THE minute his dad's car disappeared from sight, Shane bit his lip and looked up at Melody, his fear as clear as the deep blue eyes—his father's eyes—through which he looked to her for support.
Melody wondered what she thought she was doing. Another in a long line of
nonmaternal
women, she barely remembered her jet-setting female parent who had likened motherhood to a nightmare. But when Shane shivered and swallowed as if his throat had closed, Melody knew her fears were nothing compared to his.
Poor baby; he was waging a battle between bravery and fear, anticipation and dread. She knew exactly how he felt. If he cried, she'd sit right down and cry with him, except that he needed her to be strong. Their hands met mid-reach, and she bent and pulled him into her arms—so tiny, so… in need of protection… and all he had was her, poor thing. "I'm here, buddy."
"I know, Mel."
"Do you know how lucky you are?" she asked. "Day care is wicked cool."
He tried to contain his shiver. "
Wicked
cool?"
"Um hmm."
His bravery gave Melody the strength to rise, take his hand, and begin walking him down the hall.
"Eighteen children about your age are waiting to meet you, you lucky boy." She wished her voice wasn't shaking. "You're gonna have a blast while your Dad and I slave away upstairs."
"Where, upstairs?"
"Right above you, two floors up. Mrs. Williams will call if you need me—there's an elevator straight to day care, and I'll be down before you can count to ten."
"I can count fast. Will you be close enough?
Dad, too?"
"Promise."
Shane slowed when he saw a little girl kiss her mother good-bye, and he dropped Melody's hand to wrap his arm around her legs. "I don't like getting
dropted
off."
Melody cupped his little head and felt his shiver run through her. "I don't
gotta
live here, right?" he asked, looking earnestly up at her.
Melody squeaked and knelt once more, pulling him close.
"Of course not.
You live with your Dad. Nothing's changed, except Jessie gets to give
Boneyard
Tours during the
day,
and you get to play with kids who don't need liniment afterward."
As if on cue, a dozen or so children spilled into a glassed-in playroom. "Look at that," Melody said. "They're having fun already."
Shane took it all in, and when laughter erupted, he nodded and straightened. "Look, Mel, it's filled with all my new friends that I haven't met yet."
Melody's tears hovered so near, she could taste salt. "Yes, darling, it is. You can meet them as soon as you're ready."
Shane nodded and squared his shoulders. "Okay," he said, raising his chin. "Let's go meet them."
IT wasn't until Logan pulled into his parking space that he realized he'd been left to fetch and carry enough
luggage
for a European jaunt. He got out of the car swearing. He'd be damned if he'd make two trips just to haul a load of Mel's fluff.
After several aborted attempts, he finally managed to carry everything at one time, aware that his struggle was nothing short of pigheaded.
In the garage elevator, he lost his grip on one of the bags, caught it, and wrestled the damned thing up and under his arm. God help Mel when she got to the office, because he was going to be setting down some rock-solid rules for the future.
When the elevator opened on his floor, Logan heaved a sigh.
Almost there.
Just a hall and a half to go
, he thought as he trudged on.
"Hey Hansel, where's Gretel?"
Logan was halfway through the partitioned secretarial offices, when the wiseass remark forced him to consider the smiles he'd been getting. He stopped and turned in the direction from which he'd come… and saw the trail he'd left behind. A freaking rainbow of bras, bikinis, stockings, even a pair of G-string bikinis—a treasure trove of man's favorite playthings—littered the floor behind him. "Damn!"
Tim Kaiser stopped at the opposite end of the trail. "Way to call a meeting, man. Cool. Do we get to keep the crumbs?"
"Shut up and help me pick this up."
Six men dove for the goodies. On second thought—"Don't touch!" Logan shouted.
A cumulative groan rose from the station's male population.
"Tim," Logan snapped. "Come and get this damned garment bag and take it to my office.
The rest of you, back to work."
With more than a few wistful looks and a great deal of speculation, his eager helpers drifted away.
Retracing his steps and clearing his trail took Logan an agony of scorching minutes. When he finally bent on his haunches to pick up the last of the crumbs, a man-skewing black lace teddy, the elevator beside him opened and a pair of choice legs, feet encased in red spikes, stepped out and stopped before him, and Logan primed himself for battle.
"You kinky little devil," said the wicked witch of the east, spiking his guns.
Nearby, a gaffer with a death wish chuckled.
Chapter Five
"NOT a good time to push, Melody," Logan said as he rose, juggling a brimming tapestry bag and a black merry widow.
She dangled a pale gold bra before him. "I knew you were in trouble when I saw my favorite under-wire sticking out the elevator door in day care."
Logan snatched it from her hand and stuffed it into his breast pocket. "Shane
settle
in okay? I was worried."
"You weren't alone, but he'd already made a friend by the time I left."
"Have you been crying?"
"Nah."
"You sure he's okay?"
Melody's smiled blossomed. "He's great."
"Thank God." With a relieved sigh, Logan ran a hand through his hair and caught a garter in the nose. Reminded of the spectacle he presented, he swore.
"I
told
you the zipper was busted."
Logan noticed, in his peripheral vision, a curious throng hovering just out of range. To keep them from hearing, he got up close and personal, and his body jumped to attention, aggravating him the more. "Just hustle your sweet little ass down the hall and into the office," he said. "Do not say a word. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200."
"Aye, aye—"
"One more word…"
Mel shut her mouth. Lucky for her, she knew when to fold.
Side by side, they walked, she as sedate as could be, while he carried the large bag of heavy-duty lingerie strategically placed before him.
Both of them nodded and smiled to the people they met along the way… until Melody leaned close. "I
gotta
tell you,
Kilgarven
, that bra in your pocket really pops with navy pinstripes, but when you trip over the garter belt dangling from that bag, you're not gonna look half so dignified."
AN hour later, Logan was still fuming. Did Melody simply stumble on trouble, or did she suck adversity up like Super-Magnet? He was beginning to think that he would find her picture next to
loose cannon
in the dictionary.
Man, if the office grapevine didn't spontaneously combust today, it never would. Half the staff had watched the sexy witch and her erotic assortment turn him into the kinky devil she considered him… horny.
He had never been as humiliated, or stimulated, over anything in his life, and he couldn't seem to release the volcano of frustrated ire boiling inside him. He might have, if he'd been given the satisfaction of strangling Melody after their erotic parade, but the opportunity had not presented itself.
Then again, he could be arrested for what he really wanted to do to her. Logan sighed in self-disgust. Hard to believe that he had come to pride himself on his impeccable reputation as a serious businessman, as a man in control… until Melody
Seabright
had opened her door and turned him into a ticking time bomb of thundering testosterone.
Time to vent might at least have helped him get over the flaming humiliation, but no, when they got to their office,
who
did they find but Gardner waiting for them.
Seeing the boss had prompted Logan to snatch the yellow bra from his pocket and shove the male-thrumming wisp into the brocade bag. Then he grabbed the red garter belt Melody had kindly rescued before it tripped him and deposited the bawdy hoard into their bathroom. The Ice Man did not need another meltdown. His libido had already cost the station a fortune in residuals.
God
knew,
Mel's outfits were turn-on enough; nobody should have to suffer the added discomfort of knowing what she wore beneath them. Her fashion show had long since begun and as if to prove his thoughts, she came out modeling yet another seductive little number for Gardner's lecherous perusal.
Logan's heart sped, his palms sweat. Yes, he was a lecher as well, a frustrated one. He'd seen and touched, even inhaled the perfume on most of the gossamer and lace that caressed every hidden inch of Melody's soft, porcelain skin.
He bit back an oath and shifted in his seat. If he had a modicum of self-respect, he would leave the room, the
station,
maybe take a job in another country. He might have to sign into a
detox
center, though, or be locked away for good, to get Melody
Seabright
out of his simmering blood.
But Logan didn't make a move, not to stand and leave, nor even to turn his head. He didn't so much as bat an eye, because he didn't want to miss one incredible moment of Melody's scintillating fashion show—no matter the cost to his pride and self-respect, never mind his poor deprived body.
Maybe he was a masochist, sitting here anticipating more of her fascinating torture. He must be sick, letting himself be titillated by the array, imagining the possibilities—like sticking your fingers into a light socket, again and again, just to test the buzz and relive the zap.
He should put some space between them before he was lost for good. So what if his son adored her? So what if she'd solved his day care problem? Shane needed stability and security, neither of which Logan could equate with Melody
Seabright
.
Look what she did to him. She morphed him—despite his best efforts to remain unaffected—tempted him to disgraceful behavior, and had him coming back for more. One look from her, and he lost his grasp on the staid and practical executive producer he'd worked so hard to become, and became that bad-boy troublemaker from the tenements again.
Man, he hated that. He'd been slapped with too many reminders of his failures over the years. He didn't need any more.
Bad enough his mother insisted on staying in the tenements, though he could now afford to get her something better, like a house or condo of her own. Bad enough he was the one who'd turned her into a workaholic in the first place—stealing from a convenience store at twelve years old, no less—to the point that he couldn't get her to stop working. Now here's Melody with the ability to knock him back on his ass as well.
Logan didn't know which of them was worse, Mel or his mother, but his mother, he had to keep around.
MELODY felt the stab of Logan's penetrating gaze like pins in a voodoo doll. He hadn't so much as blinked at the twenties flapper dress she'd modeled, or the fifties strapless, and they looked awesome.
Big deal, carrying her clothes into the station had caused him embarrassment. Sure, he was pissed. He had a right. But get over it, already. His anger, she discovered she could handle, but his disinterest bothered her a great deal—more than it should, she supposed.
Like she wanted anything to do with another pin-striped tight ass.
Nevertheless, Melody stepped directly in front of Logan and nudged his foot with the toe of her forties platform shoe, until he looked up and "saw" her.
"Tell me what you think of this one," she said, drawing his gaze by rotating her hips close enough for her polka dots to cross his eyes.
No comment. She'd gotten his attention, though. That tick in his cheek was a dead giveaway.
Melody moved a straight chair to the center of the room.
As much to snap him out of his snit as to reveal the surprise at the front of her dress, she raised a foot, placed it on the chair seat, and leaned in. On cue, the dress slid open, front and center, to reveal her bent leg to her thigh, her shoe's three-inch heels and thin ankle straps, adding pure sex to the pose.
Logan paled and swallowed.
And that's what you get for sulking
, Melody thought. "This is a shirtwaist designed by St. Laurent in the seventies," she said, "to reflect the style of the forties. I think red polka dots on black fits the show perfectly and might work for the pilot. The unique style sends a subliminal, "Watch me make magic," kind of message."
Gardner rose and walked around her, examining her from every angle. "There's a lot I like about this one, though it doesn't have the same allure as that straight black dress with the foot of beaded fringe at the hem."
"The flapper dress, you mean." Melody turned to Logan, pleased to note that he had not taken his gaze from her. "What do you think?" she asked.
Logan shook off his trance and loosened his tie. "Who knew that polka dots could be so… so—
"
"I know," Mel said, unable to stifle her grin.
"Kind of snappy, kind of understated.
Lively, you know, without being… fluorescent."
Finally, she'd set Logan's smile free, and God what an improvement. He sat forward, in the game again. "I don't expect we'd want all black, or all dresses for that matter," he said, not seeming to expect an answer, but more to clarify his thoughts. "I don't think uniformity of any kind would fit our flamboyant witch." His wink made Melody feel worlds better. Then he stretched his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and slid his hands into his pockets. "That flapper dress, by the way, would better suit a show where you prepare something formal—say, a New Year's Eve dinner party."
"Excellent," Melody said, surprised and impressed.