in her brain and ground it out of existence. Considering she’d wanted him with every molecule in her body at first sight, she’d have to get violent if she thought he felt absolutely nothing in return.

She doubted that. He might not be flirting or sizing her up, now, but he had earlier. Besides, there was an intensity about the way he watched her that made her think he was every bit as aware of her as she was of him.

“She have some idea that you need to hop back on the horse because you fell off the marriage wagon?” he asked.

“Something like that, I guess,” she admitted. “She’s determined to throw me kicking and screaming into—” your bed “—the dating pool. But one thing I do not need is a date.”

No, she merely needed an orgasm. Or a hundred.

“So why does Rosemary think you do? Or is it just her being her spoiled puppeteer self, deciding to pull your strings the way she tries to pull everyone else’s?”

Ooh. He didn’t like Rosemary. There was a point against the man. If he said he hated cats, she’d have to scratch him off her list altogether. That’d been her first real indication that Bill was a jerk—he’d hated her cat. Which was why she’d gotten another one a couple of years ago.

Since this guy was destined to be delisted, anyway, given her way-too-unmanageable-and-dangerous response to him, she considered mentioning her two felines, Oscar and C.C. Instead, she answered his question with a pointed stare. “Rosemary is my best friend. She was my maid of honor.”

“How long were you married?”

“Almost six years. The divorce was final a few months ago.”

“That’s tough. I went through it several years ago.”

“Is that why Rosemary’s trying to set you up?”

Nick—she was mentally calling him Nick now, instead of Detective Walker, which probably wasn’t too smart but she couldn’t help it—rolled his eyes. “No, she’s doing that because she’s a pain in the ass.”

Sharing his rueful grin, because it was true and because his voice held a hint of amusement rather than dislike, she murmured, “She can be.”

“And,” he continued, “I suspect she thinks if I get distracted by someone, I won’t have as much time to corrupt Dex.”

“Dex?”

“My partner.”

Melody nearly fell out of her chair. In fact, it actually did wobble a bit because she instinctively reared straight up on the rickety old seat. It almost went over backward, and probably would have if not for the grace of God and the luck of fools.

“Partner?” she whispered.

He nodded. Confirming he had a partner. Holy shit on a shallot, this guy—her fantasy guy—was gay?

Reality immediately set back in. Not gay, dummy. A cop…all cops had partners, right? He had to be talking about his partner on the police force. Had to be. Because a man as masculine, rugged and sexy as this one being gay would be a crime against humanity. Well, half of humanity. The half that didn’t pee standing up.

It wasn’t just the idea of the man sitting across from her being gay that bothered her. It was the idea that the man she’d once had such long, torrid fantasies about—in the early days of her less-than-satisfactory marriage—could be.

She’d allowed her Time magazine marine to slip out of her mind sometime over the past few years, when she’d been so focused on pain, failure and betrayal. So she’d forgotten the many long, sleepless nights she’d lain in her bed and wondered about the stranger, picturing his dark brown eyes and the grim, intense expression on his face. She remembered now, though. And she feared it wasn’t going to be so easy to forget him again.

There was one way to make sure of his leanings. “Uh, I take it you mean your partner on the police force. Not your partner…in life?”

Lowering his coffee cup, he stared at her. Hard. “Yeah. My partner on the police force. Were you thinking…”

Her face grew hot. And probably twenty shades of red. But there was only one way out of this and that was to brazen through it. “Well, only for a second.”

He chuckled. “That’s some friend you have there, if you think she’d set you up with somebody who didn’t even like women.”

She wouldn’t put it past Rosemary, who probably wouldn’t see anything wrong in having a one-night stand with someone who was a little, um…open…in his preferences. Maybe that was because Rosemary hadn’t had a close brush with a venereal disease. Unlike Melody. Who’d learned from her enraged ex-husband that the reason he hadn’t had sex with her during their engagement was because he’d been afraid he’d give her an STD and she’d never marry him.

Uh, yeah, that’d been a pretty good bet.

Thank God the prick with the drill had been so scared of getting busted that he’d always used condoms—using the too-soon-for-kids excuse. Then, typical of men who collect things, he’d quickly tired of her and had moved on to other conquests. Mel had been tested a number of times and, like most of her money, a sexually transmitted disease was not among the things she’d taken with her when she’d left her marriage.

“It was just a brief thought,” she said with a smile.

“An incorrect one.”

“Okay. I’m convinced.”

“You sure you don’t need proof?”

Heat rose in her face as she imagined the kind of proof he could offer. As if he could read her mind, Nick started to laugh.

She blushed some more, she could feel it. In comparison with some of the other ways she’d humiliated herself in the past few years, this really wasn’t so bad. So she’d kind of accused a big, gorgeous, hunky former-marine-turned-cop of liking men. Not a huge deal in the scheme of things, right? She really shouldn’t be feeling so utterly mortified.

But she did. She really wanted to sink under the table and crawl out of here on all fours. That was another reason to forget about the man, along with the fact that he disliked her best friend. He could mortify her. That was a very bad combination and one Melody wasn’t about to allow.

“Dex, my partner in the Criminal Investigation Unit, has been dating Rosemary on and off for over a year,” he explained, still looking amused. “Hasn’t she told you about him?”

She hadn’t. Not in any detail. She certainly hadn’t mentioned that she was dating a Savannah cop. That was very unexpected for Rosemary, who, to be honest, was expected to marry into some old, rich, Southern family like her sister had done. If she ever settled down at all.

“I’ve been sort of distracted with my divorce,” Mel finally said, figuring that was the reason Rosemary hadn’t been any more forthcoming about her romance. She wondered if Paige and Tanya knew Rosemary was involved with the marine hero’s partner, but figured not. Paige couldn’t keep a secret longer than six-and-a-half minutes. And Tanya would never have let Rosemary get away with this morning’s setup. “I knew she was seeing someone but never knew who. I’m sure she figured I had enough to think about.”

“Ahh.”

Then, curious, she said, “You’re not freaking out that I thought you were gay.”

“No, I’m not.” He sipped his coffee, not quite successful in an attempt to hide a chuckle. “Unlike you.”

“I was embarrassed,” she mumbled.

That cocky look returned as he smoothly seized the chance to take the upper hand. “You were upset at the idea, Melanie, admit it. Upset and disappointed.”

“My name’s Melody.” Somehow, down deep inside, she grabbed hold of a bit of strength. Giving him a look of disdain that had reduced international designers to stammering little boys, she added, “You’re very amusing, but I absolutely was not upset, or disappointed. Now, I do have to go.”

Oh, that had sounded good. Perfect. Just the right tone and the right expression and now she could exit stage left and forget this disconcerting conversation had ever taken place.

Only, something funny happened. Funny strange, not funny ha-ha. Because instead of looking deflated or resigned, Nick Walker was smiling. A big, huge, good-ol’-boy smile that lit up his amazing eyes and brought out two enormous dimples in his cheeks.

God, what a smile.

What a smile? The question should be why a smile! She’d insulted him.

“Melody, huh? A very unusual name. And you’re Rosemary’s best friend?” he said, laughter in his voice. “I should have known.”

Her heart rate kicking up a notch, Mel whispered, “Why?”

“Well,” he replied with that boyish grin still glued to his face, “because I’ve heard about you. Rosemary does like to throw her parties, and yes, indeed, I do believe your name has come up a time or two when I’ve been at her place.”

Dead? Did she say Rosemary was dead? That wasn’t good enough. Eviscerated…that might do. For a start.

She didn’t want to know, even though the curiosity was gnawing at her stomach with painful intensity. Slowly rising, she gave him a noncommittal smile. “Really? How funny. Well, it was nice meeting you, and I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

The man didn’t rise. He just sat there, looking up at her. Then he slowly shook his head and tsked. Actually tsked!

“What?” she snapped.

“Seems to me,” he said, “you’re going about this all the wrong way. Getting up and running isn’t exactly going to get you what you want.”

She closed her eyes briefly, willing him not to mean what she suspected he meant.

“Because, honey, if you’re supposed to be working on me, you really ought to stick around.”

Her jaw clenched. “Working on you?”

Slowly—as if intentionally drawing out her torment—he rose from his chair, unfolding himself with unconscious grace and simmering sexiness. He stepped closer, around the table, until they stood toe-to-toe. Nearly hip to hip. Almost chest to chest and definitely breath to breath—if, of course, she ever remembered to start breathing again.

Then he laughed—a low, sultry sound that slid across all her nerve endings—and said, “Well, yeah, we haven’t even named the place yet.”

Dread filling her mind as much as his sultry, masculine scent was filling her head, she bit out, “The place?”

He nodded, stepping even closer until their chests did meet and her nipples tightened in a sudden, instinctive response. “You know,” he said softly, for her ears alone. “For us to get workin’ on that list of yours.”