While She Was Sleeping... (6 page)

“Want me out of the way before you jump Sawyer, huh.” The joke came out more bitterly than she’d intended; she dumped too much cereal in her bowl and had to put some back. She knew she was intruding on Melanie’s life, but her sister’s impatience to get rid of her hurt.

“No, I know you’re anxious to get to Florida, and since you get now that Sawyer is not my usual guy—”

“You want me out as soon as possible.”

“No! I want to make sure we have dinner at a new restaurant—new to you—on North Avenue that I think you’d like.” Melanie laughed ruefully. “Will we
ever
be able to communicate normally?”

“Probably not.” She crossed the kitchen and gave Melanie a long hug. “You and me?”

The phrase was one they’d used often when their mother was out of the house or out of commission. Melanie squeezed her, then let go. “You and me.”

“What, I’m not invited?”

“Hey, Sawyer!” Melanie’s face lit up. “How was your second night?”

“Better than the first. And also not as good.” He winked at Alana, who immediately turned to pour herself another cup of coffee, though more stimulation was the last thing she needed. He wore a loose T-shirt and khaki shorts, bare feet, his dark hair tousled appealingly; he moved with a lumbering swagger that was so masculine her mouth was practically watering.

Melanie laughed as if she’d never heard anything so clever
in her life, though she obviously didn’t get the joke or she wouldn’t have found it funny.

“Good morning, Alana.”

“Hi there.” She tossed the greeting over her shoulder, safe by the coffeemaker. “Glad you slept well.”

“Did you?”

“Sure.” Not. Even with her new sleeping pill—but not the second one this time—she’d had a hard time dropping off, lying in the bed she’d slept alone in for over a decade. One night with Sawyer and it was as if he belonged there with her. She wished she’d taken the guest room after all.

“So what’s on the calendar today, roomies? Looks like Alana got a jump on the cleaning.” He started opening cabinets. “Mugs here? Whoa, someone likes candles.”

“We ate by candlelight all winter. Gran said it chased away the gloom of early darkness. She bought them by the case. Mugs are here.” Melanie got down a Green Bay Packers mug for him, apparently unconcerned to be caught wearing only a shirt, which lifted and clung sexily when she reached into the cabinet, though Sawyer didn’t seem to notice. Er, not that Alana had meant to check for his reaction.

Sigh. Sometimes, Alana wished she was more like her sister. Not very often. But if Sawyer had come down while she was half-naked, she’d have turned beet-red and run from the room to put on sweatpants.

“Alana cleans when she’s upset.”

“Oh?” He moved next to her—too close, she felt her whole body wanting to lean into his tall strength—and poured himself a cup of coffee. “You upset?”

“No. No.” She inched away, sat at the kitchen counter and sent Melanie a look of death behind his back. “I’m fine.”

“Good to hear. Can you pass the Raisin Bran?”

“What?”
Melanie jumped to get him a bowl. “You like Raisin Bran, too?”

“I have it every morning. Creature of habit.”

“Then this is your box.” Alana knew there had to be some reason Melanie had healthy cereal in her cabinet. “I’m sorry, I had no idea—”

“I think I can spare you a bowl of Raisin Bran.” He grinned and took the box, sat on the stool next to her across from Melanie, to Alana’s intense but not altogether unpleasant discomfort. “Especially after what I put you through.”

“Oh. Well.” Dammit, she was blushing again. “That’s…it’s…I don’t—”

“So what are you doing today, Sawyer?” Melanie had the slightest edge to her bright tone. “I promised Edgar—he’s my coworker—that I’d shop with him for a surprise for his girlfriend’s birthday, then I’m at Habitat for Humanity this afternoon. You coming?”

“Yes, after lunch. I’m going to stay close to home this morn ing. Get settled in. What about you, Alana?” He got milk from the fridge and handed it to her; she tried not to notice how easy it was for him to hold the full gallon at arm’s length. Oh, what she’d missed by being asleep that first night, and not being able to see or experience fully what—“Milk?”

Oh, help, she was still staring. He’d asked her something else, too.

“I…don’t really…I should get going…Florida.” She shook her head at the milk, completely disgusted. Could she not even come up with a complete sentence?

“Stay another day. I don’t think I’ve convinced you I’m a good guy yet.” He took the milk jug back. “I’ll take you both out to dinner tonight.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Sawyer, that is
so
sweet.” Melanie reached across the counter and squeezed his forearm, then rubbed up and down before she let go. “We accept.”

“Um, I guess one more day.” If Alana could survive the next twenty-four hours remembering the touch of this man’s
lips while watching her sister fling herself at him. If Sawyer was everything Melanie said, and if Alana could be convinced he wasn’t also a player, he really would be great for Melanie. Better than anyone Alana could have imagined her sister ending up with.

She’d just stay in Florida the rest of her life.

“Gah, what time is it?” Melanie peered at the digital clock on the microwave. “Yikes. I’m meeting Edgar downtown in half an hour. Gotta go shower.”

She crammed peanut butter and toast into her mouth and grabbed her coffee to take upstairs, her legs flashing strong and muscular under the pink T-shirt.

Alana put her sister’s plate in the dishwasher, then went back to her Raisin Bran, eating quickly so she could also go upstairs and not be alone with this guy she didn’t know how to feel about anymore.

“How are you doing today, Alana?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks.” She swallowed a mouthful. “Melanie’s been telling me about you.”

His eyes turned wary. “Good things?”

“Yes.” She frowned. “Why, is there something bad?”

Sawyer laughed and shook his head. “You don’t let down your guard, do you?”

“Sorry. I’m still not over that first, um, encounter.”

“Mmm.” He held up a hand, put down his coffee. “I talked to my brother again this morning. Police are involved. My drink had been laced with…ready for this?”

“I think so.”

“Benzodiazepine. Also known as the date-rape drug.”

“Who would want to date rape you?”

He jerked his gaze to hers. “Is that an insult?”

“No! I was just—” She rolled her eyes when she realized he was kidding. He had her off-balance all the time. The feeling was unfamiliar and vulnerable. And challenging. And a little exciting. “Go on.”

“The culprit was the jealous ex-boyfriend of a woman, Debbie, who I was, uh, talking to.”

She shot him a glance. “You mean, trying to hook up with.”

“Me?” He put his hand solemnly to his heart, looking so innocent she had to smile. “The upshot is, when I climbed into bed with you, Alana, I had no idea what I was doing.”

A snort of laughter came to her lips before she could suppress it. As far as she was concerned, he knew what he was doing better than any man she’d ever been with.

“Something’s funny?”

“No, nothing.”

“Come on, something.”

“Sawyer…”

He nudged her shoulder with his. “Tell me.”

“Fine. The part where you said you had no idea what you were doing…” Blush, blush, mumble, mumble, why did she have to be either dorky or hysterical around this man?

“My God, was that a compliment? From you?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” She blushed harder when his eyebrow quirked. “And no puns on that one, either.”

He grinned, and she found herself smiling back, which felt suddenly natural and uncomplicated, a first where they were concerned.

Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he had been all along. “Apparently I owe you an apology.”

“Yeah?”

“For assuming you were like all the other guys Melanie has brought into her life. Since she was about fourteen.”

“Sounds like enough of a record that you felt comfortable making snap judgments.”

“They’d always worked before.”

“And then I fell right into the stereotype that first night.”

“Yeah, kind of.” She ate another bite of cereal, then put the spoon down. “One thing…”

“Ye-e-es?”

“You said you remember what happened. Between us. That night.”

“Ohh, yes.”

Her body reacted as if he’d touched her. His voice was so…

Steady, Alana.
“You really thought I was someone else?”

“Uh, yeah.” He sighed deeply, though she could tell he was still enjoying himself. She wondered if he ever didn’t. He seemed like the kind of man who grabbed life by the glass half-f and hung on. Probably not hard to do when you were born into stability and got to stay there. “I remember nothing after leaving the party. When I came to in bed with you, it was dark. I assumed you were the woman I’d been talking to at the party. She’d been very…friendly.”

Alana sent him a look of schoolmarm disapproval which made him chuckle, which made her feel as if she’d won the lottery.

“I put pieces together and decided I’d brought her—i.e.,
you
—home and that we’d been at it all night, I just didn’t remember.” His voice dropped lower. “Given how good you looked and felt next to me, I wanted to make sure there’d be something I
would
remember.”

“Oh…I see.” She really needed to concentrate on Raisin Bran or she’d turn into mush and pour onto the floor.

“But when I couldn’t wake you up, it seemed selfish and vaguely perverted to satisfy myself, so I just—”

“Yes, I know.”

“And now…” He grinned wickedly. “You owe me.”

“What?” She stopped melting instantly, stiffened in her chair. “You can’t be serious.”

“Alana.”

He’d gotten her. Again. Once more, she was walking the
Sawyer tightrope, always about to fall off one side or the other. “Right. You were kidding.”

“I’m sorry.” He gave her an unbearably sexy sidelong look. “I’ve been teasing you too much. But it’s been a long time since anyone thought I was trouble and it’s kind of fun.”

“For you, maybe.”

“C’mon, you’re not loving every minute of your time with me?”

She was, that was the problem. “I have decided you’re an okay guy.”

“Something in particular tipped you off?”

“Melanie promises you’ve been telling the truth. And I can sort of piece together what you said and make sense of it. And she said you…can afford to live here.”

He moved uncomfortably. “Oh. Yeah. That.”

“You didn’t want me to know?”

“It’s more fun when people don’t.”

“Why?”

“Assumptions.” The playful look was fading from his face. “Those snap judgments you love so much.”

She nodded, slid off the stool and took her unfinished cereal to the sink, afraid she was about to discover he was such a good guy that he didn’t want to be associated with the immediately—though shallowly—appealing aspects of wealth and power, that he wanted people to judge him for who he was, not what he had or represented.

Sawyer Kern was starting to seem too good to be true. Not in a choir-boy way, not at all, because he had that mischievous sense of humor and bad-boy sexuality spicing up what appeared to be solid character. Maybe even depth. A fabulous and rare combination.

Which meant he
was
perfect for Melanie.

Which meant the only thing Alana would accomplish by staying was to get in the way of her sister’s happiness.

“W
HERE ARE YOU
taking me?” Melanie followed Edgar down Water Street in the Third Ward, an area of old factories and warehouses reclaimed and reinvented as shops, theaters and restaurants. They’d passed the galleries and funky furniture stores, and were headed, as far as she could tell, for the Milwaukee River. Just before they reached the bridge, Edgar stopped in front of one last small building on the west side of the street which housed a wig shop.

“You’re buying Emma a
wig
for her birthday?”

He gave her a look and opened a door to the left of the store which led into the foyer for the building’s upstairs residents.

“I thought we were shopping.”

“We are.”

“In someone’s apartment?”

“Why not?”

Her frown turned into surprise when he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the security door. “You live here?”

“Yup.”

“We’re going to your apartment?”

“Nope.”

“Edgar, why are you being so mysterious?”

He waggled his thick eyebrows, smirking at her impatience,
and led the way up the worn-carpeted stairs. “All will be revealed in time.”

“Honestly.” She followed, thumping up each step to signal her pretend displeasure, all the while brimming with excited curiosity. She’d never thought of Edgar as either mysterious or romantic. Wouldn’t that be something if he turned out to be both? The day was looking better and better after the tension with Alana over breakfast. Melanie had been late leaving the house, as usual, but hadn’t passed any cops speeding east on I94, and found a miracle parking place only a few yards from where she’d promised to meet Edgar. Good luck always needed celebrating, at very least with a good mood.

“Here.” Edgar stopped outside the scuffed door marked 2B and rapped with the scratched knocker. A deep voice answered unintelligibly, but Edgar must have decided that was permission enough because he pushed open the door and gestured Melanie in ahead of him.

Three steps into the apartment she could see this was the home of an extraordinary artist. All four walls were hung with bright abstract paintings, great smears of colors with black squiggly lines dancing through them; they made her feel cheerful and somber all at once. On every surface sat sculptures, thin black metal bodies contorted in various sexual pairings, some tender, some gymnastic, some nearly violent, all erotic. Simple figures, but tremendous movement and passion in each coupling.

By the doorway to what must be a bedroom, two chairs had been set opposite each other, a board laid between them, covered with a sheet splatted here and there with gold paint. On the sheet, lovingly arranged, was jewelry.

Melanie walked toward it, mesmerized. Was this what Edgar had in mind for Emma? Earrings, bracelets, necklaces, all in silver, her favorite, twisted in delicate spirals, looped in playful circles or zigzags, adorned here and there with gems in rich colors that caught the light spilling through one of the
windows. An artist’s eye had set them here to be displayed to their advantage.

She hardly knew where to look first. Such talent. Such beauty. “All of this, the paintings, the sculptures, the jewelry…”

“One guy. He’s good, huh?”

“Good?” She turned to Edgar, overcome. “He’s a genius.”

“I had a feeling you’d like it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s exuberant and colorful. And sensu—beautiful. Like you.”

“Edgar.” She smacked him on the arm to cover her pleasure and astonishment. Pleasure at his nice words, though he complimented her often even though they’d been friends for two years now—he was sweet that way. Astonishment because she figured he’d invited her along shopping this morning because he had no confidence in his taste. Given the way he dressed, Melanie would have agreed. She expected they’d hit the mall jewelry store, he’d go straight for some chunky tasteless disaster, and she’d have to steer him away from his instincts to protect poor Emma from every woman’s nightmare.

But this…

How could he have such an eye for beauty and leave the house looking the way he did every day? Today’s ensemble: lemon-yellow stained shirt and horrible dull green pants—don’t get her started.

“I’ll be right out.” The deep voice originated in the rooms beyond the jewelry. “Have a look around.”

“That’s Sledge.”

“Sledge? As in hammer?”

“He’s the artist. My neighbor. I live upstairs, bumped into him a couple of times and we got friendly. He’s a good guy.”

“He’s brilliant.” She finally managed to calm down enough
to concentrate on the jewelry pieces singularly. A necklace in the middle caught her eye, a gorgeous piece that made her lust to own act up. She needed to remember this was not her purchase. “Tell me more about Emma’s taste. You said she’s—”

“Pick out whatever you’d want. You and she are similar. Whatever you love she would, too.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his baggy pants. “Yeah, I’m sure. If I think she’d hate what you choose, I’ll let you know. But I doubt it.”

“I don’t see how you could hate any of this.” She gazed at the assortment, pretending to consider, though the necklace was smiling at her.
Take me. You know you want to.
“I like this one…”

Edgar lifted it, a series of silver circles, some perfect, some slightly twisted, with jewels of varying size and color attached around the circumferences, apparently randomly. Except the balance, the color, the energy of the piece made her sure there was nothing random about it.

“Try it.” Edgar opened the clasp, held out the necklace. Melanie turned and moved her hair out of the way, thinking Edgar had really nice hands, neat with strong-looking fingers. He needed to take that much care of his fashion sense and that horrible helmet of hair…

The weight of the necklace settled onto her collarbone; she felt him brush the back of her neck, then the cool metal fell against her skin. She touched the silver rings where they lay neatly arranged across her chest, a perfect length to show off a low-cut sweater or to accentuate a high one.

“Well?” She turned back to let Edgar see.

He nodded. He was looking at her with a weird intensity, undoubtedly imagining Emma in the necklace. “It’s beautiful.”

The emotion in his low voice surprised her. As did a funny
wistful ache in her heart. He adored Emma. Wasn’t that what every girl wanted? Melanie hoped the woman knew how lucky she was. “If Emma is anything like me, she’ll love it.”

“She’s a little like you.” He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. There was tension in the air, nothing that had ever been between them before, and she didn’t like it. Edgar was always so easy to be around. Was something wrong?

“Hey, sorry guys, I’m just out of the shower. Had a phone call this morning and everything got pushed back.”

Melanie whirled toward the sexy voice and immediately fell in love. Deeply. Irrevocably. As quickly and thoroughly as she’d fallen for his necklace. Long, brown, curling hair, dark and damp from the shower, the color high in his high cheekbones, gray eyes dancing between long lashes. Earrings in his ear, loop in his nose, body by Michelangelo. Oh, how she lusted.

Which meant this guy was bad news. She could type him without hearing another word. He was fabulous in bed, as talented as he was artistically. Passionate, articulate, a dynamic and challenging partner. And self-absorbed to the point where if you weren’t right in front of him, or under him, you didn’t exist. How often had she dated this guy in one form or another?

Too many times. But, oh, he was beautiful.

Why couldn’t she fall this hard this quickly for Sawyer? Maybe real love took time and she was already on her way. She sure as hell hoped so.

“Melanie, this is Sledge. Sledge, Melanie, my coworker.”

“Ah, so this is Melanie.” He took her hand and held it without shaking, looking deeply into her eyes.
Take me. You know you want to.

No. She wouldn’t go there. She knew where she’d end up—yesterday’s girl, sitting by the phone, feeling like a stomped-on chewing-gum wrapper. She deserved better. She deserved a man like Sawyer who would carry part of his woman’s heart
in his own all day and all night. He still spoke respectfully and affectionately about his old girlfriends.

Melanie spoke about her exes with homicidal rage.

“Nice to meet you.” She managed to withdraw her hand, feeling as if she were pulling off a body part. “I
love
your work.”

“That necklace looks like it was made for you.”

“It’s for Edgar’s girlfriend.”

Argh.
She was an idiot, making sure Sledge knew
she
wasn’t Edgar’s girlfriend. If they were friends, he knew already. Worse, a guy like him would know exactly why she’d rushed to let him know.

He grinned and Melanie was lost. His eyes crinkled at the corner, his teeth were white and straight, and he radiated easy joy. He raised his fist and touched it to Edgar’s. “Emma will love it. It’ll look great with all that gorgeous black hair.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Beside her Edgar had stiffened and looked uncomfortable. What was up with him? He couldn’t possibly be jealous of Sledge’s compliment. Emma had the good sense to fall for Edgar; she wouldn’t let someone like Sledge onto her radar.

“I’m just sayin’…” Sledge lifted his palms in surrender.

“Sure. I know. She’ll love it. I’ll take it.”

“Sweet. It’s yours. May I?” He reached toward Melanie’s throat, and Melanie, who had no such good sense and whose radar was picking up every signal Sledge sent, knew that if he touched her she’d burst into flames right there and char her favorite orange top. But oh, baby, did she ever want him to.

“I got it.” Edgar stepped behind her; the necklace pulled up then fell away. She missed it immediately.

“Thanks.” She glanced at Sledge who was watching her intently, lips curled in a knowing, predatory smile. He wanted her. He knew she knew it. She needed to get out of here.
Now.
“We ready?”

“Sure.” Edgar handed the necklace to Sledge, who slid it onto a piece of waiting tissue paper and wrapped it. “Can I pick it up later? I don’t have the cash now.”

“No problem. Thanks for stopping by.” He aimed a sultry wink at Melanie that further weakened her already weak knees. She’d have to take Edgar’s arm to make it out the door.

“It was a pleasure.” She grabbed Edgar and started dragging him toward the exit.

“Wait.” Sledge leaped, catlike, over to a bookshelf studded with those suggestive sculptures, which she didn’t want to look at in the same frame with him, and came back with a business card. “In case you need to get in touch with me, Melanie…for any reason.”

She took the card, determined to play this cool. “Oh, thanks.”

“Anytime.” He gave her another lazy smile. “Just call.”

“Sure.” She managed to pull herself away from his tractor-beam gaze and grin. Out in the hallway, she fled down the stairs and emerged into the warm sunshine of summer, feeling like a bunny that had just escaped from a mountain lion. She was so stirred up, she wasn’t even going to beg a peek at Edgar’s apartment, which of course she’d been dying to see.

First garbage can on the street, she was tossing his card.

“Thanks for coming, Mel. The necklace is just right.”

“No problem. Emma will love it.”

“I know she will. Do you want to…get a coffee or something? Early lunch?”

“Oh, thanks, sweetie. I need to get home.”

“To Sawyer.”

He sounded so snarky she turned and stared. “Well, yeah. How am I supposed to fall in love with him if we don’t spend any time together?”

He shook his head, those startling blue eyes filling with
sudden humor. “Good luck with that. And thanks again for coming.”

Sure. She reached on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Mmm, Edgar, you smell divine. Whatever that is, keep it on for Emma tonight.”

“Will do.” He turned abruptly and strode down the sidewalk back toward his building. Something was odd about him today. She couldn’t tell what. She’d ask him Monday, make sure he was okay. She couldn’t bear to think of anything troubling him. If Emma ever broke his heart, Melanie would rip hers out, barehanded.

A deep breath and she headed for her car, got in, started the engine and buckled, still a little shaky from her encounter with Mr. Heartbreak Waiting To Happen. Then ta-da, through her windshield she saw the prize: a garbage can, mounted on a streetlight. Perfect. She’d get out
right now
and throw the damn card away, because if she didn’t, she’d be taking it home with her, and she did not want his name and number anywhere near her house, which had a phone in it. And a bed.

She held up the card, still clenched in her hand—Sledge Bolton, Artist—then shamed herself by pressing it to her nose and inhaling the faint scent of his apartment. Even that tiny hint of him made the card seem too precious to throw out.

Come on, Melanie.
She was being ridiculous in precisely the way she’d promised herself not to be ridiculous anymore.

Seat belt undone, she was about to pull the door handle, when a car honked impatiently behind her, someone anxious for his own miracle parking space. She craned her neck and saw a line of cars behind the honker, waiting for him, waiting for
her
to get out of the way.

Oh, crap.

She tossed the card onto the passenger’s seat, buckled again and backed out in a hurry.

There was nothing magical about that trash can. She had plenty at home. First thing through her door, she’d march into
the kitchen and throw his card away. No, she’d tear it up first, then throw it away. Or even better, put it through the shredder so she wouldn’t change her mind and try to piece it back together.

There. That was her plan. The New Melanie would follow through and be rid of The Temptation of Sledge Bolton in less than half an hour.