him to try to make him jealous. Telling him about her sexual-fantasy list last winter had inspired a delightfully powerful reaction. That night had been one of the sexiest she’d ever experienced. “Uh-huh.”
“And Nick’s name is on hers?”
“Right again.”
Dex tsked into the phone. “When are you going to learn to stop meddling? She’s not going to thank you for embarrassing her.”
Not now, maybe. But someday she would. Rosemary was absolutely sure of it.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN MELODY FELT she’d pulled herself together as much as she was able, she emerged from the ladies’ room and returned to the table in the café. Nick was watching her closely, his expression serious. “Are you all right?” he asked when she sat down.
Oh, great. She’d been in the ladies’ room having a meltdown, and he’d been sitting here thinking she was throwing up. Lovely.
“I’m fine.”
As for whether or not she was really okay? No, she wasn’t. She was losing it. She’d been spinning whimsical fantasies in her mind about this poor, wonderful, wounded soldier she’d met this morning, when, in reality, he’d been dressed like a criminal, hanging around doing heaven-knows-what in her neighborhood.
The possibilities had filled her mind during her time-out in the bathroom. She’d gotten past his hero qualities enough to wonder what the heck he’d been doing that day. Who he really was…a real cop? Or had that been another one of Rosemary’s embellishments. “Why were you parked by my building that week?” Keeping her anger—and her concern—in check, she leaned in. “Did my ex-husband hire you to spy on me? Is that why you were in a disguise? Are you one of those detectives…guys who get a badge off the Internet then go out and spy on people?”
It was his turn to look shocked, even a little indignant. “No, of course not. It had nothing to do with you.”
“So what did it have to do with?”
He leaned in over the table, as well, until their faces were only a few inches apart, right above their cups. His coffee was hot, steamy and fragrant, recently freshened up. Her cup was still empty. She could have hit him just for that.
“I’m with the Savannah-Chatham PD’s Crime Investigation Unit. Didn’t Rosemary tell you why I was undercover? Didn’t you hear about your neighbor, the drug importer?”
A real undercover cop. And she had heard something about an arrest near her home. The relief flooding through her couldn’t be denied. “I’m sorry.” She tugged her ball cap off her head and tossed it onto the table, suddenly feeling a headache coming on. “I didn’t know for sure who you were.”
“So who did you think I was when we were talking a few minutes ago?”
She sighed, wondering what to say. About him, the list, his fifteen minutes of fame. Before she had to decide, he spoke again.
“It’s okay, I think I get it. Rosemary spun some kind of story to get you here, right?” He shook his head. “That woman sure loves to pull people’s strings, doesn’t she?”
Melody seized on the explanation. “Rosemary. Yes, of course.” Forcing a laugh, she added, “She is rather outrageous.”
“How do you know her?” he asked. Waiting for her to respond, he leaned back in his chair, kicking his legs out in front of him and crossing one foot over the other.
Those long legs. Those big feet. Which instantly had her trying to remember what they said about big feet.
Then he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Those thick arms. Those big hands. Which also got her wondering about the whole big-hands, long-fingers thing.
God, she had to get out of here. Because now he was even more dangerous to her peace of mind than he’d been before, when she’d thought he was just the guy from her list.
Now he was the guy who’d helped her move into her new place. The one who’d risked his own undercover assignment, somehow seeing the desperation Melody had thought she’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding, and helped her when she was most in need.
He was gorgeous. He was sexy. He was a hero. And she was in way over her head.
Because even if she did something unthinkable, like go for it with a man she’d once named on a list, he wouldn’t be one she could do it with. Nick wasn’t the kind of man a woman could have and then forget. He was completely unforgettable; she knew that already after their two brief interactions. Which kind of defeated the purpose of the list, didn’t it? Joke or no joke.
“You still breathing over there?” he asked, a teasing look in his twinkling brown eyes.
Before she could respond, the waitress came over to their table. “He took the dregs, and said to get you a nice fresh pot,” the woman said, giving Melody an impersonal smile.
Oh, no. He’d done something kind again. Something thoughtful. She really needed him to stop doing that if she was going to be able to maintain any willpower at all around the man.
Once the waitress had filled her cup and left, Mel answered Nick’s question. “Rosemary and I met as kids. She and Paige, the woman who was helping me move in that day, were my best friends from fourth grade on.” She smiled, remembering how it had felt to have a normal kid life for the first time. “Then Tanya burst into our lives. A strong-willed, feisty black girl who had no idea the kind of crap that could go on in the genteel South. The three of us rallied around her because some of the stuck-up white kids in our private school were so rotten to her.”
“Rosemary wasn’t one of them?” He sounded skeptical.
“Rosemary’s spoiled and is from a rich Southern family, but she’s definitely not a racist.” Chuckling, she added, “The two of them love to harass each other. They’re a riot when the one-liners start flying—the pampered Southern belle and the tough, proud, African-American woman. They are a perfect foil to each other. I guess, when you think about it, all of us complemented one another pretty well, which is why we got along from day one.”
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “So are you like Rosemary? A real-live Southern belle?”
“I was born in Florida. My mother and I moved here when I was ten and we rented a place in this area.”
She didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to know that they’d moved to Savannah precisely so her mother could play Southern belle. Or that the place they’d rented had been a gorgeous estate a few blocks from the river. Or that the money Melody had been making as the most popular kid on just about every TV commercial on the air and almost every kiddie show on PBS had paid for it.
That was all on a need-to-know basis. And this man didn’t need to know anything more than the three spots on Melody’s body that could give her an almost-instant orgasm.
In five-and-a-half years of marriage, Bill had found one of them. Sort of. But she’d bet this guy could zone in on all three in under five minutes if they ever got naked.
It’s
