"Witch," Tiffany said, almost, but not quite, beneath her breath.
"Our very own,"' Max said with a cautioning smile.
"Shark," Melody said, in the same low biting manner.
Tiffany stiffened, and Logan began to cough.
"Over there," Melody said. "In the aquarium, isn't that a shark?"
Max grinned, patted Melody's hand on his arm, and led her toward the pressroom, as if to steer her from harm's way. Melody did not miss the warning look he gave his daughter before they left.
The minute Mel entered the pressroom, cameras started rolling, lights flashing, and reporters shooting questions, three at a time. When someone asked how old she'd been when she first started cooking, Melody laughed while panic rose inside her, until Logan stepped up, took her arm, and introduced himself as her producer.
"I hardly remember Melody when she wasn't cooking," he said.
Disaster averted. Whew.
For the rest of the interview, Logan fed the reporters the information he wanted them to have, diverting questions she shouldn't answer toward himself.
Later, as Logan led her from the pressroom and back toward the ballroom, Melody wondered where he'd chained Tiffany, because Daddy's girl would never have let go long enough for him to come to her aid with any incentive less than a sturdy lock.
Everyone else had deserted her by then, even Max… everyone but Logan. "That was exhausting," Melody said. "Thanks for the rescue. You're a regular knight in shining armor."
"Tarnished armor, you mean. I'm sorry I lost my cool earlier. Did I get a chance to tell you how incredible you—"
"There you are, darling," Tiffany said, coming up to them and threading a possessive arm through Logan's. "I wondered where you'd gone off to. Melody, dear, I'd like you to meet Brian Westmoreland. Brian, this is Melody Seabright, our very own Kitchen Witch, and Logan Kilgar-ven, my producer at WHCH. Brian produces our evening news in Albany," she told Melody.
Melody extended her hand toward Brian with a smile, but he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her cheek. "Mel and I are old friends," he told Tiffany… which, Melody thought, was a bit of a stretch, since they'd met exactly once, on the day she was hired, though not as great a stretch as Tiffany's solo ownership of the station.
"Dance with me," Brian said, sweeping Melody onto the dance floor and making her laugh. "You do realize," he said, as they began to waltz, "that you're the most beautiful woman in the room, the whole of Massachusetts, New England, even."
"But not New York?"
Westmoreland blushed.
"I think Miss Peabody would take exception to your statement," Mel said with a laugh, though she enjoyed his compliments and his fascinating stories of life in TV
news. After their dance, they went out to the balcony for a leisurely drink.
She should not have been surprised to find herself paired with Brian for dinner, Melody thought an hour later, though she was surprised to find the two of them sitting at the table with the New York station crew rather than her Salem colleagues.
Her ostracism didn't last long, however. The commotion at Max's table, as people jostled for position—and extra place settings and chairs appeared—meant something stunk in Station-town. When Max came for her and Brian and told her that room had been made for them at his table, Melody knew that the only thing reeking at the moment must be Tiffany's temper.
Pointedly ignoring Melody, Tiffany monopolized Logan's attention through dinner, but shortly before dessert, when the orchestra began playing a waltz, Logan managed to catch Melody's eye and ask her to dance.
Tiffany turned his way, as if with surprise, and accepted with blushing grace.
How unexpected, Melody thought, that the shark should mistake the invitation as her own. She should get a freaking acting award for that one.
Though Westmoreland remained by Melody's side like a smitten pup, her energy and enthusiasm waned. Yes, she had dressed for her role at WHCH, and for an appearance in the papers and TV, because
The Kitchen Witch
was a hit, and she wanted the world to know. But she had also dressed to knock Logan on his metaphorical ass, except that he'd been too busy entertaining Daddy's girl to notice.
She felt like a child fading into the woodwork and hated the struggle for acknowledgment, as desperate as the struggle for air. As much as she'd once wanted her parents to "see" her, she wanted Logan to see her now. She wanted… to be held in Logan's arms and waltzed across the floor, as if she were the only woman in his world, even for a little while. She wanted him to "see" only her.
She was an idiot.
On the outside, Melody felt like a princess, as she used to in her mother's dresses, but she wasn't as smart now as she had been then. Back then, she'd at least known better than to believe that dreams could come true, if only for a few hours.
They were a bad mix, she and Logan, and Tiffany proved it. Tiffany was a shark, Melody, a mouse. And let's face it, a shark could swallow a mouse whole. So let the businessman have the schemer.
She had herself
, Mel thought.
She was a witch who whipped up magic on TV. She wasn't a failure—in the career department, anyway. She'd known from the start that she and Logan had no future. She would have to look for a new place to live, soon.
Melody made an excuse to Westmoreland, pretending she was going to the ladies'
room, and began to make her way toward the cloak room. She'd had enough for one night.
AFTER their unexpected dance, Logan fisted his hands so he wouldn't jump the table and strangle Tiffany. He wanted to slip away to find Melody, whisk her into his arms, and dance with her until tomorrow. He wanted to touch her, talk to her. He wanted… everything.
He caught the flash of sequins, the milky-teal of her gown, and saw her duck, literally, into the cloak room.
Wondering if she was okay, Logan rose to go to her.
Tiffany caught his sleeve. "What's the matter, darling?"
"I need to take a walk, Tiff."
"I'll come with you."
"To the men's room?"
Tiffany's blush failed to hide her fury, but who cared? He got away.
The cloak room appeared empty but for a curtain of top coats and evening wraps. "Mel?" Logan called. "Melody, are you in here?" From the ballroom, he could hear the orchestra above the hum of voices. In the cloakroom… silence.
She couldn't have gone back out. He wouldn't have missed a shimmering sea green mermaid. He hadn't taken his eyes off her all evening, nor had he lost sight of the cloakroom door since she came in. He looked for another exit, fought his way through a layered jungle of coats and wraps on a snaking mechanized rack, and came up against the back wall. "Damn!"
He felt his way along the wall. "Melody?" he called. "Are you back here somewhere?"
He smelled orchids just before he heard a sigh.
"Mel, for God's sake, speak to me," he whispered. "This is the first minute we've had all night, and I don't want to waste it."
"Logan," she said, wistfully, and from so near, he swept her finally into his arms, so that they danced in place to the new piece the orchestra had begun.
"They're playing the theme from
Practical Magic
," she said near his ear, a smile in her voice, holding him almost as tight as he held her, as if neither would let go any time soon. Fine by him.
"It's perfect," he said, pulling her closer, if possible, as they swayed to the slow, enchanting beat. "You're perfect."
She chuckled, low and seductive. "Perfect… because I'm a witch?"
"Because holding you in my arms is like a fantasy come true, I wanted it so much.
Because I like the music—slow, but vital and alive—the way I want to make love to you."
Melody gasped, buried her warm face in his neck, and Logan savored the scent and feel of her permeating and enveloping him, raising him beyond the moment, as if they were destined to float in the watery illusion of the evening.
The rhythm changed; the dance turned seductive. Their lips met, frantic, the way he'd felt all evening, as if his heart would stop, if he didn't get his hands on her soon.
"I missed you. I missed touching you, holding you. Let me hold you now, just for a while." He nuzzled her ear, whispered everything and nothing. "You're so beautiful.
Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight, like a virgin mermaid waiting only for me."
Her low laugh caught, as if on a sob, and Logan frowned. "What's wrong?"
"How do you know what a virgin mermaid looks like?" She smoothed a lapel on his tux, ran a hand over his shoulder, threaded her fingers in the hair at his nape, possessive, perhaps, but a bit afraid to show it. He liked the notion almost as much as he liked the feel of her hands in his hair.
"I expect a mermaid would shimmer like you do," he said, sexual energy replacing his concern. He caressed and stroked her, in a bold, possessive mood of his own.
"Though no mermaid could feel as great as you do in my arms."
"I don't think I'm so much in your arms as my ass is in your hands."
"Oh, yeah. Just where I like it." Logan swallowed her squeak with another kiss, longer, hungrier. He couldn't stop exploring and stroking, learning every turn and curve of her luscious, long-legged body. "Good grief," he said, pulling back. "The side slit on your gown goes all the way to your waist. Why didn't I notice this sooner?"
"Magic… and a graduated overskirt of the same fabric."
"Watch it, Seabright, that's fodder for a hidden weapons charge." Logan slid a hand beneath the slit and encountered nothing but the bare skin of her perfectly rounded bottom. "I think I'm gonna have a heart attack."
"Whatever for?" she asked, feigning innocence.
" 'Cause somebody stole your underwear."
"Nah. I'm wearing it, and its design is most appropriate to the evening's theme."
Logan touched his brow to hers, felt his heart pound in his head, the skin of her buttocks against his happy hands. "I'm afraid to ask… and… don't mind that rocket in my trousers."
"A fishnet thong, of course."
Logan made a strangled sound.
"Are you all right?"
He peeled her dress back to expose the front of her barely there thong to his seeking fingers, touched the triangle of net, and inched it aside. "No, but I'm gonna die happy." The heat of her about scorched him as he found and stroked her—warm, moist, ready. "And go straight to hell for what I'm thinking."
Melody squeaked when he breached her, sighed, and rode a sensual sea wave of unexpected pleasure. "Oh." She bit her lip. "Oh, Logan." He felt her, wet and swollen, against his fingers. "Not here," she said. "Not… yes, there. Oh, oh no…"
She came, and Logan groaned near her ear, bit the lobe, adjusted himself against her to accommodate his pulsing fullness.
Quick on the uptake, Melody turned her attention outward. "Fair's fair," she said, unzipping his fly. "Don't guess I'm gonna be as lucky as you. I suppose you're wearing briefs?"
"Jeez, yes, I'm sorry, but don't worry, I'm gonna break out of them in a sec."
"Promises, promises."
The "big guy" did a happy dance.
"I'm goin' in for the goods," Melody said.
Logan released a full-throated groan of both shock and ecstasy when she took him in her hand. "Surprise me like that again, and I might spoil that amazing dress."
"Then let's contain the spill, shall we?" Without warning, Melody took his fully cocked self and slid him home as if she were a slick silk glove made to order.
"Jeez," Logan said aghast, trying to keep from coming. "Wait! Don't freaking move. Don't even breathe." He raised the flat of his hands to the wall behind her, closed his eyes, and took three deep, steadying breaths. "Get a grip, Kilgarven," he said.
Those words, more than anything else, gave Melody an indication of his personal struggle. Her smile grew so wide, she was glad he couldn't see it in the dark. "You okay?" she asked, even as she moved to slide herself along his length and test the strength of her power.
"Oh, God. I'm in heaven. You're so tight, I feel as if you're milking me—Oh please don't tell me you were still a virgin."
"Of course not, not technically anyway."
"Technically?"
"I tried it a few times, mostly aborted attempts. Messy business, isn't it? Didn't seem worth the fuss."
Logan cursed even as her unbidden movements forced pleasure to course through him. He tried to stop her one minute, rode her the next. "Stop!" he said.
"Wait. I'm not ready. Well, I am ready. Dangerously ready, but… how long ago?"
He kissed her, a gentle kiss, both more and less sexual than his previous kisses. "I just want to make it good for you, Mel."
"It happened in college," she admitted. "Every time."
"Years?" he gasped. "It's been years?"
"Logan?" Tiffany called. "Are you in here?"
"Do you get the feeling," Logan whispered in Melody's ear, between gritted teeth,
"that the world is trying to keep us apart?"
"I'm telling you, Daddy, I don't know what to do with that man."
Melody rested her head against the wall and closed her eyes. "Fate."
"No, goddammit." Logan kissed her with a new and desperate hunger.
"He'll find us, kitten," Max said. "Come back to the table."
Logan broke the kiss and released a long, deep breath. "God bless Max," he whispered.
"No," Tiffany said, sounding so near that Logan jumped. "I'm not going back until I scour every inch of this place and drag his sorry ass back where it belongs."