Bedeviled Angel (18 page)

LOGAN stopped in the doorway of their office when he saw Melody slumped on the sofa in dejection, her breasts overflowing her dynamite dress, her bare feet curled beneath her, half a bottle of champagne on the end table, and half a box of chocolates in her lap. Oh, brother. If both containers had been full when she started, she was in big trouble.

Logan stepped quietly into the room, shut the door, and turned the lock to give her some privacy.

Mel looked up when she heard the click, the dry tear trails in her makeup giving her away. She held up her champagne glass. "Join me."

Logan unbuttoned his suit coat, loosened his tie, and sat beside her, close beside her, because he thought she might need someone about now.

"I hope Daddy wasn't watching," she said, closing her eyes as if the notion exhausted her. "I hate when he's right."

Therein lay the root of the problem. "If Daddy thinks he was right," Logan said,

"that's his interpretation, not mine."

Melody snorted in disdain. "He was. He always is." She poured herself another glass of champagne. "But when he has proof, like today, he's hell to live with, not that I've ever had to live with him long."

Logan poured himself a glass of champagne, if only to empty the bottle and stop her from finishing it, and handed her a ticket sales report.

"What's this?" she asked, setting the report aside and going for another chocolate.

"My walking papers?"

Logan took her hand and directed the chocolate to his mouth, instead of hers.

Surprised at first, Melody watched him take a bite.

In his attempt to draw her attention from her failure, he'd turned it toward himself in a way that heated his blood. He'd sat too close. She smelled too good.

Ah, who was he kidding; she smelled of smoked ham, and still she enticed him.

"More?" she asked, her voice low and sultry.

Oh yeah. Lots more. No way to take the other half of that maple cream without touching his lips to her fingers. Bad move, he warned himself, even as he opened his mouth and sanity evaporated.

She squeaked when he nipped a finger and held it to his mouth, as he licked every bit of chocolate from it. Then he drew her hand to his nape, pulled her into his arms, and drank champagne from her lips.

When her mouth opened on a moan, Logan went in for a greedier taste. In the process, she climbed into his lap, or he lifted her there, as he sunk deeper into the cushions, Melody practically on top of him. The kiss went on, their hands exploring, hers, his, everywhere.

Logan found the slit in her dress, and Melody squeaked again as his palm rode her inner thigh… until he felt an embarrassing wetness on himself, as if he'd—"Jeez,"

he said, sitting up and nearly throwing her over. "Damn." He grabbed her hand to keep her from falling off the sofa and pulled her back. He looked down at his unbuttoned pants, more grateful to see the unbroken champagne glass between his legs than the embarrassing stain the dregs had made. "Jeez."

Melody giggled when she saw what happened.

Logan swore. He looked as if he'd had an unplanned spill of his own.

"Take off your pants," she said.

Now why hadn't she suggested that before sanity slapped him upside the head? "I don't think that's such a good idea," despite the fact that he was growing hard before her staring eyes. "Mel, the more you watch it, the worse it's gonna get."

"Oh." She looked up at him, face pink. "I meant for you to take your pants off so I could use my hair dryer on them, unless you want me to blow—" She blushed pinker. "Blow them dry while you wear them."

Logan chuckled. "Yeah, wanning an erection always helps." He brought her face to his neck, so they wouldn't have to face each other over his words. That would be too much like admitting they wanted each other. It was safer avoiding the issue, he thought, as they'd been doing. "Never mind. I keep a spare pair in the bathroom. I'll change in a bit." He picked up the ticket sales printout from the floor and handed it to her. "Read this."

"I don't need to. I'm finished, and I know it."

"What makes you say so?"

"Please, I was a disaster."

"You usually are." Logan earned a halfhearted swat for that, but when her eyes filled, he pulled her back into his arms. "Talk to me," he said, tracing his way up her spine in small circles.

"Woody told me that Gardner wanted to see you," she confessed, her discouragement clear, her voice muffled against his neck. "I know Gardner's mad. I know I'm fired."

"I won't kid you." Logan pulled away enough to look at her. "He thinks you should learn how to cook. He's hard-boiled that way."

"He didn't fire me?"

"Nope. Learn to cook, and you're in."

Melody sighed and shook her head. "It's no use. I'm gonna hang up my broom before I make everything worse. Daddy was right."

Logan tapped the paper in her hand. "Read that, will you?"

She did. Twice. "Next week's show is sold out? How can that be? There isn't going to be a show next week." She sounded almost relieved.

Had her father programmed her to give up before she could succeed? Did quitting afford a level of comfort? Logan didn't know how to get around the habits of a lifetime. He knew only that she had failed repeatedly, and, if this time was any indication, she did it with panache. Despite her flair, talent, strength of purpose, she gave up anyway—unless someone needed her, of course, like a small boy, a friend, unwed mothers, stray kittens.

Logan smiled inwardly when realization hit, and he played his ace. "There has to be a show next week, unless you want Shane to go hungry."

"What does Shane have to do with this?"

"If you don't take cooking lessons ASAP and come back to prepare a dynamite dinner next week, Shane's father is going to be out job hunting beside you."

"Gardner's a rat!" Melody's hackles rose in indignation as she "cut the cord" and moved from his comforting embrace. After a minute of hard pacing, she raised her hands in an expression of helplessness. "Okay, damn it, who's the lucky duck who gets to give me cooking lessons?" She shook her head after a thoughtful minute. "Do we know anybody that stupid?"

SHANE in tow, Logan and Melody made the rounds that night of likely prospects. Jessie welcomed them with enthusiasm, proceeded to show off her second hearse and introduce the D.A. who would be driving it now that her business had doubled. Logan and Melody were forced to say good night early, though, because the judge and the D.A., who had sparred their way through three decades in court, had dinner reservations.

"So much for Jess," Logan said as he herded Shane toward the Volvo. "Let's go ask Grandma Phyl to teach Mel to cook."

Shane beamed. "Yes! She bought me Rockin' Cruiser Bruisers today."

"What?" Melody asked.

"Video game," Logan said.

Ten minutes later, Melody gaped when Logan pulled into the parking lot of a tired tenement building with peeling paint and missing windows.

"It's seen better days," Logan said, watching her.

"At the beginning of the last century, maybe."

"She won't move!" Logan shouted. "Sorry," he said, when he startled her. They got out of the car. "You don't think I've tried? I've begged her to retire and move to a better place. Stubborn thing."

"You're just like her," Shane said as he emerged from the backseat. "Gram says

'You're stubborner than a nor'easter.'"

Logan cupped his son's head playfully as they walked, and brought him close for an affectionate tussle. "And you take after both of us."

Shane giggled. "Right!"

They found Phyllis Kilgarven packing dishes in moving crates, which stopped Logan dead, while Melody stared openmouthed, in the same shocked state, at her father, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie askew, hands… dirty? "Daddy?"

"Hi, Mellie Pie. Saw your show today. I told you not to do it."

Melody sighed and felt herself grow smaller before him. She saw Logan bristle on her behalf, and because he did, Shane did as well, which made her feel a bit better, actually.

"I'm about to satisfy your fondest wish," Logan's mother said, filling the awkward breach, as she kissed her son, then her grandson.

"You're finally ready to move in with me?" Logan said, his relief apparent. "Thank God."

Melody's father gave one of his abrasive belly laughs. "Sorry, son. She's moving in with me."

"You're taking Shane's grandmother to Palm Beach?" On some vague level, Melody knew she was chiding her father—a first—and it felt good.

"Palm Beach!" Logan snapped at his mother. "When the devil were you going to tell me?"

"Gramma? Do you have my Rockin' Cruiser Bruisers game?"

"We're not going to Palm Beach," her father said. "Not until after Christmas. I bought the old Endicott place for the rest of the year. Phyl's only moving across town."

"You mean the Captain Joshua Endicott mansion?" Logan asked, "the one on the register of historic places?"

"Yeah," her father said, "which would be a real pain if we wanted to change anything, but Phyl loves it the way it is."

"Jeez, I'll bet she does." Logan looked at his mother as if he'd never seen her so clearly. "From a tenement to a mansion, Mom?" There was nothing complimentary about his tone. "And it took a stranger to move you."

"Hardly a stranger, son," her father said, but Melody didn't want to hear that any more than Logan did. She dropped into the nearest chair, at a loss.

"Let me fix some tea," Phyllis said.

"Didn't you think I might like to know?" Logan followed his mother into her kitchen, and after a minute of strained silence between Melody and her father, she joined them.

LOGAN laid rubber as they drove away.

"You never asked her to give me cooking lessons," Mel said.

Logan swore beneath his breath. "They're going to freaking Cancun for a freaking jaunt. She's abandoning her housecleaning customers, people she once claimed depended on her so much she couldn't quit. For years I've been trying to get her to retire, and this self-centered prig comes along and—"

Shane looked from one of them to the other. "Is he a bad man, Dad?"

Logan slammed the wheel. "He's, he's—"

"My father," Melody said, not sure why the truth about him should bother her.

Logan did a double take and sighed. "Sorry."

"I can tell."

"It's just that he—"

"Got her to relax and take time off, move to a better neighborhood, everything you wanted for her. You're just pissed you weren't the one to accomplish it. You weren't looking out for your mother's welfare as much as you wanted your own stubborn way about it."

They drove in silence for some time after that, until Logan looked at Shane in the mirror. "When Gramma told you about the Rockin' Cruiser Bruisers game on the phone at Jessie's, did she give you a message for me?"

Shane thought about that for a minute. "Oh yeah. She needed to talk to you about somethin' 'portant."

At Logan's raised brow, Shane drooped a bit. "Sorry, Dad."

"Try to remember next time, okay, sport?"

" 'Kay… but who's gonna give Mel cookin' lessons if Gramma can't?"

"Hell if I know," Logan said. "I think we're fresh out of likely candidates." Logan regarded Melody, for the first time since she'd reamed him for his selfishness. "You were right," he said. "The truth is, I'm glad my mother's going to take life easy for a change, no matter who made her do it."

"Good for you." Melody nodded in satisfaction. "Take a left at the next light.

Vickie's grandmother might teach me to cook."

Vickie let them in. "Nana's been confined to bed since she fell last month," she said, so when Logan and Melody went in to say hello, they didn't mention cooking lessons. Before they left, the old lady took Melody's hand. "Did my hashed squash work out all right for your dress rehearsal, dear?"

Cat out of the bag, Melody thought, as she assured Nana it was wonderful, while ignoring Logan's heated gaze.

The minute they drove away, Logan called her on it. "You tricked me."

"Get real. You knew from the beginning that I didn't know how to cook."

Logan gave her a dark, warning glare, because she was right, Melody thought.

She hid her smile for as long as she could, until she burst into laughter.

"It's not funny," he said.

"Trust me, it is."