"Yes?" Logan flipped the light back on, prepared for the usual bedtime delay tactics, but his son was pointing toward the ceiling.
Logan looked up, saw nothing unusual, and looked curiously back.
Shane's index finger remained in the upright position. "Mel even has neat Band-Aids. See?" he said. "Can we get some like this?"
"Ah." Logan chuckled as he kissed him one more time, promising to buy a box of cartoon Band-Aids first thing in the morning. Turned out he did require a last drink of water—big surprise—before Logan finally made his way to his own room.
He chuckled as he sat on the edge of his bed. That boy was something, despite his unstable beginnings.
What had he meant by saying that Mel really needed him? What did "not like Mom" mean? Did a four-year-old boy need to be needed? Had Shane in his childlike innocence already replaced thoughts of his mother with Melody?
After one night?
Logan tugged off his tie and thought with a great deal of guilt about everything Shane must have gone through, living with a mother who was always looking for the main chance.
He had to do better by that boy. The poor kid hadn't caught a break in the parent department, that's for sure.
Logan knew the stupidest thing he'd ever done was steal from that convenience store, though getting Heather pregnant had been the most irresponsible.
But now… now that he had Shane, he felt so… grateful.
Grateful for having been irresponsible?
Logan shook his head. It didn't make sense, but that's how it played out. And he wasn't sorry. He wasn't.
Then again, letting Heather run before he could marry her had brought him right back to stupid; he should have known she'd look for a rich ride out of town. When she discovered she was pregnant, Logan was suddenly too poor for her. No surprise there.
Of course she didn't tell her rich ride out that she was carrying a baby, Logan's or otherwise, so the guy eventually dumped her. Then she nailed another "in a long line of sugar daddies," according to the detective who found Shane.
After Heather signed the adoption papers, Logan signed his WHCH contracts. Now, for the first time, Shane was his. He might never have signed those contracts, or come back to Salem, if not for a son who needed a grandmother who needed to slow down. Then there was Jessie's theory that facing old ghosts was better than running from them, which remained to be seen.
Logan did wish he'd bought a house right away, though. Renting to make sure everything worked out with the new job was fine for a bachelor. For a little boy who needed security, another move sucked. Poor kid hadn't been able to catch a break his whole life.
What bothered Logan most at the moment, though, was Shane acting as if his break had finally come, just because Melody
Seabright
had opened her star-studded door. Melody…
who
seemed every bit as flighty as Heather.
Why couldn't Shane see that?
At least if Melody got a job at the station, she wouldn't have as much time to spend with Shane, which might be for the best. Not that Logan expected her to get hired. She might have managed to wear him down about the interview; his common sense had been skewed by a testosterone surge. But Ice Man Gardner was no pushover. He'd give Melody
Seabright
one hard look and she'd fast-freeze.
Logan almost felt sorry for her.
THREE days later, Logan left Shane with Jessie and backed his Volvo out of the detached garage, muttering all the way. When he'd knocked on Melody's door, she wasn't ready—big surprise—so here he sat, cooling his heels, when he was due at work in ten minutes. So what if she had an interview at the station this morning? She could have gotten there on her own. Why he had offered to take her in with him, he couldn't think. Then again, thinking around Melody was proving to be difficult.
"Hustle it, Mel, you're gonna' make me late," he called, as she came down the steps. Then he got a good look at her and stopped thinking altogether.
She slid into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt, while the scent of something exotic and sensual further fogged his brain.
"Good morning," she said. "Don't you love Salem in the fall?"
He was tired, late, irritated, and now he had to keep from touching the vision beside him, even as she raised his temperature and stirred his senses. "You're not wearing
that
, are you?"
"If that isn't a typical male—"
"You wouldn't know typical, if it bit you in the butt—"
"Hey, watch it!"
Logan took a calming breath.
"Right.
Sorry. I haven't been sleeping well," because she was wreaking havoc with his libido twenty-four/seven. "Look, if you really want this job, that getup's probably not—"
"You said I should wear a dress."
"Where did you find it, the attic?"
"The Immortal Classic.
Why? Is there another vintage dress shop in town called The Attic?"
"I'm out of my depth, here," Logan said to no one in particular.
"Well, drive, why don't you? I thought you said we were late."
Logan sighed and vowed this was the last time he'd drive her anywhere. "Listen, Mel,
Jagger
Harrison Gardner, the man who'll probably do the interview, is—"
"More of
a tight ass than you are
?"
"Succinct, and correct, in one."
"So?"
"I just wanted to be fair and give you one last chance to change your clothes and make a good impression from this side of the century."
Logan watched her brow furrow as she perused her offbeat navy suit. The tight-waisted jacket flared provocatively at her
hips, that
feminine touch offset by wide padded shoulders and mannish lapels. Though to give her credit, her mouthwatering, alabaster cleavage shot masculine all to hell. The slim, straight skirt, slit to her thigh, ended just above her ankles. Funny, he'd never found ankles alluring before. And did the top of that slit reveal a garter at the edge of one sheer, silk stocking? Ah, hell, now he wouldn't be able to get out of the damned car.
"I love this outfit," she said. "A suit is perfect for an interview, especially this suit for this interview."
Logan gave her as impartial an assessment as he could,
given
his current physical discomfort. "I like your hair piled on your head like that," he said to turn his thoughts. "But I've never seen anything like that suit before."
"This is a turn-of-the-century walking suit in pristine condition, and I'm not changing, so you may as well go ahead and drive."
"Your funeral."
JAGGER Harrison Gardner, the station's general manager, not so affectionately known as the Ice Man, liked to say he was "a young fifty." He was rich, and he had power, and not a day went by that he didn't remind somebody of the fact.
Logan acknowledged that Gardner was getting his reminder out of the way early this morning, when he waved off the director of human resources and commanded Logan to "stay."
This was going to be an ugly three minutes.
Melody stepped out of the powder room and stopped Gardner cold.
Then again, maybe not.
She flashed that smile of hers—the one calculated to raise male temperatures, and other anatomical parts—as she came toward them and extended her hand. And when Gardner's hand touched hers, Logan could have sworn he heard the sound of ice beginning to crack.
Witch or not, Melody could make magic just by walking into a room.
They followed Gardner to his posh corner office, where he invited them to sit on a white, silk, crescent sectional that curved around a circular glass coffee table.
There, Gardner examined Melody's cleavage for so
long,
he had to lick his drooling chops. When the older man finally picked up her resume, Logan gave her a "tough break" look. After all, she'd held seven jobs in the past year.
But the boss tossed the small sheaf back onto the table with no more than a cursory glance.
Wait a minute, Logan thought. Hadn't his own resume been placed under a microscope?
"Tell me, Miss,
er
,
Seabright
," Gardner said. "What makes you feel qualified to host a cooking show?"
Bingo
, Logan thought, as he sat back to await her answer.
"Please," Melody said, with a little too much sugar for Logan's palate, "call me Mel." Then she stood and began to pace, swinging her cute little ass, and taking full advantage of that thigh-high slit. The stilettos didn't do her any harm either. She gave his boss an over-the-shoulder glance, using her amazing mink lashes to good advantage, before she turned to face them. "As to my qualifications, Mr. Gardner—"
"Call me Jag."
What
? Logan sat straighten.
Melody grinned, first at Gardner, then at Logan, and it was all he could do not to grin back. What was happening to him?
Melody
Seabright
, that's what.
"Well, Jag, there are any number of factors that contribute to the success of a TV show. I'm photogenic, for one." She gave him a full leg-out-of-the-slit pose to prove it. "And a certain charisma is key, which I believe I have. Showmanship, talent, sincerity, believability, and sex-appeal, are also essential, as is a
gimmick
. Since this is Salem,
called ."
Stopping across the table from them, Melody bent over to tap her resume with a perfect lavender fingernail, her breasts teetering on the brink of a spillover—pulling out the big guns, so to speak. "As you can see," she practically purred, "I used to work for Bewitched and Bedeviled Tours, during which
time,
I was required to portray a witch."
"On your own
news," she stressed, "your anchor reported that I did such a good job, one man swore I had actually bewitched him, and he sued the tour company." She placed her hands on her luscious little hips and gave them a slight quarter turn, just enough to raise the testosterone level in the room to dangerous proportions. "Is that talent, or what?"
"It's a load of crap is what it is," Logan muttered.
"What did you say,
Kilgarven
?" Gardner asked.
Logan ignored the militant spark in Melody's eyes. She'd heard him clearly enough. "She should be able to cook, too."
"Of course," Melody said, shocked that anyone could doubt her. "Or I could cast a spell." She zapped them with her smile and moved her hands and hips in a swami-like fashion, as she turned in a slow, seductive circle, wielding the wand she'd pulled from her purse.
"Abracadabra Melody Bright
Will do what it takes to spice the sauce right
Rosemary, allspice, brandy, and wine,
Do, Mr. Gardner, make the cooking show mine!"
The wily witch ended in a flourishing bow, cleavage at half mast.
Rattled, Logan ran a hand through his hair.
Gardner gave her a standing ovation. "You'll make a great cooking show host."
"But she can't cook," Logan said, certain that bringing in a
noncooking
witch to interview for a cooking show was going to come back and bite
him
in the butt.
"I will?" Melody said, as Gardner's words registered. "I got the job?"
Gardner chuckled. "Who could do it better?"
"A cook!"
Logan repeated, but who was listening to him?
Chapter Three
"I thought about ways we might advertise," Melody said, throwing Logan a chiding look for his last-ditch effort at bringing her cooking skills, or lack thereof, to Gardner's attention. "And I think we could utilize any number of magical phrases, such as: "Culinary
Saucery
with… or Magic in the Kitchen with…
The Kitchen Witch".
"
With dollar signs in his eyes, Gardner grinned and rubbed his hands together in agitated anticipation. "I can practically taste syndication.
The Kitchen Witch
out of Salem,
Kilgarven
?
Shame on you."
Logan came out of shock with a jolt, as Gardner took Melody's hands, stepped back, and gave her a salivating once-over. "You certainly came well prepared," he said, shaking his head. "But suppose I'd had in mind to cast you as something other than a witch?"
Melody gave him a feline smile, stepped back, pulled a few fan-like combs from her hair, and let the entire mass of black magic tumble in waves to her waist. "Jag," she purred. "I can be anything you want me to be."
Logan could practically see the boss's pupils dilating while the blood in his system took a U-turn.
Ice Man in heat.
After that performance, they'd be nuts to cast Melody as anything but a witch.
"A witch, definitely," Gardner unknowingly echoed. "I'll have your contract drawn right up."
"Before you do… Jag," Melody said, with another efficient sweep of her long, dark lashes. "Since the idea is mine, I'd like to retain the rights to the show's name and format, and my persona." She fluffed her hair with laughing exhilaration. "We're gonna make an awesome team."
For a moment, Gardner was struck dumb.
"Uh, um… the contract."
He had so much trouble pulling his gaze from Melody's
Rapunzel
-like
tresses,
he nearly walked into the wall.
Three Mile Island had nothing on Melody
Seabright
.
When the door shut behind Slush-Man, Logan stood.
Melody gave him a smile that turned part of him to pulp, the rest to rock. "I got the job!" she screamed and threw herself into his arms.
Oh, this was nice. This was fine. Logan stroked her back and skimmed a possessive hand along her hip.