Enchanting Melody

by Robyn Amos

  “You’re trying to sneak off again?” Will called out before she reached the door.

  She turned to face him, looking sheepish.

  “I’m going to start taking it personally.”

  She walked back over to him. “I just don’t think I have the right temperament for ballroom dancing. I’m not a let-a-guy-control-me type of girl.”

  Will let his gaze travel over Melody. She’d struck a brazen pose, hip jutted out and arms crossed. Her catlike eyes, ringed with dark liner, dared him to contradict her. No, she wasn’t the passive type.

  Speaking of types. She wasn’t his at all. Her fashion sense was a mix of goth and grunge instead of Gaultier and Gucci. Melody Rush was dark, defiant and every bit the brat her shirt proclaimed.

  He took in the shapely legs stemming from her low black cowboy boots and the rippled abs peeking out of her baby-T. On the other hand, she was sexy and he was a man. It just didn’t go much deeper than that.

  “Melody, you’ve got it all wrong. Just because the man leads doesn’t mean the woman is passive. It’s our job to make you look good. Like the pedestal under a Ming vase—the man bears the weight so the woman can be admired.”

  “Yeah, that’s cute, but you can’t tell me after today that I’m cut out for this. Dancing with some of the guys was okay, but that last one—” Melody formed her hands into a choking gesture.

  Will stifled a smirk. “It takes a while to adjust to new partners. The more confident you become in your own dancing ability, the easier it will be for you to adapt to a new partner’s style.”

  “You make it sound so easy, but I’m not buying it. I’ve barely gotten used to this pattern, and now you’re talking about teaching swing next week? That’s the one where they throw you around like a rag doll, right?”

  “That’s one way to look at it,” Will said, amused. “If it will make you feel better, I’ll give you a sneak peek at next week’s lesson. That way you can practice a few steps on your own.”

  Suddenly Melody looked nervous. “No, I don’t want to waste your time. The studio’s closing. You probably want to get home.”

  He took a step toward her, holding out his hand. “It’s no problem.”

  She took a step back, and he paused. “Unless you’d rather not.” He liked the fact that he could rattle her. He could tell that was something that didn’t happen often.

  She visibly swallowed and took his hand. “Hey, if you’re up for it, I am, too. I guess I need all the help I can get.”

  Taking the stereo remote from his pocket, he hit the CD changer and a bouncy swing filled the room. “Okay, the basic swing pattern is relatively simple—one, two, rock step.”

  He had to show her several times before the rock step began to sink in. “Loosen up. You’ve got to let yourself feel the connection. Try not to think so hard.”

  Melody stumbled. “I don’t know about this. Swing seems so corny.”

  “Corny? The swing? No way. It’s the most versatile dance of them all. I bet you didn’t know that you can swing to hip-hop music.” He pulled the remote from his pocket and the CD switched to a pounding beat. Will continued to lead her through the basic pattern.

  Melody wrinkled her nose. “Hip-hop isn’t exactly my thing.”

  He twirled her around then spun her around his back. “Oh that’s right, goth girls are more into metal, right?”

  “I’m not much for labels, but yeah, I like rock, punk, alternative…”

  “Hmm, I’ve never tried to swing to punk music before. Maybe if you bring some in, we could try it out.”

  She regarded him with a wary eye. “Maybe.”

  “There you go.” He led her around the room. “You’re getting the hang of it now.”

  He watched Melody trying to fight back her grin. “It’s all right, I guess,” she said.

  Feeling her confidence growing, Will led her into more complicated steps. Melody followed along like a pro.

  “I have to know, what made you want to take ballroom-dancing lessons?” he asked, pulling her close.

  Melody scoffed. “Do I look like someone who would want ballroom-dancing lessons? No, I’m the maid of honor in my sister’s circus—I mean wedding. I think she only gave me the title in order to inflict girly tortures upon me—ballroom dancing, pointy-toed shoes, hot rollers…”

  The image of Melody in pink taffeta and ruffles scowling at her sister from the front of a church sent a rush of laughter up from his diaphragm. He missed a beat, throwing them off for a second. “Come on, it isn’t that bad, is it?”

  “Oh, it’s going to be bad. My family gets one favor and this is it. I only have to be presentable for a few hours,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  Will laughed. “Well, don’t worry about a thing. I’ll make sure you’re the belle of the ball.”

  Right on queue, Melody faltered. “I’ll settle for not falling on my butt.”

  “No problem.” He lowered her into a steep dip so that she was barely skimming the floor, then he whisked her up into a graceful turn.

  His hands slid inside her T-shirt onto the smooth skin of her back. The song on the stereo had moved on to a pulsing erotic beat. For a brief second their eyes locked.

  Melody immediately looked away. “So what’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” she asked when she’d regained her breath.

  Will exhaled slowly, taking hold of her hands for less intimate contact.

  “I’m a stockbroker. I teach dance part-time. It was one of many odd jobs I used to do, and I still love it.”

  “I figured it was a side job. Most people can’t buy designer shoes and diamond watches on a teaching salary.”

  “I teach to stay sane. The stock market can be stressful. Dancing relaxes me.”

  “Dancing has the opposite effect on me, but I guess that stands to reason since I have two left feet.”

  “Nonsense, you’re doing well.” He took her through another pattern. “See that? You’ve just learned two weeks worth of steps in fifteen minutes. Next week, you’ll be way ahead of the class.”

  “Great, now I’ve probably forgotten everything I learned from the last two weeks.”

  “Not a chance. I’ll show you.” Will changed the music to a romantic melody by Frank Sinatra. He took her into his arms and the two of them immediately fell into fox-trot step.

  Will had danced with many women. Old, young, the talented, the uncoordinated and some of the most beautiful, graceful dancers in New York. But there was something he just loved about dancing with Melody.

  Dancing with her awakened primitive responses in him he’d never felt before. She would hate to know it but because she was so resistant to being controlled, making her body bend to his will gave him a rush of power.

  She had the body of a ballerina, and all the grace of an elephant. But, he was skilled enough to compensate for that. He turned her this way and that, watching her hips and arms move in perfect concert with his. He didn’t want to take his hands off of her.

  Will thought she’d been enjoying it, too, until she suddenly jerked out of his arms and pushed him away. She’d moved so quickly he stumbled back a few steps before catching himself.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I think I’ve got it now.”

  Will stared at her, still stunned by her sudden retreat. “Um, okay…”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that it’s getting late. I think I should go.”

  He nodded. “Okay.”

  “I mean, thank you—for this. I think it really helped.”

  She was chattering a mile a minute. And the truth began to sink into Will’s head. She didn’t know how to handle the attraction between them. He had two choices. He could be professional: slow down, put her at ease and make her feel safe, or…

  “I understand. All of this can get overwhelming. Maybe it would help you to get out onto a real dance floor. The Franklin Hotel has cocktails and dancing every Monday night. I could take you after class next
week. You’ll have the chance to practice in a less structured environment.”

  From the look of pure dread in her eyes, Will was certain Melody would turn him down.

  “Next week?” Her voice squeaked slightly.

  “Yes.”

  Her brow furrowed. “After class?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just the two of us?”

  Will nodded. “That’s right.”

  He watched her swallow.

  “Okay.”

  Melody breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped into the familiar territory of Alchemy that night—on Mondays it was goth night. There was something so comforting about the red neon skull glowing in the window after an evening in that highbrow dance studio.

  Stage lights washed the normally stark walls in a hazy red, and a blue spotlight swirled around the three-man band raging on the tiny stage. Off to one side of the cramped room akin to someone’s basement apartment, she found her friends at a table far from the stage.

  “There she is. Finished with ballet class?” Bass called to her.

  Mel rolled her eyes. “It’s not ballet—it’s ballroom dancing. And it figures you wouldn’t know the difference.” She pulled up a chair.

  “Ballet or ballroom…either way, I’ve just got to see this. Aren’t you going to show us what you’ve learned?” asked her friend, Roland.

  People at Alchemy didn’t dance so much as let the music vibrate through them into pulsating—almost convulsive—rocking motions.

  “Only if you’re my partner. Do you think you’re up for it, Roland?” Mel challenged.

  Roland, with his pale skin and thick, black-framed glasses could easily be mistaken for a college professor. He wore slim black pants, and a black V-neck sweater with a white T-shirt. In fact, he’d look better suited for a library than Alchemy if it weren’t for the spiky black hair that jutted in sharp angles from the top of his head…and the red lipstick.

  Roland glanced at his girlfriend Samantha, whom they all affectionately referred to as Tha. “How about it, Tha? Do you dare me?”

  Tha was a bleached blonde with three inches of black roots. She wore lip and eyebrow piercings and heavy metallic-green eye shadow. She just shrugged without looking up from her beer. “Mel’s going to make you look like a dork. But, if you’re cool with that, then I’m cool with it.”

  Roland got up and moved into an empty space at the back of the bar. Mel shook her head as she followed him. Punk music blared from the speakers above her head. Counting quickly, she abandoned any thoughts of a fox-trot.

  “Normally, the man leads. But, between the two of us, I think I qualify the most.” She took Roland’s hands and showed him the pattern Will had taught her earlier that evening. “One, two, rock step. Got it?”

  Roland looked baffled.

  The beat of the music was frantic, but they eventually managed to fall into a crazed, but steady rhythm. They were doing well enough that Bass and Tha soon joined them, frantically trying to imitate their movements. After several minutes, other people in the club got up to join them.

  The band, energized by the dancing crowd, played two extra songs before ending their set for a break. Mel and her friends returned to their table out of breath.

  “I can’t wait to tell Will you really can swing dance to punk music,” Mel said to herself.

  Just then, a man Melody had never seen before set a beer down in front of her. “You looked like you could use a drink,” he said with a flirtatious smile.

  Melody looked from the drink to the guy, then back at the drink.

  “What’s the matter, don’t you drink?” he asked.

  Mel picked up the glass and passed it back to him. “I don’t drink anything you bring me.”

  The guy stood staring blankly for a moment before finally wandering off.

  Samantha shook her head at her. “You never cease to amaze me. Everywhere we go, men fall all over themselves trying to impress you. You always shoot them down without batting an eyelash.”

  Melody shrugged. “I didn’t ask him for the drink. He volunteered for bartending duty.”

  “One of these days you’re going to run into a guy who’s not scared of you.”

  Mel shook her head, folding her arms across her chest. “It’ll never happen,” she said, more confidently than she felt.

  Deep down, she knew she may have already met that man.

  Chapter 4

  “Funny, but you don’t strike me as the wall-flower type.”

  Will snapped out of his reverie to find himself the target of an unabashed feminine once-over. Standing only five foot five in her glittering three-inch pink pumps, his appraiser craned her neck to take in his full length.

  Parkview’s club floor lounge was teeming with trendy singles that Friday night, but all Will could think about was the Knicks game he was missing. His new wide-screen TV had been delivered earlier that week. At that moment, he should have been watching the Knicks clobber the Bulls in high definition.

  Abby, the planning-committee chair—hoppedup on a latte—had cornered him at the gym again this morning. She wouldn’t let him get back to the stair-climber until he’d agreed to attend the mixer.

  “Wallflower.” The word tasted flat in his mouth. “Is that what I am?” he asked the beautiful young woman.

  “You’ve been nursing that same drink since you got here, and you’re holding up this wall as though the roof were caving in. So, yes, you’re behaving like a wallflower.” She sipped from the flared lip of her Cosmopolitan glass. “Is that really how you planned to spend this evening?” she asked with a sidelong glance.

  He’d planned to spend the evening with the Knicks, but it was too late for that now. In that instant, Will made up his mind to make the best of the situation. His brother had been right—he needed to start living the lifestyle he’d worked so hard to afford.

  He followed his new friend to the bar where he discovered her name was Valencia. As he bought her Cosmopolitans, she regaled him with her escapades as an interior designer for several big-name celebrities. He listened, smiled, flirted mildly and even took her number when she offered it.

  As Will rode the elevator down to his apartment, he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

  He tried to brush the feeling away as he entered his apartment. Valencia was just what he needed right when he needed it—a professional woman who shared his tastes and desires. She was beautiful and petite with smooth dark skin and a trendy haircut. Just his type.

  So why did he feel so…disinterested?

  Dropping Valencia’s card on the coffee table, Will grabbed his remote. There was still time to catch the end of the game. He stared blindly at the screen until his gaze drifted back to the phone number scrawled across the top of the card. On some strange level he felt as though he should have been with Melody.

  But that was ridiculous. He hadn’t done anything wrong. They weren’t even dating. Yet, his mind finished silently.

  Did taking her out for an extended dance lesson qualify as a date?

  Will wasn’t sure, but it surprised him how much he was looking forward to finding out.

  Melody threw down her pencil in frustration and pushed away from her art board. She was supposed to be finishing the panels that introduced the Ambassador story line. Instead she kept absently sketching the angles in Will Coleman’s face.

  His face was handsome in all the conventional ways, but that wasn’t what stirred her artist’s fascination. It was the war going on behind his eyes.

  He had the makings of a comic-book hero—boy-next-door good looks with a little something extra. The hint of a secret identity, maybe? With her pencil, she darkened his brow into a brooding look. The eyes always showed the strain of a double life.

  Snatching the sketches of Will from her drawing board, she shoved them into a drawer. She was projecting qualities on to him that didn’t exist. Will wasn’t a superhero—no matter how perfect she made him out to be. />
  And she didn’t have time to waste inventing new comic-book characters. She’d gotten up early that morning to get some work done before her house became overrun with wedding paraphernalia. Stephanie had begged her to let them use her apartment to address wedding invitations.

  Melody had just started to get a rough outline of the Ambassador’s first panel when she heard the doorbell ring.

  Her heartbeat sped up as she crossed the room to get the door. “Bass,” she said, feeling both relief and disappointment. “What are you doing here? My sister will be here any minute with her bridesmaids.”

  Bass leaned against the doorjamb, clutching his skateboard and a bag from CompuCity. “And good morning to you, too. I stopped by to check out the first draft of the Ambassador sketches. You said they’d be done this weekend.”

  Embarrassed at her lack of progress, Melody continued to block the entrance. “Since when do you get out of bed before noon on a Saturday?”

  “It was an emergency. My motherboard blew up right in the middle of a Web site redesign.” Bass looked over his shoulder to survey the empty hallway. “So what brings Bridezilla and her merry minions to your humble abode?”

  “Stephanie’s apartment is being painted and my mother—the etiquette Nazi—claims the Rush name will be dead in New York if we don’t mail the invitations Monday. So you stand at the gateway to wedding hell.”

  “What about one of the other bridesmaids? Don’t they have apartments?”

  “I’m the maid of honor.” She hung her head in mock sorrow. “It’s my cross to bear.”

  “Well, this won’t take long.” He tried to look past her into the loft. “Show me the sketches and I’ll be out of here before they arrive.”

  “Actually…” She grabbed his arm, pulled him into the room and slammed the door behind him. “Now that you’re here, you should stick around and keep me sane. In a few minutes this place will be filled to the rafters with fancy stationery and ribbons.”

  Bass stumbled backward into the closed door. “Thanks, but I think I’d rather get a root canal from my blind uncle Harry.”