Not So Wrong: Love Grows series, Book Two

by Regent, Renee

  I loved my condo, but living there sometimes made me feel like a fraud. I often felt like a stranger in my own life, and I wasn’t sure why.

  * * *

  Melanie

  Logically, I knew being alone with Spencer at his place was a risk. I couldn’t deny my growing desire for him, a liability no matter how I looked at it. Two glasses of wine, a fabulous meal, and a moonlit ride in his Corvette had only served to decrease my determination to keep our involvement to a minimum.

  I’d had the occasional one-night stand and was usually able to walk away without regret. But something about this situation was different. From the moment we began flirting at that party, I’d felt a connection with him. It was more than physical attraction—though that was definitely a major reason. Yet, I couldn’t escape the notion that being close to him was going to cause me heartbreak.

  Maybe Sacha had gotten into my head about Spencer’s reputation, or perhaps my disappointment over quitting the band was making me paranoid. In either case, this was so not like me to worry over having an encounter with a guy.

  But Spencer Colebank wasn’t just any guy, and neither was his showplace of a home.

  My mouth dropped open the second he led me through the front door. All I saw was gleaming white with dark wood accents and sumptuous décor. It wasn’t overly masculine, nor feminine in design, but a place anyone could feel at home.

  If you were a billionaire, of course.

  Even though his furnishings were top of the line, it wasn’t overdone. The foyer was lit by an artsy glass sculpture chandelier, opening into the wide living room. White leather sofas and overstuffed recliners faced the floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the glittering city lights. It was breathtaking.

  Spencer threw his keys in a glass bowl on a table in the foyer. “During the day, the view on this side is gleaming buildings, and on the other side of the condo, it’s all trees. I bought this place because of the views.”

  He opened ebony French doors to a long, narrow balcony. The balmy night air wafted in, accompanied by the music of the streets below—traffic, a siren, and a helicopter flying overhead.

  I breathed it all in. I was going to miss the city. Our little trailer park in Florida was a completely different atmosphere, to say the least.

  “Your place is gorgeous, Spencer.”

  He stood beside me, looking out at the night sky.

  “Thanks. It’s home, for now. Would you like a drink?”

  I should have asked for water, but the luxurious surroundings had me feeling decadent. And I was curious about what a billionaire might serve his guests.

  “Sure. Surprise me.”

  He returned a few minutes later with two crystal goblets, each one-quarter filled with a rose-gold liquid.

  “Forty-year-old tawny port. Picked up last time I was in Portugal.”

  “Oh, wow. Lovely color.”

  He handed the glass to me. I held it up to the light and then under my nose. I sniffed, inhaling the scent of hazelnuts, honey, and a spice I couldn’t name. Before I took a sip, Spencer lifted his glass toward mine.

  “A toast. To friends and music.”

  Our glasses clinked. “I’m going to miss both, for a while, at least.”

  I sipped, savoring the flavor, which was close to the aroma, but with a stronger spice on the finish. Pretty awesome for a girl who usually drank light beer.

  I leaned against the railing, enjoying the moment. Spencer was next to me, sipping his port. Heat radiated from his gaze as he watched me, causing a tremble of excitement in my core.

  Not now. Try to behave, for once.

  Chiding myself mentally wasn’t enough when he slid a finger up my bare arm. Despite the humid Georgia evening, I shivered.

  “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, Melanie. I’m so glad I got to spend some time with you.”

  There was a note of regret at the end, as though there was more he wanted to say. There was so much I wanted to say but didn’t dare.

  Who are you, really?

  Why are you interested in me?

  And why do I hate the thought of never seeing you again?

  Instead, I told him what I thought he wanted to hear.

  “Thank you. I’m glad too.”

  I never meant it as a signal I wanted to kiss him, but that’s what happened. I nearly dropped the expensive goblet when he leaned forward to brush his lips against mine. I wanted to pull away, I really did. We were here to make music, not make love.

  But my lips had a mind of their own, spoiled as they were from an evening of fancy food and drink. Now all they wanted was to taste him, to drink him in. I stilled as he kissed me again, increasing the pressure. His cologne, an intoxicating blend of wood and citrus, added to the sensual pleasure of being so close. I surprised myself when my tongue ventured out before his, seeking entry. I had to taste him.

  He responded by opening his lips and tangling his tongue with mine. My breath had quickened, heart pounding out a rhythm against my chest. We were still holding our drinks so the only place we were touching was our lips. When Spencer pulled back, his golden-brown eyes met mine.

  “How do you like the taste?”

  At first, I thought he meant the kiss. Then he sipped again, still looking at me over the rim of his glass but with a sly grin.

  I gave him a wink to return the innuendo and shrugged. “It’s nice.”

  “Nice?”

  “Yes.”

  I stifled a giggle at his mock indignance. He set his goblet on a nearby glass-topped table and held out his hand.

  “May I?”

  He was asking for my goblet, which I hadn’t yet emptied.

  “Of course.”

  I gave it to him, and he placed it next to his. He took a step toward me, backing me against the railing. The look in his eyes caused a ripple of anticipation up my spine and a flash of heat that speared straight to my lower parts.

  “I think we can do better than nice.”

  * * *

  Spencer

  Kissing Melanie was even better than I’d anticipated. I gripped the railing behind her with both hands, leaning forward but keeping our bodies apart. I wanted her to set the pace. She’d seemed reluctant earlier, though she kept giving me looks that sent a wave of heat straight to my groin. I didn’t want to misread any cues. I’d willingly make love to her all night long if that was what she wanted.

  If she didn’t, that was okay too. I’d be disappointed, but at least we’d still have this kissing session to remember.

  Her hands were no longer at her sides but around my neck. She’d gone full into the kiss now, her tongue exploring, no longer shy. I pulled back a bit, and we shared several small kisses, and she leaned into a hug. I took advantage of my position and nuzzled her neck, leaving a trail of kisses to her ear.

  “Oh, damn you, Spencer. I was hoping to avoid this.”

  I hugged her to me, enjoying the warmth of her lush softness. I chuckled.

  “I won’t say I’m sorry. I’m enjoying this too much. Aren’t you?”

  I turned my head to watch her face. In the dim light, her brown eyes held specks of amber. From her turned up nose to her full lips, to the widow’s peak at her hairline, she was utterly gorgeous.

  “I am, that’s why I cursed. We’re supposed to be playing your song, not playing around. Remember?”

  I took one of her delicate hands and placed it to my lips. After a small kiss, I turned to lead her back to the living room.

  “Where are my manners?” I held out my arm, crooked at the elbow. “Won’t you join me in the music room?”

  She took my arm in hers. I pushed away visions of taking her on top of my piano, her head thrown back and moaning a sweet song of release. That scenario would have to wait.

  We walked down the hall to a room adjacent to my bedroom. It had been meant as an additional living area and had a spectacular view of the city. I’d fashioned it into a music room with low-lying sofas, a wet bar, and jazzy
paintings covering the walls, which actually were foam-backed to absorb the noise.

  But the centerpiece of the room was my grand piano, and Melanie gasped at the sight of it, as most people did. I couldn’t help but brag.

  “It’s a Yamaha Concert Grand, my most prized possession.”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  She approached, careful not to touch. Then she looked out at the twinkling panorama of lights through the windows and sighed. She turned to me, her brows creasing.

  “Do you ever get tired of all this…this luxury? I mean, my God. I’ve never seen a place like this, except in the movies.”

  “Well, I’m human, so yes, from time to time, I do get tired of what I have. I take it for granted. But there are also days I get down on my knees and thank the universe for my blessings. I know there are others struggling, and I know life can end at any moment. I’m extremely fortunate, but I’ve also worked hard for everything I have.”

  She closed the space between us and placed a hand on my arm.

  “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything negative. It’s just so—overwhelming.”

  “I understand. C’mon. Let’s sit.”

  I moved to the piano bench, patting it. I sat, and she joined me, our bodies close once again.

  I took a breath and sat still for a moment, shifting into performance mode. My fingers touched the keys, not playing a song but picking out notes to evoke a soothing sound. It was how I warmed up, transitioning from the real world to a place where nothing else mattered but the music.

  The energy of our earlier tense conversation shifted as the notes I played coalesced into a melody. I began to relax and sensed she was, too, as she leaned against me. Her warmth was now as comforting as it was exciting a few minutes ago. The improvised song built to a natural crescendo, and then the melody repeated a few times before it ended on a soft, lingering chord.

  Melanie’s smile was a welcome gift.

  “That was nice. Was that the song you told me about?”

  “That? No, I just now made it up. Improvised.”

  Her skeptical look was genuine.

  “Really? Wow. You’re so talented.”

  “Thanks. Here’s the song I told you about the other night. It needs lyrics, so let me know what comes to mind.”

  The piece was more upbeat than what I’d just played but still a ballad. I closed my eyes, playing from memory. Eventually I’d write it down on sheet music, but not until I was certain it was complete.

  Melanie’s voice brought me out of my trance.

  “That’s beautiful. Haunting but uplifting at the same time.”

  I kept playing, pressing the keys with more force as the bridge ended and I played the final stanza.

  “That’s what I thought. I don’t write lyrics, but I definitely know what emotions I want to evoke.”

  She closed her eyes, listening intently. She probably wasn’t aware of her body swaying to the beat, lost as she was in the music. Suddenly her eyes opened, bright with inspiration.

  “I need some paper and a pencil.”

  The urgency of her tone made my heart leap. Fortunately, I was near the end so I finished the song, leaned forward to kiss her cheek, and stood.

  “I’ll get some.”

  There was a desk in the corner of the room with a laptop, blank sheet music, and some notebooks. I brought as much as I could carry and placed it on a table next to the piano. Melanie held out her hand.

  “Regular paper will be fine for now. I’ll put it on my computer at home or my tablet later while I revise.”

  A flutter of excitement at the thought of what we were about to do caused my stomach to flip. I had never collaborated with anyone. I’d played for family and friends, but taking my music to the next level was a dream I’d never dared. Even if nothing came of this experiment, it was fun to dream, to have some hope for a change.

  I sat next to her on the bench while she made some notes. She tapped the pencil to her lip, lost in thought. I didn’t want to interrupt her flow, but I was dying to know her thoughts.

  “You’re killing me, Mel. Tell what you’re thinking.”

  She stood, moving to lean on the edge of the piano but stopped short.

  “Is it okay if I write on here, or should I go to the desk?”

  “It’s ok. Just don’t scratch anything with your jewelry.”

  She removed the bangle from her wrist and handed it to me. I slipped it into my shirt pocket, amused and pleased that she’d been so considerate.

  “Okay. Here’s what I’m picturing.”

  She described what sounded like a music video, a short movie set to the song. Two lovers who had to part against their will. A strong connection that had to be broken, ending on a haunting note of the possibility of reunion.

  I couldn’t help but notice the irony—would Melanie and I end on the same note?

  Chapter Seven

  Melanie

  Spencer dropped me off at my apartment shortly before dawn. We’d stayed up all night, drinking coffee and working on the song. I hadn’t been this excited about new material in years. Something about his music, the tone of it, had lit a spark in me I thought had died with the imminent breakup of my band.

  He walked me to my door, where we stood making out. At least it was Sunday morning, so no one else was about to see us acting like two randy teenagers in the hallway.

  Desire flared anew as he held me to him. My hands were on his arms, his biceps firm under my fingers. An image of him naked flashed in my mind, and I knew we were back in dangerous territory. I gave him one last, firm kiss and pulled away.

  “I really need to get some sleep, Mister. I have a ton of stuff to do today.”

  It wasn’t a lie, though my tone wasn’t convincing. Part of me wanted to open my door and lead him straight to my bedroom. But that was only going to cause heartache later when I left for good.

  He stroked my hair, leaning his forehead to mine.

  “I know. But you’re such a great kisser.”

  I felt myself blush, which was ridiculous. Worse, it made me want to kiss him more. I slipped from his embrace and turned to open my door.

  “Go. I’ll let you know how it goes with the song. I should be able to work on it tonight.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He bowed elaborately and walked away.

  I closed the door behind me with a groan. I ached all over, I was bone-tired, but also happier than I’d felt in weeks. I knew it was just the novelty of a new crush and the excitement over writing lyrics for Spencer’s song. It wasn’t a lasting kind of happiness because reality would intrude all too soon.

  I decided to allow myself the indulgence of enjoying my good mood. I headed straight to the bathroom and started filling the tub for a bubble bath, something I hadn’t done in years. My little apartment wasn’t a luxury palace like Spencer’s condo, but it was mine. Used furniture, cheap décor, and I wasn’t the greatest housekeeper. Still, it was a refuge, a place to hide out when I needed downtime.

  Like now. I undressed, pinned up my hair, and sunk into the blissfully warm water. I closed my eyes, inhaling the lavender fragrance of the bubbles. Images of last night filled my mind, since I’d been unable to process all that had happened until now.

  Spencer had turned out to be the perfect gentleman. Was he putting on a show? Sacha had told me Gibson didn’t get along with his cousin, that they’d had a falling out. I couldn’t imagine what had happened there—but it was between them. So far, Spencer had been fun to hang out with, if a little serious at times.

  Even if we didn’t continue dating, I’d like to help him with his song. Who knew where that could lead? He had plenty of money, he knew a well-known record producer. Having a songwriting credit for a hit song would be a dream come true.

  I patted the bubbles, which were beginning to disappear. Maybe I was fooling myself. Producers like Daris Avante were constantly bombarded with demos from hopeful artists. And I wouldn’t want Spencer to just
buy the opportunity, would I?

  Did it matter how it came about, as long as we had a chance to get the song heard?

  I pondered this and more for several minutes, until my eyes began to droop. The water had cooled, so I emerged from the tub and lifted the plug to drain the water. Wrapped in a short robe, I washed my face, brushed my hair, and fell into bed. There would be time later to sort out what it all meant.

  The only thing I was sure of as I drifted off to sleep, was that I wanted to finish the song, even if nothing came of it. It would be nice to leave Spencer Colebank something to remember me by.

  * * *

  “You went on a date? With who? I need details.”

  It was Sacha, and I’d hoped to avoid this conversation but knew it wasn’t right to keep things from her. She was my best friend in Georgia, even though she no longer lived next door.

  “Yeah, hon…about that.”

  I had the phone on speaker as I made my breakfast, which at six p.m. should have been dinner. I cracked two eggs into a bowl and stirred them with a fork before pouring into a saucepan. Sacha waited only that long to prompt me again.

  “Mel-an-eee! Come on. Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Are you sure you want to know? It’s not going to last, anyway.”

  “You always say that. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t last. I have a good feeling about this. Maybe the fact you’re planning to leave means this guy is ‘the one.’ Isn’t that when you finally meet someone? Stranger things have happened.”

  I smirked, glad we weren’t on video chat. Besides, I was still dressed in only a t-shirt and panties, and my hair was a mess.

  “Well, okay. But you aren’t going to like it.”