More Than One Night (3 page)

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…

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 seeing Daniel again disappointed her far more than she cared to admit. "Okay. Eight o’clock it is."

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."

Her innocent look shot arousal through his veins, settling just below his belt. Thirty seconds and already he needed a cold shower.
Or a hot time in bed with Miss USA here.

"Do you always make random comments, or do I just bring out the best in you?"

"You definitely bring out the best in me, sweetheart. I was just commenting about how patriotic you look in your red, white, and blue."

"Oh…" her blush matched her jacket.

Wanting to save her from herself, he gulped a few more swigs of his beer before tossing it in the trash can. "Let's dance, eighties girl."

Grabbing her hand, he pulled her away from the wall. His brows creased. She'd looked comfortable essentially fading into the woodwork. His eyes swept over her body. Why wouldn't she be the center of attention no matter what the occasion? Beautiful and smart with a hint of sweetness—a dangerous combination for his heart. Not wanting to delay his body in close proximity with hers one moment longer, he pulled her into the fray of the mosh pit, hoping modesty prompted her to lie about having two left feet. The moment her body started moving in time to the music, he forgot all about her feet as her softer curves begged for attention.

He matched his steps to hers. The crowd of people pressed against them, forcing their bodies closer.
This is more like it.
Muscles flexed, hips rotating—sharing all his best moves. Her moves were damn good too. Those hips…her breasts…even her legs…moving to Brian Adam's smooth beat. Each subtle sway sky-rocketed his libido to levels for which he couldn't be held responsible for very long.

The guitars strummed while the drums grew louder, feeding off the energy of the crowd. No slow songs from this group. Time to improvise and make his move. Pulling her tighter, he closed his eyes to focus on the warm-blooded woman fate had delivered in the seat next to him. This wallflower possessed curves which, at present, were exactly where he wanted them—pressed against his chest. Lower, the softness led to muscled thighs igniting multiple fantasies about them being wrapped around his hips. Despite his self-proclaimed promise to behave, he lowered his face to the curve of her neck, inhaling softly. Sweet Jesus, not only did she rally every ounce of testosterone in his body to attention, but her sweet smell was capable of bringing any man…this man…to his knees.

Dear God in heaven, he was in trouble.

*   *   *

"Daniel, please. Stop." Distance. Space. Time. Melodie needed all three right now as her head spun wildly out of control. His body against hers propelled the librarian in her straight to the erotic romance section of the bookshelf in her head. Not a safe place to be. Thinking became impossible, however, the moment his delectable lips touched the pulse point on her neck. Rivulets of pleasure slid through her nervous system, filling the pool of desire low in her abdomen.

Fortunately, the gentleman part of his dual personality heard her request and stepped away without pressing the point. "I'm sorry. I got carried away. You're so damn beautiful, I can't seem to help myself."

Between the accent and sincere expression, she wanted to believe there might be a grain of truth to his compliment. Nagging voices in the back of her head from her high school days taunted her.
Why can't you be more like Evelyn? Why can't you be successful like Evelyn? Why can't you find a husband like Evelyn?

A lifetime in her sister's shadow prevented her from believing the veracity of his words. "You never mentioned you were blind. Now, are we going to stand here and try to have a conversation or dance? This is one of my favorite songs." Somewhere deep, she'd found some courage. Maybe people did change, maybe she could.

Bodies continued to move around them as the beginning strains of "Sweet Dreams" filled the dance floor. Her gaze held his, confusion dancing with desire in his sapphire depths. Finally, the cocky ladies' man veneer slipped over his face. "Hell yeah, we're going to dance."

Watching Melodie dance constituted equal parts heaven and hell. After a few songs, she seemed more relaxed and really having fun. He hated to admit it, but he was having fun too.
Been a long time…

As the song ended, he pulled her off the dance floor. "You wore me out, woman. I deserve a drink. Your treat." Her buying him a drink would help compensate for shutting him down every time he tried to make a move on her.

His ego needed help to restore it to full capacity. For the first time in a long time, he'd offered sincere praise to a deserving woman, and what had she done? Ignored him and his compliment. Probably for the best anyway. Love 'em and leave 'em. His motto had been working for years. No need to change things now.
She's different. No denying it.

She squeezed his hand and nodded. "You're on, cowboy."

They pushed their way up to the bar. Why did her sweat-slicked body smell so much better than the other people crowding around them? "A beer for me and a vodka cranberry for the lady." He held her tight, a possessive instinct. He wanted to be sure the other men knew tonight, she was with him.

"Let's go outside." With drinks in hand, he led her to the outside patio.

The giant kerosene heaters doubled as lamps and provided the perfect amount of lighting at night. A little privacy in a semi-crowded area.

He downed a few swigs of beer. "Cowboy?" His jeans tightened uncomfortably as her eyes swept over his attire.

"Blue jeans and cowboy boots—close enough for me."

"You for damn sure aren't from the south if I'm your idea of a cowboy. First off, no hat and no down-home, honest-to-goodness cowboy would be caught dead in this shirt."