Bedeviled Angel (4 page)

"But me and Mel want to do a sleepover, Dad."

Logan took his son by the hand. It was all he could do
not
to suggest that he'd like to come, too. Talk about your double meanings. Sheesh.

Five minutes later, Logan draped a lathered washcloth over his son's face like a pall and elicited a giggle.

Shane shook the cloth off of his face, caught it, tossed it back, and grinned.

"Don't need it. Mel washed me up."

"How domestic of her."

"Yup, there's no more batter anywhere."

"Batter?"

"Yup, all gone."

"Uh… what say you wash up again, anyway."

Big sigh. "Okaaay."

Logan had not failed to notice, when he returned, that, although Melody had removed the cape and the fishnet tunic and traded her stilettos for clogs—going so far as to desecrate the Capri suit with a splattered apron—she had still looked stunning.

What a night. He was in lust, his son was in love, and in three days' time, he was going to put his job on the line and interview a witch—a witch who didn't know beans about cooking—for a cooking show.

What if she really is a witch?…

Logan had barely moved in before one of the secretaries at the station saw his new address and suggested he move out, fast. She said that Melody Seabright, his new downstairs neighbor, had recently made their six o'clock news, when she cast a spell on some guy who'd hit on her while she was giving a tour dressed as a witch.

The guy claimed to have broken his ankle as a direct result of Melody's incantation, and he sued the tour company. That was how Melody had lost her most recent job.

But if she knew how to cast spells, why hadn't she bewitched herself into a better and more permanent job by now?

Logan handed Shane a loaded toothbrush, which he held suspended halfway to his small smiling mouth. "Mel's neat, isn't she, Dad?"

"Neat," Logan said, grinning. The part of him watching his son's small happy face, and listening to him rhapsodize, wanted to kiss Jessie for her brilliant suggestion. The part that knew how dangerous women like Melody Seabright could be wanted to protect Shane from another one like his mother.

When Shane's perfect little teeth glistened, Logan followed him into a bedroom where Hogwarts ruled. "Tell me about your night with Melody," he said, hoping to get the scoop on the batter.

As Logan pulled the covers back, Shane imitated Mel's horrified reaction to her gravy boiling over, and 'her "Yikes" dance around the bubbling flow.

Oh boy, some cook
, Logan thought. But his son had not giggled like this, or been this animated, since before the woman who'd given him life dropped him at Logan's front door with a curt, "I've had enough; you raise him."

For weeks after she split, Shane had asked daily when his mother would be back, until he stopped asking altogether. Logan tried to tell Shane that Heather had probably gotten tired of trying to hide him from Logan, but Shane wasn't convinced.

His fault, Logan knew. If he hadn't tried so hard to find Shane, his son's small heart might not have been broken. "C'mere, buddy," Logan said, angry and guilty and grateful all at once. "Give your old Dad a hug."

Shane slammed into Logan's legs.

With a lump in his throat, Logan lifted his son into his arms. "You're a hell of a kid, do you know that?"

Shane leaned back and grinned. "That's what Mel says."

"Then it must be true." Logan dropped him onto his bed, getting a laugh for his efforts.

"Can we buy Mel some measurin' stuff, Dad?" Shane asked as he scrambled beneath the covers. "'Cause she doesn't got much. Or can she borrow ours? She might need to borrow me, too, sometimes, 'cause she needs me, 'kay?"

"We'll see."

"Not like Mom, I mean. Mel
really
needs me."

Logan tried not to show his surprise at that statement as he pulled the covers up to Shane's neck and kissed his brow, but the fist around his heart tightened. "I love you, son."

"Love you too, Dad."

Logan turned off the light.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yes?" Logan flipped the light back on, prepared for the usual bedtime delay tactics, but his son was pointing toward the ceiling.

Logan looked up, saw nothing unusual, and looked curiously back.

Shane's index finger remained in the upright position. "Mel even has neat Band-Aids. See?" he said. "Can we get some like this?"

"Ah." Logan chuckled as he kissed him one more time, promising to buy a box of cartoon Band-Aids first thing in the morning. Turned out he did require a last drink of water—big surprise—before Logan finally made his way to his own room.

He chuckled as he sat on the edge of his bed. That boy was something, despite his unstable beginnings.

What had he meant by saying that Mel really needed him? What did "not like Mom" mean? Did a four-year-old boy need to be needed? Had Shane in his childlike innocence already replaced thoughts of his mother with Melody? After one night?

Logan tugged off his tie and thought with a great deal of guilt about everything Shane must have gone through, living with a mother who was always looking for the main chance.

He had to do better by that boy. The poor kid hadn't caught a break in the parent department, that's for sure.

Logan knew the stupidest thing he'd ever done was steal from that convenience store, though getting Heather pregnant had been the most irresponsible.

But now… now that he had Shane, he felt so… grateful. Grateful for having been irresponsible? Logan shook his head. It didn't make sense, but that's how it played out. And he wasn't sorry. He wasn't.

Then again, letting Heather run before he could marry her had brought him right back to stupid; he should have known she'd look for a rich ride out of town. When she discovered she was pregnant, Logan was suddenly too poor for her. No surprise there.

Of course she didn't tell her rich ride out that she was carrying a baby, Logan's or otherwise, so the guy eventually dumped her. Then she nailed another "in a long line of sugar daddies," according to the detective who found Shane.

After Heather signed the adoption papers, Logan signed his WHCH contracts.

Now, for the first time, Shane was his. He might never have signed those contracts, or come back to Salem, if not for a son who needed a grandmother who needed to slow down. Then there was Jessie's theory that facing old ghosts was better than running from them, which remained to be seen.

Logan did wish he'd bought a house right away, though. Renting to make sure everything worked out with the new job was fine for a bachelor. For a little boy who needed security, another move sucked. Poor kid hadn't been able to catch a break his whole life.

What bothered Logan most at the moment, though, was Shane acting as if his break had finally come, just because Melody Seabright had opened her star-studded door. Melody… who seemed every bit as flighty as Heather.

Why couldn't Shane see that?

At least if Melody got a job at the station, she wouldn't have as much time to spend with Shane, which might be for the best. Not that Logan expected her to get hired. She might have managed to wear him down about the interview; his common sense had been skewed by a testosterone surge. But Ice Man Gardner was no pushover. He'd give Melody Seabright one hard look and she'd fast-freeze.

Logan almost felt sorry for her.

THREE days later, Logan left Shane with Jessie and backed his Volvo out of the detached garage, muttering all the way. When he'd knocked on Melody's door, she wasn't ready—big surprise—so here he sat, cooling his heels, when he was due at work in ten minutes. So what if she had an interview at the station this morning? She could have gotten there on her own. Why he had offered to take her in with him, he couldn't think. Then again, thinking around Melody was proving to be difficult.

"Hustle it, Mel, you're gonna' make me late," he called, as she came down the steps. Then he got a good look at her and stopped thinking altogether.

She slid into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt, while the scent of something exotic and sensual further fogged his brain.

"Good morning," she said. "Don't you love Salem in the fall?"

He was tired, late, irritated, and now he had to keep from touching the vision beside him, even as she raised his temperature and stirred his senses. "You're not wearing
that
, are you?"

"If that isn't a typical male—"

"You wouldn't know typical, if it bit you in the butt—"

"Hey, watch it!"

Logan took a calming breath. "Right. Sorry. I haven't been sleeping well,"

because she was wreaking havoc with his libido twenty-four/seven. "Look, if you really want this job, that getup's probably not—"

"You said I should wear a dress."

"Where did you find it, the attic?"

"The Immortal Classic. Why? Is there another vintage dress shop in town called The Attic?"

"I'm out of my depth, here," Logan said to no one in particular.

"Well, drive, why don't you? I thought you said we were late."

Logan sighed and vowed this was the last time he'd drive her anywhere. "Listen, Mel, Jagger Harrison Gardner, the man who'll probably do the interview, is—"

"More of a tight ass than you are?"

"Succinct, and correct, in one."

"So?"

"I just wanted to be fair and give you one last chance to change your clothes and make a good impression from this side of the century."

Logan watched her brow furrow as she perused her offbeat navy suit. The tight-waisted jacket flared provocatively at her hips, that feminine touch offset by wide padded shoulders and mannish lapels. Though to give her credit, her mouthwatering, alabaster cleavage shot masculine all to hell. The slim, straight skirt, slit to her thigh, ended just above her ankles. Funny, he'd never found ankles alluring before. And did the top of that slit reveal a garter at the edge of one sheer, silk stocking? Ah, hell, now he wouldn't be able to get out of the damned car.

"I love this outfit," she said. "A suit is perfect for an interview, especially this suit for this interview."

Logan gave her as impartial an assessment as he could, given his current physical discomfort. "I like your hair piled on your head like that," he said to turn his thoughts. "But I've never seen anything like that suit before."

"This is a turn-of-the-century walking suit in pristine condition, and I'm not changing, so you may as well go ahead and drive."

"Your funeral."

JAGGER Harrison Gardner, the station's general manager, not so affectionately known as the Ice Man, liked to say he was "a young fifty." He was rich, and he had power, and not a day went by that he didn't remind somebody of the fact.

Logan acknowledged that Gardner was getting his reminder out of the way early this morning, when he waved off the director of human resources and commanded Logan to "stay."

This was going to be an ugly three minutes.

Melody stepped out of the powder room and stopped Gardner cold.

Then again, maybe not.

She flashed that smile of hers—the one calculated to raise male temperatures, and other anatomical parts—as she came toward them and extended her hand. And when Gardner's hand touched hers, Logan could have sworn he heard the sound of ice beginning to crack.

Witch or not, Melody could make magic just by walking into a room.

They followed Gardner to his posh corner office, where he invited them to sit on a white, silk, crescent sectional that curved around a circular glass coffee table.

There, Gardner examined Melody's cleavage for so long, he had to lick his drooling chops. When the older man finally picked up her resume, Logan gave her a

"tough break" look. After all, she'd held seven jobs in the past year.

But the boss tossed the small sheaf back onto the table with no more than a cursory glance.

Wait a minute, Logan thought. Hadn't his own resume been placed under a microscope?

"Tell me, Miss, er, Seabright," Gardner said. "What makes you feel qualified to host a cooking show?"

Bingo
, Logan thought, as he sat back to await her answer.

"Please," Melody said, with a little too much sugar for Logan's palate, "call me Mel." Then she stood and began to pace, swinging her cute little ass, and taking full advantage of that thigh-high slit. The stilettos didn't do her any harm either. She gave his boss an over-the-shoulder glance, using her amazing mink lashes to good advantage, before she turned to face them. "As to my qualifications, Mr. Gardner—"

"Call me Jag."

What
? Logan sat straighten.

Melody grinned, first at Gardner, then at Logan, and it was all he could do not to grin back. What was happening to him?

Melody Seabright, that's what.

"Well, Jag, there are any number of factors that contribute to the success of a TV

show. I'm photogenic, for one." She gave him a full leg-out-of-the-slit pose to prove it. "And a certain charisma is key, which I believe I have. Showmanship, talent, sincerity, believability, and sex-appeal, are also essential, as is a
gimmick
. Since this is Salem, Massachusetts, I worked up an idea for a show called ."

Stopping across the table from them, Melody bent over to tap her resume with a perfect lavender fingernail, her breasts teetering on the brink of a spillover—pulling out the big guns, so to speak. "As you can see," she practically purred, "I used to work for Bewitched and Bedeviled Tours, during which time, I was required to portray a witch."