More Than One Night

by Nicole Leiren

  "May I get y'all something to drink?

  "A Vodka and tonic for me and whatever the lady would like."

  His attention diverted away from the blonde-haired flight attendant when Miss Complicated lifted her head. Dark brown waves of hair with a hint of red underneath begged for him to run his fingers through the softness. He made a fist and squeezed tightly to stop his hand from following through.

  "Vodka and cranberry, please."

  "Sure thing."

  Less than a minute later, the beverages were resting on the tray tables. "Y'all enjoy yourselves, and I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

  Daniel nodded and poured a generous portion of the vodka into the plastic glass before adding a bit of the tonic water and gesturing for a toast. "So, Melodie…Melodie Alexander, shall we toast to flying the friendly skies?"

  They touched the two plastic glasses together in a symbolic clink to complete the toast. Daniel tried to enjoy his beverage, but Melodie's full pink lips, now wet with the alcohol-laced juice, drove his over-active libido into second gear. Though seated, he guessed her height to be a little over five-and-a-half feet as she stood almost six inches shorter when they were fumbling around to get in the proper seats earlier. He dared not even try to guess her age. Women got very pissy when you messed that one up. The last thing he needed was another woman irritated with him—especially one he couldn't escape from until the wheels touched down in Dallas. Her breasts wouldn't win any wet T-shirt contests, but the swell under the soft purple blouse captured his attention and made his mouth water.

  His keen vision paid off as he caught a glimpse of her freckles hidden mostly from view. Down, boy. This would lead him to trouble as sure as molasses melts and sticks to the bottom of your shoes. He forced his gaze away and back to his drink. "Any special plans for your time in Dallas?"

  Crimson colored her flesh, extending his focus on her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Walking away had been his mantra of late. The moment her face turned toward him, he understood—a kindred, troubled spirit. Though he had no clue what pain she was trying to bury, he recognized the look in her eyes easily. He saw the same expression every time he looked in the mirror.

  "A little history and, hopefully, some fun. I've spent entirely too much time in the present lately, and," her gaze bore into his, "it's been entirely too long since I had any fun."

  "You're a history buff?" His voice jumped almost an octave as his pulse quickened. Maybe a troubled past wasn't the only common thread between them.

  "I've read so much about our history, and I'm fascinated. Mother talked a lot about Kennedy's assassination when I was younger. She was eight when he was shot, and it created a memorable impression on her. I want to visit the JFK Memorial while I'm in town."

  His gaze held hers and wouldn't let go. He'd served his country for two tours in Afghanistan and another stint as a private contractor because of his love of America and everything she stood for. "History was my favorite subject in school. American history." His smile widened. A woman with a shared interest—an interest that didn't revolve around sex. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

  This time the corners of her mouth turned up a little more. Progress. God help him if she ever gave him a full-on smile with teeth. He might have to introduce her to the mile-high club. This woman could spell trouble for him in capital letters. He only wished he knew how she'd found a way through his protective barriers.

  "Always nice to meet a fellow American history buff."

  "Let's go together." The words slid out smoothly, not even slowing down to consider how he'd save face if she said no. Or, God help me, if she says yes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  His invitation sent bells of alarm tolling through every pulse point in her body. Each chord reminded her of why taking him up on the offer wasn't a good idea. Ding—you just buried Tom a little over six months ago. Dong—you just met him. Ding—he's not your type. Dong—you aren't spontaneous. The hand closest to the aisle restored its death grip on the armrest, tightly forcing her mind to still the chimes of indecision and doubt.

  No more hiding in the shadows. "I'd love to."

  His smile reached all the way to his beautiful eyes. "Good." He paused for a few moments. "You like to dance?"

  The heat on her face climbed another degree or two. At this rate, her face would sport a sunburn before she even made it to Texas. "I try, though I can't seem to find my rhythm with most of today's music—leaves me feeling like I have two left feet."

  "So what kind of music transforms one foot back to normal?"

  "You'll laugh." Her mother and sister always laughed. No doubt he would too.

  He shook his head and held up three fingers. "Scout's honor, I won't."

  She sighed, hoping this wouldn't be one of those moments you looked back on with regret. "I'm embarrassed to admit I've never really left the eighties when it comes to music. I blame my father."

  His laughter, encouraging, not taunting, calmed like a sweet, soothing salve. "Always the man's fault."

  "In this case, my mother's. She can be a bit unrelenting, so Dad made sure my sister and I were exposed to the lighter side of life through music and books. He favors the eighties as it was, and I quote, a happy decade of music."

  "Are you close with your family?" Daniel's tone shifted to serious, his expression losing some of the delight from only a few moments ago.

  "Dad and I are pretty close. He understands me. Mom and Evelyn walk to a much more focused, ambitious, and disciplined drum than we do." I'm telling a stranger this why?

  "Family is tough."

  Understatement of the year. The silence extended for a few minutes longer. Melodie's undying curiosity couldn't let their conversation fade. Not the only reason. There's a connection, something I can't explain but don't want to dismiss…not yet. "Tell me about your family. I'm guessing you didn't grow up in a Leave it to Beaver home environment either."

  "More like The Brady Bunch. Mom and Dad are cool, but sibling rivalry is part of every episode."

  "I understand completely. I bet you have a perfect sibling who could do no wrong too." We have a lot in common.

  His smirk only added to his charm, and his eyes sparkled in amusement. "Sweetheart, I am the sibling who could do no wrong."

  And just like that, the connection is lost. His statement chilled her bones and brought her fully back to reality. At least that explained his earlier arrogance when her body turned Benedict Arnold by responding to his male prowess. A lifetime of being the special one, the smart one, the prettier one. No wonder he'd been able to charm her into a date. The word no wasn't in his vocabulary. She was all too familiar with the likes of him, having grown up being constantly compared to the practically perfect persona of her older sister, Evelyn. "Well, good for you. You must be so proud."

  Tiny sparks electrified the back of her hand when his palm covered and lifted the useless limb until she was forced to turn in his direction. She cursed her lack of control over her reaction every time his body touched hers. Distracting, maddening even.

  "Just because someone thinks you're perfect, doesn't mean you are. My brothers and sisters chose to make their main objective in life complaining about me. I hope you decided to step out of the shadow of your sibling and find your happiness."

  The distinct impression of another chink in her tightly guarded armor was cut away with the sincerity of his words.

  "So, you're not perfect?" Might as well learn upfront how honest of a man he was.

  This time he laughed and squeezed her hand a little tighter. "Not even close."

  The unwelcome feeling of disappointment slipped into her veins when he released her hand, followed closely by a twinge of guilt. She was still trying to sort through her feelings about losing Tom. Though they weren't technically engaged, he'd been her best friend and she the closest thing he had to family. Tom's life violently ended, and her mind still couldn't reconcile the finality of his death. He'd been her rock. One of the fe
w people who truly understood her.

  Time to change the course of their conversation back to a less intense subject. "You always ask strangers whether they like to dance, or did you have a purpose, oh not-even-close-to-perfect one?"

  Daniel placed his hand over his heart. "That kinda hurt, but I'm willing to forgive you if you join me tonight for drinks and the best cover band to ever play on the Glass Cactus stage. Before you object, they only cover songs from the eighties."

  "Sounds…doubtful." All of this sounded too good to be true.

  "Hey, I'm never wrong." His face darkened the moment the words left his mouth. "Never wrong about music and fun anyway. Are you up for a good time with a professed not-so-perfect guy?"

  Melodie wished one of her skill sets involved reading people better. Her gut told her he operated in contrasts: arrogance and politeness, shallow yet deep, and charming but edgy. All of these warnings sent the bells in her head clanging noisily, reverberating throughout her entire body. She almost heard a choir of Tibetan monks chanting. No. No. No.

  She hit the mute button on the soundtrack running through her head and reminded the monks about their vow of silence. Channeling some of the best of the eighties, her eyes narrowed in playful challenge. "They better make me walk on sunshine, mister."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The flight attendant must've spiked his drink. There was no other explanation for why he'd ask this woman out on not one, but two dates less than thirty minutes after meeting her. She wasn't even his type. Long-legged, stacked, and no-strings-attached women made up his usual fare of dates. Women like Alana. Damn…Alana. She'd be madder than a bull in a room painted red if she learned he was in town and didn't call the moment the plane touched down. Fortunately, Alana was neither a fan of The Glass Cactus or history, so very little chance of running into her at either of his spontaneous dates with the jade-eyed beauty sitting next to him.

  Her eyes.

  They had to be the explanation for his unusual behavior. Her eyes had told him so much in the short time he'd known her —more than she realized. His military training finally provided him with a positive use. He'd been taught to study a person's eyes and expressions, or a hundred other emotional tells the face gave away, to learn if they were telling the truth or not. In her expressions, he saw a naïveté he was unaccustomed to seeing in the women he dated—if you wanted to call one-night stands dating. This woman both intrigued and perplexed him. Time to dig a little deeper. "So, how do you earn your paycheck, Melodie?"

  Her surprised look at his question amused him and, dammit, melted another icicle around his heart. "Excuse me?"

  "Let me rephrase the question. Where do you go to work each day? Your occupation?"

  "Are you always this direct?"

  He heard laughter. Had that been him? Not much laughter in his life lately. He shrugged. "The best way to get an answer. Besides," he softened his features, "if we get all of the preliminaries out of the way now, we can focus on the music and dancing later." Smooth must be his middle name.

  "A children's librarian in a southwest suburb of Chicago." The words rushed out quickly as if she wasn't sure how he'd take the news.

  "A what?"

  "Big building, lots of books. Surely you've heard of such things?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

  Dear God, he was definitely in trouble. Innocent wouldn't even scratch the surface of this woman.

  Despite his best efforts to remain a gentleman, old habits die hard. "You're the sexiest librarian I've ever met."

  "How many?"

  The eyes he admired from the beginning turned accusing, another familiar expression. "How many what?" It didn't take a trained behavioral analyst to realize this conversation had taken a dramatic turn toward trouble.

  "Librarians have you met?"

  He searched his memory for an answer. "Umm, one or two when I was in school." So deep in trouble…The air raid sirens are sounding loud and clear…run, seek cover!

  She shrugged and settled back, taking another sip of the vodka cranberry. "Then that wasn't much of a compliment."

  Ouch. Score one for the librarian. A woman who had no trouble putting him in his place, something very few people had been successful with over the years. She'd done it in less than fifteen words. He liked this woman. "I'm sorry. I'll try harder next time, promise."

  This time her shoulders lowered, and the shrug signaled defeat. "No apology necessary. Very few men bring their 'A' game once they learn they have a librarian on the hook."

  "You don't have a very high opinion of yourself, do you?" Strong one moment and fragile the next. She was an emotional roller coaster taking him on one helluva ride.

  "How do you earn your paycheck?" She retorted, apparently ignoring his assessment of her self-esteem.

  "Former military." No details. None of her business. Sharing the details would send what was an already deteriorating conversation straight into the toilet.

  "Well, solider, my opinions of myself and anything else personal in nature is on a need-to-know basis." She pierced him with those haunted pools of emerald one final time before turning her attention to the book she'd been holding in her lap since take off.

  And I apparently don't need to know…

  CHAPTER SIX

  The rest of the flight passed uneventfully. Melodie escaped thirty thousand feet and the arrogant and irritatingly charming man sitting next to her by letting one of her favorite authors take her away to a time when Napoleon fought to gain world dominance, spies were everywhere, and men and women still held to the highest standards of manners.

  A solider.

  Former soldier. Didn't matter now anyway. Her hands gripped the armrests as they descended through the clouds, the turbulence making her wish she'd stuck with ginger ale rather than juice with alcohol. Slow, measured breaths. This was normal. Nothing to fear, according to the research. Simply the difference in air pressure above and below the clouds.

  Words in a book often comforted her, giving her answers to many of life's questions. Words coming from other people—those were often disappointing and involved a great deal of second-guessing and doubt. She closed her eyes and focused on the hero in the novel, nothing like the enigma sitting next to her. One minute all Southern charm and manners, the next cocky ladies' man. The first intrigued her, the second—annoyed and unsettled.

  "Eight o'clock work for you?"

  The first words he'd spoken since she effectively tossed up a fresh row of barbed wire around the fragile woman desperate for protection from any further hurt. "I beg your pardon?"

  "The Glass Cactus? Eighties music, walking on sunshine, remember?"

  She studied him closely, trying to see if the gentleman was the one making the offer or the jerk. "You still want to go?"

  "Look, I can't explain this. No more than you can, I bet. I enjoy your company—most of the time." He winked. "Life is short. No guarantees and all. I'd like to explore whatever this is. I'll meet you there so you won't have to worry about giving me your hotel name or anything."

  His words sparked a brief memory of Tom. Life was short, too short. No promises for even tomorrow. And, as much as she hated to admit it, he was right. There was something. She didn't understand it, couldn't research it, and had no clue what would happen. She sensed a kindred spirit somewhere under the layers of bravado and overconfidence.

  "What would your heroine do?"

  The sincerity in his voice led her to believe the gentleman had control at the moment. "What?"

  "In the book you've been reading since our first lovers' quarrel." The blue, iridescent eyes lightened even further with his teasing words.

  Heat rose on Melodie's cheeks again like mercury in a thermometer on a hot July day. Honesty was always the best policy, right? "She would go."

  "So, meet your hero for a fun evening of dancing. If you don't have a good time, he'll ride off into the sunset and never bother you again."

  For some unknown reason, the thought of not seein
g Daniel again disappointed her far more than she cared to admit. "Okay. Eight o’clock it is."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Daniel walked through the doorway promptly at eight. Never early. Never late. Beer, sweat, and women's perfume permeated his senses. My kind of party. He scanned the bar area looking for Melodie. Men in cowboy hats talking up women in high heels occupied most of the seats. Though there were some empty chairs, his date didn't seem to be the "I'll wait for you at the bar" type. Making his way through the hot bodies and large red couches interspersed for the comfort of the patrons who needed a rest from dancing in the lounge area, he searched the faces for a glimpse of her chocolate brown waves. Still no Melodie.

  He rolled his neck to ease the growing tension. She didn't strike him as the type to agree to come and then back out. He moved to the center of the lounge area to check out the dancers. Though still early for a Friday night, the dance floor hosted a decent number of people gyrating to the band's rendition of a popular Def Leppard song.

  Keen eyes scanned the crowd looking for her dark brown head bobbing in time to the music. Based on what he'd learned about her, it didn't seem likely she'd be hanging out with a bunch of strangers, but he felt compelled to cover all the bases. Still nothing. Where in the hell could she be? His disappointment seemed largely out of place for a woman he'd just met and had only known for a few hours. Time for a drink. Someday soon he'd have to find something besides alcohol and women to mask his pain, but that day was not today.

  Moving back to the bar, he ordered a beer and made his way toward the outdoor patio. Maybe he could bum a cigarette off someone. He really didn't smoke, but sometimes he needed to distract himself from his nonstop internal diatribe.

  Right before exiting, he caught sight of the brunette beauty, the most beautiful wallflower he'd ever laid eyes on. Melodie. In a denim skirt, white blouse, and red jacket—the picture of patriotism in a curvy, sexy package. He made eye contact and swaggered in her direction. "God bless the USA."