Waltz This Way (v1.1)

by Dakota Cassidy

  “And cranky,” he added, giving his mother a kiss on her cheek.

  “She’s been hurt. You remember that kind of hurt, don’t you, son?” his mother searched his eyes, looking for the signs all the traces of hurt were gone.

  He remembered. “I remember. I’ll tread lightly.” Though, after Mel’s sudden about-face tonight, he wondered who should have the lighter tread. She’d all but challenged him to make this date the best date ever in some sort of weird duel.

  Myriam shook her head of gray curls. “I’d be cranky if my husband told me we were getting divorced on the television, too.”

  “Your husband was too smart for that, Myriam. He took the easy way out and died instead,” William McPhee said with a cackle, sticking his nose back in the newspaper and ducking when his wife shot a damp towel in his direction.

  “Speaking of taking the easy way out— that ex-wife of yours called. She wants Nate this weekend. I told her we have family plans, but she said the courts say she can have Natty.” Drew’s mother made a face of disapproval, her rounded cheeks flushed with indignation when she brushed her hands off on her stained apron.

  There was no love lost between his mother and Sherry, his ex-wife.

  The only time his mother even attempted to hide her fury was when she was around Nate, and she did it because Drew demanded she do it.

  Sherry was a crappy mother, but he wouldn’t allow those words to come out of anyone’s mouth in front of Nate. Regardless of Sherry’s love affair with a bottle of booze and some pills, one that kept her from giving Nate the mother he deserved, Drew wouldn’t tolerate anyone disrespecting her.

  “She does have that right, Mom.” He hated it as much as his mother and the rest of his family. He worried every second Nate was with her.

  Not quite the way he had when Nate was younger and didn’t know how to fend for himself, but worry he did.

  “What kind of judge gives a booze hound like her visitation rights?” his mother hissed in a whisper. “She doesn’t care about Natty. She cares about Jack Daniels and Miller Light.”

  Drew put a finger to his mouth. “Shhh. Nate will hear you, Mom. I don’t like it any better than you do, but it’s court mandated. She’s supposed to have him every weekend. Let’s just be glad she’s usually too busy with a bottle in some bar to be sober enough to remember.”

  His mother scrunched her face in residual anger over the judge’s ruling. “You just remember what I told you, Drew. If she ever hurts my Nate because she’s had too much to drink, I’ll kill her myself.”

  William was instantly on his feet at the mention of Drew’s ex-wife.

  He reached out for his wife, placing an arm around her waist to soothe her. “Now, Selena. Let’s not invite the bad in by saying it out loud. She’ll probably forget she called when Nate calls her back. Or she won’t answer the phone at all like she always does.” His father winked at him. “So tell us about your girl, Drew.”

  The light Irish brogue his father had retained after living in America for over seventy-two of his seventy-four years was always a balm to Drew’s ears. “She’s a dance instructor at Nate’s school.”

  “A dance instructor you were rude to when you found out she had to teach Nate to ballroom dance,” his aunt accused.

  He rolled his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Okay. I was a little rude.”

  Myriam planted a hand on her rounded hip “That’s not what Dean Keller’s Uncle Hiram said. He said you yelled like some kinda caveman.”

  “I was caught off guard. I thought I was sending Nate to learn—not dance. But I must not have been that much of a caveman because she agreed to go out with me.” So there.

  Although, he still was unclear about why Mel had agreed to go out with him in the first place. Her acquiescence had been anything but sweet. It had been more like determined. As if going out with him was like facing her worst fear head on.

  “You’re going out with Ms. Cherkasov?” Nate asked, coming around the corner of his grandmother’s blue and mauve kitchen with her collection of different variations of cows in wood lining the upper cabinets.

  Drew had never considered it might be awkward for Nate. Damn.

  He didn’t want to make trouble for his son. He’d had enough garbage in his life. “You okay with that?”

  Nate shot Myriam a quick glance before responding. “Yep. It’s cool.”

  “You sure? I don’t want to cause trouble at school for you.”

  “Seriously, Dad, how much more trouble could there be when I’m the best dancer in her class? You don’t think that’s trouble with a bunch of nerds?”

  Drew’s mother laughed, pulling Nate to her and rocking him in a tight squeeze after planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m so proud. You take after your grandmother, you know.”

  “So you taking her dancing, Dad?” Nate gave him a fiendish smile.

  He wrapped an arm around Nate’s neck and gave him a gentle scrub with his knuckles to the top of his head. “You’re a funny kid. Not a chance. We’re just having coffee.”

  And if he’d heard her right, it better be spectacular coffee.

  He had to hope she didn’t expect it to be on some private jet.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dear Stupid Divorce Journal,

  Did I really think Drew would be toast by Saturday morning? I’m pretty sure I didn’t think we’d be eating toast. Together. In his apartment. I am a dirty, dirty whore who clearly doesn’t know the distinct difference between a compliment made out of kindness and an offer to quench my sordid desires.

  Though, he did say I was sort of sexy. The next time I hear those words, I swear, I’m running in the other direction instead of misinterpreting them to mean, “While I’m accusing you of being rude in a dark café parking lot, let’s have sex in seven different positions on as many surfaces, so we can really get the Drew virus out of your system.” Swear it.

  Love,

  The Dirty, Dirty Whore.

  “So here I am.” Mel gave Drew a condescending glare, much like the one’s she’d launched at Neil when they depicted the push-and-pull of a sexually tense paso doble. The glare that said, “impress me or die.”

  Oh, yes. She had on her dancing shoes and she was ready to rrrrumba.

  Drew rose from the table he’d chosen outside the café, pulling out a chair for her when he caught sight of her, stomping across the parking lot like he owed her money. The table sat amongst the twinkling strands of white lights draped around potted arborvitaes and woven into the maple trees on either side of Daisy’s.

  Warm fires blazed in chimineas scented with hickory wood that surrounded the intimate glass tables scattered in clusters.

  And it was all very charming, wasn’t it? Bastard could take his charming and shove it up his ass.

  “Hi, Mel. Glad you could make it,” he said with a cocky grin.

  She flopped down in the chair, throwing her purse on the table, and eyeballed him when he sat back down, refusing to acknowledge how delicious he looked in his black fitted shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was just a man. Just. A. Man. She’d repeated that over and over as she resisted the impulse to bathe in some hot wax and dig out her clumpy mascara.

  True to her word, she hadn’t shaved her legs or done much else to impress him visually. “So. Wow me.”

  Instead of being angry that she was demanding he entertain her, Drew laughed. “There’s no wow here. Just me. If that’s not enough wow— then I’m wowed out.”

  Mel’s eyes narrowed. Why wasn’t he rising to the bait? How unfair that he should be a gentleman when she’d spent the last day and a half turning him into something akin to Charlie Manson. “I thought this was going to be the best date ever,” she taunted.

  “You know, I gave that some serious thought after your sudden one-eighty the other night. I asked myself, ‘Drew McPhee, whatever could the wily Mel be up to, first playing coy, then turning into some demanding shrew?’ And then it hit me that I didn’t really care
what you were up to or what kind of game you’re playing. I’m not into games. As to the best date ever, that’s a lot of pressure to put on myself for a first date, one you’re determined to see fail anyway. So I figured, screw that. It’s a nice night. Not too cold, but just cold enough that it’s invigorating. Just right for a hot cup of coffee. So instead of wowing you with my intellect and witty repartee, I’m just going to order some plain old coffee and enjoy an evening off. You’re free to stick around if a freebie’s your thing. I’m still in for buying you the obligatory coffee. It’s the least I can do after you drove all of two miles to get here.”

  Was that the sound of the reins of this date being rudely snapped from her hands? God, why did it have to be so damned sexy?

  Oh, no. She was the hunter in this game of cat and mouse.

  Just call her cat.

  Meow.

  “FYI, all talk and no action makes for a disappointing Drew McPhee.” Boom, baby. Take that, you cocky, sexy as hell bastard!

  Drew’s eyebrow rose while he sipped his coffee, the luscious temptation of his lips wrapped around the rim of the cup made a bead of sweat trickle between her breasts.

  He put the cup down and leaned forward as though he was going to tell her a secret. His grin was sly. “Trust me, sweetheart, you wouldn’t be disappointed by Drew McPhee in action. He’s just decided to take his action to a less demanding playing field.” He said the words low and husky, shooting her another arrogant smile.

  Mel fought a purr of pure lust at his alpha stance. Must. Resist.

  Instead, she raised her eyebrow back at him with as much condescension as she could muster. “So much for making me eat my words,” she said with dry sarcasm.

  He sighed dramatically, shrugging his shoulders before raising a finger to catch the pretty waitress’s attention. “Well, you’re on a diet anyway, right?”

  Her eyes narrowed in suspicious embarrassment. “Who told you that?”

  “Nate heard you turning down a piece of Mrs. Willows’s birthday cake yesterday because you said you’re on a diet.”

  Was nothing sacred? She rolled her eyes. “Right. A diet. So, seeing as there’s going to be no wow, I think I’ll head home, but thanks for the sort-of date. It’s been everything I’d hoped it would be and more.”

  In and out. Just like she’d planned. Why she was feeling a stab of regret that Drew hadn’t bothered to even attempt to wow her could be sorted out when she was at home. Alone. In her flannel pajamas and fuzzy footies.

  Drew rose when she did. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Nuh-uh. He wasn’t going to keep flashing the decent-guy thing in her face. She’d had it up to her neck in nice guy. He could stay here and pick his nose. “Thanks, but don’t bother. I’ve walked to my car a million times all by myself. I think I can manage. See you Monday.”

  She whirled around, heading off into the darkness to locate her dad’s truck.

  Drew’s chair scraped on the cement. “Oh, no, lady. I won’t have word getting out that I’m some kind of slacker on a date. I’m not going to let you ruin my reputation as a gentleman just because you have some kind of stick up your ass. I’m walking you to your car— like it or don’t.” His strides fell in beside hers.

  Mel stopped short halfway to her father’s truck, her lips thinned in anger. “Hold on. Did you just say I had a stick up my ass?”

  He barked a laugh filled with disdain. “I did. Did I mention it’s probably pretty big and uncomfortable? I’m guessing it would have to be for you to be so damned rude.”

  “Rude? I am not rude.” She stalked off, kicking up parking lot dust and avoiding the truth of his statement. Not to mention a public argument that could get back to Nate. The last thing she wanted was for Nate to feel any tension between her and Drew. That was probably one of the biggest reasons Westmeyer didn’t encourage the staff dating each other.

  And yeah, she’d definitely been rude. It was the perfect defense against Drew’s force field of delicious. Go in with a grudge, whether the grudge was imagined or not, walk away unscathed and with your pride intact. There’d be no more falling for the first kind word or flirtatious gesture ever again.

  But instead of leaving her and her rudeness to mate and become one, Drew stalked right beside her. “The hell you’re not. Rude is showing up to a date with a shitty attitude and an even shittier out-look on something that didn’t even have the chance to happen.”

  She waved a finger in the air in his general direction while gravel crunched beneath her angry feet. “You were the one who said it would be the best date ever.”

  “After you threw down your lady gauntlet and dared me. But guess what? I decided you weren’t worthy of my best date ever.”

  Mel stopped short again. “Hah! I think you just aren’t clever enough to come up with something that’s wow-worthy of a best date ever.”

  He loomed over her, forcing her feet to move backward. “Did you just call me stupid?”

  Squinting at him, she glared. “I called you ‘unclever.’ Not ‘stupid.’ ”

  His nostrils flared, making her heart thump in uneven beats.

  “That’s not even a word.”

  She craned her neck upward, rolling her head in a slow circle of “take that.” “It is now. I just made it up in your honor.”

  “While you’re making up words, why don’t you make up one for a woman with a sense of entitlement so big, it rivals the state of Texas in size.”

  Entitlement? Helllloooooo. Wasn’t it she who’d slunk off to her corner while Stan had taken everything? “How dare you call me ‘entitled,’ Captain Caveman!”

  His lips thinned and his eyes glittered. “Oh, I dare. You have some nerve expecting anything from anyone with the kind of goods you bring to the dating table,” he said between clenched teeth, positioning his body directly over hers.

  Was he making fun of her hairy legs and dejectedly grazed with a careless hairbrush coif? So she hadn’t dressed up for the occasion featuring the great Drew McPhee. Who had a sense of entitlement now? “Are you mocking my appearance? How shallow!”

  His mood shifted without warning when he shot her a dazzling smile. “No. I think it’s sort of sexy in a thrown-together way.” Then his expression returned to its original pissed off when he shouted, “What I’m mocking is your—”

  She muffled the next words he planned to hurl at her with her mouth.

  On his.

  How they ended up in his apartment was a hazy journey of heavy breathing, lips and tongues preventing a great deal of clarity, and some mention of its location being right next door to Daisy’s Café.

  With the door safely shut, Drew’s hands reached for her, pushing her up against the cold metal, molding her to him, crushing her body against his until she thought she’d die from the sharp pleasure it brought.

  He was everything she’d been afraid he’d be and more. Mel was sure she’d regret that fleeting thought later. Right now, he was doing things to her body that hadn’t ever quite been done in the way he was doing them, and her reason went the way of off-the-shoulder sweat-shirts and Duran-Duran.

  His passion was an unrestrained force, palpable and filled with a heady combination of his lips and hands. Drew touched every part of her body through her clothing, making her hips jut against his to revel in the rigid strain of his cock through his jeans.

  Mel’s fingers plowed through his hair, devouring the slick sensation of his tongue with whimpers of delight. Sex with Stan had always had a certain amount of restraint attached to it she’d never realized until this wild abandon with Drew. She’d never felt as free as she did at this moment. Free to explore every tense muscle in his body with hands that shook and fingers that fumbled here and there in the process of relieving him of his clothing.

  She heard the pop of buttons on her worn flannel shirt and groaned her approval when he shoved her bra out of the way to cup her breast with a callused hand. Pulsing-hot pleasure shot through her veins, making the ache
between her legs almost unbearable.

  “Wait,” she gasped, forcing air into her lungs. “Nate.”

  “At my parents’ for the night,” Drew gasped back, driving her skirt upward and yanking her panties and leotard down with a rough jerk.

  Mel kicked them from around her ankles, spreading her legs wide when Drew plunged a finger deep within the folds of her swollen sex.

  She clutched frantically at his shoulders, pulling at the fabric of his shirt until he rolled his shoulders to remove it.

  When flesh met flesh, hisses of satisfaction mingled with the duel of their tongues.

  Mel’s knees began to crumble at the pressure of his lips consuming hers, the drive of his silken tongue exploring her mouth, demanding she return his kiss.

  Drew’s chest crashed against hers, scraping against her nipples, now exposed to the cool air. Mel whimpered when he pinched a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it to a tight peak.

  He reached the other hand under her ass, hiking her leg up around his waist to grind against her, wreaking havoc with her senses.

  Mel let her frantic fingers find the zipper of his jeans, the rasp when she dragged it downward erotic to her ears, knowing she was revealing yet another layer of Drew.

  He groaned into her mouth, low and hot, sending a round of shivers along her exposed flesh. Drew’s hips drove against her hand when she pulled his jeans down and enveloped his cock, thick and hot, in her shaking hands. He pressed against her hard to gain leverage, kicking his jeans from around his feet to free himself.

  Grabbing her around the waist, he hoisted her upward, letting the tip of his shaft caress her swollen clit. A deep, guttural moan slipped from their lips, a sound made in unison.

  Mel clung to his shoulders as he walked her toward somewhere.

  She couldn’t focus on anything other than this blinding need to have him hard within her, thrusting, quenching her insatiable need for him.

  Drew tore his lips from hers and muttered, “Condoms this way.”

  Vaguely, she realized it was a good thing he had some or in desperation she might have DIY’d it and used plastic wrap and twisty ties as a makeshift form of protection.