by Leslie Kelly
“I told you I can’t cook. So if I were going to do such a thing, it’d have to be with Kentucky Fried Chicken and Krispy Kreme doughnuts.”
“That’s almost as dangerous.”
“I know. But I promise, I won’t trick you into any more dates against your will. Your reputation is safe with me.” She made a cross-your-heart thing and lifted two of her fingers.
Nick had lived in this town long enough to know what that meant. “Scout’s honor?”
“I wasn’t a Girl Scout.”
His eyes widened. “I thought that was illegal in Savannah. All small females living within a hundred miles of this place have to be Girl Scouts.”
“I traveled too much as a kid.”
She traveled too much to be a Girl Scout. It made him wonder what else she’d missed out on. Not just because of her lousy marriage—but because of her crazy childhood. “I’d like to hear about it sometime.” Shoving an inner voice of caution down deep into his subconscious, he added, “Maybe while I check your pipes and try to resist the smell of fried chicken and twenty crispy, creamy cholesterol points pretending to be breakfast food.”
Her smile faded and she began to shake her head. “I can’t.” Her voice grew softer. “I meant what I said…”
“Don’t talk to me about that damn list again,” he growled.
“Not that,” she whispered. “It’s not about any stupid list. It’s about…”
“The bathing suit and the leather coat?”
She thought about it, then slowly nodded.
“So you’re just a coward, huh?” He’d meant to spark a reaction. Not have her agree with him.
“Yes, I am.”
He nearly kicked himself for using the word. “You’re not a coward. It took a lot of guts for you to get through that party Saturday night when your friends kept surprising you.”
“Surprising? Yeah, I guess that’s one way to put it. Though humiliating is probably a better one.”
“You going to forgive them for that?”
“I did. They called as much as you did the past few days.”
She fell silent, not opening the door but not looking as if she was ready to share his coffee and nibble his bagel, either.
“Mel…”
“Nick…”
“Sorry,” he said with a laugh. Needing to know for sure, he added, “You really are a coward about some things, huh?”
“’Fraid so. And you’re at the top of the list.” Wincing, she added, “My things-to-be-careful-of list. Not the…other one.”
“Fuck the other one,” he couldn’t help muttering.
Her rueful laugh told him she wasn’t offended. “Uh, I don’t think so.”
Well, hell, didn’t this blow? For the first time in forever, he’d started to let his guard down around a woman who seemed to want him every bit as much as he wanted her. But the timing was wrong.
Timing. What a stupid word.
Still, he could almost hear the thoughts going through her mind. Hadn’t those same thoughts gone through his own whenever he’d even considered getting involved with a woman? The doubts and anger and hurt from the past whispered the loudest when the future looked the most uncertain.
“Okay,” he finally muttered. “But just so you know, I’m not going to let you get away with that for too long.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” he explained, reaching over to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear, “that I suspect there’s not a cowardly bone in your body. I’m buying it this time, but pretty soon, honey, you won’t even be able to sell that line to yourself.”
ATTORNEY JONATHAN RHODES HAD two deep, unwavering loves in his life. One had given him his greatest success, and the other had, in effect, taken it away.
His political ambition had been driving him for as long as he could remember. It had made him excel in law school and, when he’d graduated, had helped him in his quest to become a hotshot in the Savannah legal community. He’d then used his young Turk reputation, letting it parlay him into a congressional seat soon after his thirtieth birthday, achieving the first step of his political dream.
Yes…that political dream had been about to begin, with his first campaign just a small step on the journey. He’d had it in the palm of his hand, seeing his brilliant future laid out in front of him like a red carpet unfurling into eternity.
Then it had happened. His other favorite thing had cost him the seat in congress. It was lucky for him that the cops who’d caught him with that hooker up in Washington had been bribable, so the full story had never come out. Bad enough to have to leave D.C. without ever going any further than the house of representatives. But the whole truth could’ve done a lot worse, including preventing him from returning to his legal profession in Savannah.
So now his political dreams were shelved for the time being, but he was making the best of it. Savannah was home, his home of loyalty and suspicion, old values and new ambitions. Of secrets and of sex. He was making waves as the somewhat infamous former congressman turned defense attorney. And he still had time to fully explore his other obsession.
So it wasn’t entirely a bad thing to be home, he reminded himself Thursday as he stood in his office looking out toward the Savannah River. Especially when he imagined what he might have missed out on if he’d been up in Washington.
He might not have met her, Melody Tanner. The Peacock Feather Girl.
He’d recognized her right away. Considering he still had a poster-size print of her hanging among his collection in a secret room in his apartment, it wasn’t too surprising. Her hair was different and she’d aged a bit. She was also a little more filled out than she’d been in her Luscious Lingerie days.
But there was no mistaking those blue eyes that had so perfectly matched the bra and panties she’d been modeling. Not to mention that perfect, creamy skin that had complemented the underclothes so very well.
When they’d been introduced, he’d heard her name and had known for sure. It was her…the model from the lingerie catalog he’d lusted over and dreamed about for years.
It was fate, really. Fate or karma or mere good fortune had brought her into his life, just when he’d given up on ever getting what he had desired for a very long time.
Jonathan had tried to track her down once, a couple of years ago. He’d hired a private investigator to find the former officers of Luscious Lingerie. Due to some embezzlement at the highest corporate levels, the company had gone bankrupt shortly after that infamous catalog had been released; the famous peacock-feather set that might have saved them had reportedly never even gone into production.
A former VP accused of the embezzlement had put him on the track of Melody Tanner in exchange for some free legal work, and he’d gone looking for the model. He’d found her agent, but by that time, she’d retired and had taken herself out of the public eye. No one would tell him where she’d gone. He’d given up, eventually forgetting about her. Until Saturday night, when he’d met her right here in Savannah.
Yeah. Fate. What he most desired was right here in his home city. And judging by the surprise—shock, almost—on her face when they’d been introduced, he’d definitely intrigued her. All that remained was to act on that interest, and await his opportunity. He’d put it off for a few days, not wanting to appear too eager. But now, well, he simply couldn’t wait any longer to seek her out.
“Melody,” he murmured as he looked at the business card she’d given him at the party the other night.
She was a photographer, looking to drum up business. He was a lawyer looking to spruce up his professional portfolio.
Sounded to him like a match made in heaven. Which was why he picked up the phone and dialed her number.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MELODY DIDN’T KNOW where she got the nerve to agree to meet Jonathan Rhodes for lunch on Friday. She’d been very surprised to hear his voice on the phone Thursday afternoon. He’d had to repeat his name a couple of times for it to sink i
n that another of the men she’d fantasized about all those years ago was calling her.
She almost turned down his invitation because, no matter what she’d thought of the man six years ago, she knew now that there was absolutely no spark of attraction between them. When they’d shaken hands at Rosemary’s party, she’d felt absolutely nothing. No tingle. No curiosity. No flash of danger or naughtiness at having once thought about having sex with him.
Her mind, her libido, her waking thoughts and her dreams, every bit of her—except her actual body—was thoroughly involved with Nick Walker. There was no room for anyone else.
In the end, though, that lack of spark was the reason she agreed to meet with Jonathan. Because having no interest in him—unlike what had happened the moment she’d met Nick—might be significant. Maybe feeling no serious connection meant she could go for something with him and feel absolutely no regrets when she walked away the next day.
Yeah. He’d be safe. Unthreatening. Someone she could have a one-night stand with to get her confidence back without a single regret or repercussion afterward.
If only she had any interest in having sex with the man.
“But I don’t,” she reminded herself as she pulled her car into the parking lot of her favorite Mexican restaurant Friday at noon. She’d suggested the place for their meeting, wanting to be in safe and familiar surroundings. And half wondering if returning to the scene of the crime—the place where she’d made the list—might make Jonathan Rhodes a little more interesting.
It was worth a shot, anyway, just to see if something developed. No, she didn’t have any illusions that Jonathan could make her stop fantasizing about Nick Walker, but it could be enlightening to see if she could muster even a slight interest in anyone else.
Besides, even if it didn’t, it was worth meeting the man because he could end up being a client. He’d mentioned wanting new professional photographs for his entire practice.
If her Men Most Wanted list wasn’t worth meeting Jonathan Rhodes for, a job most certainly was.
“Well, hello there, Miss Tanner, all alone today?” she heard as she entered the building, savoring the cool air-conditioning.
Recognizing the restaurant owner, who’d made her feel so uncomfortable last week outside the café, she almost wished she’d chosen another location for today’s lunch. If she’d been thinking straight, she would have. The man’s smile was already too intimate, knowing. As if he suspected she’d come here today because she couldn’t stand not to see him. “I’m meeting someone.”
“The dark Amazon, the little curly-haired one or the blonde?” he asked with a suggestive wag of his eyebrows.
“Oh, not one of my girlfriends,” she admitted. “I’m meeting a man, Jonathan Rhodes. Do you know if he’s here yet?”
His smile faded the tiniest bit. “No. No lone gentlemen here yet.” Retrieving two menus, he led her toward a small table just inside the door and pulled out her chair.
Sitting down, Melody accepted the menu and thanked him.
“A margarita on the rocks?”
She shook her head. No alcohol today. She needed all her wits about her for this lunch date…er, meeting. She wanted to be sharp and alert to all her senses so she could determine once and for all if there was any sizzle whatsoever between her and the number-two man on her list. “Sweet tea, please,” she said.
“And a chicken burrito? I know it’s your favorite.”
Surprised, she cocked her head to the side. “You really pay attention to your customers, don’t you, uh…”
“Call me Ricky.” He leaned down and looked from side to side, as if making sure he wasn’t being overheard. “And I only pay such attention to the very special ones.”
Not sure whether he was trying to flirt, or just being a good host, Mel stammered, “Well, uh, thanks. But I think I’ll wait to see what my companion’s going to have before I order.”
He immediately straightened and gave her a stiff nod.
The front door opened again, a stream of harsh sunlight flooding across the reddish tile floor, blinding her for a second. Then a man appeared in the doorway. Jonathan Rhodes.
He was still handsome, with thick blond hair, green eyes that probably twinkled when he smiled. Good body. It was no wonder the man had gotten elected to congress. No wonder also that he’d attracted enough women to ruin himself in D.C.
“Melody,” he said as he strode over to her table. He bent down as if to kiss her, and she quickly stuck out her hand.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Rhodes.”
“Please, if we’re going to be working together, I insist that you call me Jonathan.”
Working together. That sounded promising.
During the next hour, Melody found herself quite enjoying the witty attorney. He was a Savannah native, so he had lots of stories to share. The broad hints he gave about defending some Mafia types who lived for danger made her wonder if Jonathan, himself, didn’t have a thrill-seeking streak.
Well-spoken, attentive, charming…he was everything she’d imagined him to be six years ago when she’d put him on her fantasy list. Only…she didn’t want to have sex with him.
There was definitely no spark. While it might be easy to walk away from him the morning after, with no regrets and no looking back, there couldn’t be a morning after with a man who did absolutely nothing to light her fire the night before.
Damn. Only Nick Walker did that. And he wouldn’t be easy to walk away from. He’d be the kind she’d be chasing after.
“So,” he said after they’d finished eating and he’d called for the check, “you really think you can handle the individual shots as well as a group portrait for our entire office? As much as I loathe legal advertising, it does seem to be the name of the game these days, and we need some high-quality portraiture.”
“Absolutely. My studio is large, and I have state-of-the-art equipment.” Thank God the judge had left her with the equipment she’d already had, and enough money to fund the rest and still eat for a couple of months.
He lifted his half-empty glass, dripping with condensation. “Is your studio convenient for you? Close to home?”
She laughed. “Very convenient. I live right upstairs.”
His eyes widened and he immediately lowered his glass. “Really? That’s wonderful. I’d like to see it.”
Since the man had to have felt the same lack of spark Melody did, she decided to assume he meant her studio. Not her home. “Of course,” she said. “Come by some afternoon and I’ll show you around. We can talk about lighting, backgrounds, and lay out a plan that would fit in with your campaign.” Keeping her tone professional rather than hopeful, she said, “If you’re working with an ad agency, maybe you could bring their rep with you.” Wishful thinking, that she could get an in with a local PR company so quickly after setting up shop, but it was worth a try.
“I haven’t hired anyone yet,” he said. “But I’d like to see your studio anyway. How about now?”
She started in surprise. The man certainly was anxious. But if he was going to give her a week’s worth of portrait work, now was absolutely fine. “Of course. Let’s go.”
It was only after they’d left the restaurant and she was driving home that she had the first hint of concern about bringing Jonathan—a man from her sex list—to her studio. Not that she had anything to fear from him; he’d been nothing but polite since the moment they’d met, despite his reputation as a womanizer. But would she find him more tempting knowing there was a comfortable bed right upstairs?
Apparently not, she decided a half hour later as the two of them stood in her studio, looking through backdrops and examining different lighting effects. Because there was still no attraction. Zip. Zilch. Not happening, now or ever.
Professionally, though, things looked good. Jonathan seemed very pleased by what he saw. He took particular interest in the small platform Mel had set up for children’s shots. The man was happily rubbing his hand across the soft green f
abric draped over it. “Much nicer than tacky fur,” he murmured.
She nodded, surprised he understood. “Exactly! I want to offer something a little above the ordinary. No bare-bottom babies on white fluffy rugs.” Walking over to a shelf piled with props, toys and accessories, she showed him a stack of folded bolts of fabric. “I have lots of different colors and textures.”
He followed her over, staring at the drape cloths, a smile on his face. Then he reached out and ran his fingers over the material. For the first time, she noticed how slender and elegant-looking his hands were for a man.
His eyes drifted closed as he stroked one square of fabric—a brilliant blue satin. “This is lovely, isn’t it?” he said. “I imagine it would feel just delightful against the skin.”
He finally opened his eyes and met her stare. Melody paused, wondering if he was making a move. A man who stroked mere fabric with such delicate precision would probably stroke a woman in much the same way, wouldn’t he?
Too bad Mel didn’t want to be stroked. She wanted to be handled. By someone with big, strong hands. A particular someone with big, strong hands.
Suddenly uncomfortable, Melody walked over to the door leading to what had once been a second bedroom in the apartment-turned-studio. “I’ll do most of the shots digitally, and my printer is top of the line. But if you want any traditional black-and-whites, I do have a darkroom.”
“Fine.” He sounded distracted. Then he shook his head once, as if thrusting something out of his mind. “I’m sorry, I just remembered I have an important call to make.” He reached for his cell phone, then frowned. “Oh, no, my battery’s dead.”
“Not a problem. You’re welcome to use mine,” she said, gesturing toward the front desk where she did her paperwork.
He shook his head. “No, I hate to be so much trouble. And I definitely don’t want to tie up your business phone.”
As if to underscore his concern, the phone rang. With an apologetic look, Melody answered, not about to risk missing any potential work. Unfortunately, it was a wrong number.