Enchanting Melody (6 page)

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Melody entered Isis, she tugged at the itchy pantyhose her sister had insisted she wear. She couldn't care less that the Egyptian-themed restaurant was the trendiest new spot in town. What Mel could appreciate was that Stephanie's pseudo-celebrity status had gotten them on the VIP list, precluding them from waiting in the excruciatingly long line out front.

So, trying to be on her best behavior, Mel teetered through the restaurant in her strappy gold bridesmaid shoes, wearing a black tank dress her sister had lent her. This, once again, was one of the many events that Mel had unwittingly agreed to in advance—a bridesmaids' appreciation dinner.

Knowing that Stephanie must have planned this dinner months in advance brought on a flood of guilt. There was still the matter of the bridal shower that Mel had yet to plan. At least three times a day her mother called her voice mail with shower-planning to-do items. The thought of wading through those messages, let alone carrying out the orders, made Melody physically ill. So, once again, she pushed the entire fiasco to the back of her mind. She'd work something out. Arranging cake and punch wasn't that big a deal, right?

Finally, seated at a high-backed, round, black velvet booth, Melody slipped off her shoes and sighed with relief. The other four women were busy cooing and oohing over the elegant Egyptian decor.

The restaurant was dark, with gold-trimmed black furnishings. Egyptian elements were tastefully worked in without an overdone themed feel of Disneyland or Las Vegas. Chunks of stone hung on the walls featuring large hieroglyphs, and a large mural of Isis, the goddess of fertility and motherhood, hung over the bar.

When the waiter arrived at the table, Melody took the initiative. “Okay, I think we need to start this girls' night out with a toast. Bring us a round of those High Priestess martinis.” And when she spotted the eager grin on her youngest sister's face, she added hastily, “And a virgin daiquiri for Vicky.”

When the drinks came, the women toasted Stephanie's upcoming wedding, and, as the drinks flowed, the toasts became sillier.

Mel raised her glass toward the mural of Isis across the room. “May Isis, the great mother of fertility, bless you and Keenan with ten children.”

Stephanie nearly spat out her drink and immediately changed the subject by toasting to their handsome waiter's derriere and the free drinks he kept bringing them.

Stephanie elbowed Melody in the ribs. “I think he's got his eye on you. You should flirt with him.”

“There's no
need
to flirt with him,” Mel said, narrowing her eyes at her sister. “He already brought us the drinks. Besides, I don't flirt.”

“He's cute and he's just your type. He could be your date for the wedding.”

Stephanie was right. He
was
the type of guy she normally dated. His dark hair was very short and spiky and he had a silver piercing in his right eyebrow. But as she watched him from across the room, she had to admit her taste in men had taken a turn lately. Smooth sophistication was the new reckless rebellion this spring.

“Sorry, he's just not doing it for me. And don't you worry about my date for the wedding, I've already got someone in mind.”

Stephanie's eyes lit up. “You do? Who is it?”

Suddenly Mel realized that she'd said too much. “Vin Diesel.”

“Oh,” Stephanie groaned, waving her off.

Vicky sipped her frozen daiquiri and glanced over her shoulder at the handsome waiter. “Okay, if you don't want him, I'll take him.”

“He's all yours, Vicky, but you can't come stay with me when mother throws you out of the house.” Melody laughed and excused herself from the table. After two rounds of martinis it was time to find the ladies' room.

 

“A lot of people think Mariah's a diva, but when we hang out, she's just one of the girls.” Valencia's glossy pink lips were almost hypnotic in their ceaseless movement.

Will smiled politely at his date, more certain with each passing minute that this evening had been a mistake. Valencia, while very attractive, had not stopped talking about herself since they'd arrived.

Will had initially been impressed that his date had whisked them to the top of the waiting list for NewYork's hottest new restaurant. Isis had staged its celebrity-studded grand opening only one week before and was now accepting reservations well into the next year. But, after three courses of name-dropping and preening, he was rapidly developing a headache.

“So, have you given any thought to my offer to design your space? I'd be willing to come up tonight and give you a free consultation.” The sensual proposition in her tone was anything but subtle.

“Tonight isn't good for me,” Will said, massaging his temples. “I actually feel a migraine coming on.”

Valencia didn't bat a lash. “Oh, Donatella suffers from horrible migraines. She's been seeing this fabulous acupuncturist in the Village. I've considered seeing him myself but I'm terrified of needles.”

Will's eyes darted around the restaurant for the waiter so he could request the check. Whatever misguided impulse had led him to initiate this date was long dead. He'd thought Valencia was just the kind of woman he needed on his arm. Polish, ambition, success—he'd thought they had those things in common. But he didn't share her shallow ego-worship and naked materialism.

Sure he'd come to appreciate the finer things in life and image was important to him, but he realized that he also valued something deeper. Take Melody, for instance. She was raw and real, take her or leave her. She said exactly what she was thinking, and she didn't hide behind a pound of lip gloss and designer labels.

Thinking back to class three nights ago, he bitterly regretted the way he'd run away when she'd made her feelings known. Even though she didn't have much interest in the lifestyle he was trying to create for himself, there obviously was something to that saying, “opposites attract.”

Melody and Valencia were polar opposites, and it was Melody he found attractive. Thank goodness he had one more class to let her know.

 

In the bathroom, Melody washed her hands and gave herself a once-over in the mirror.

“I just love your hair!”

Melody glanced over and saw a petite woman with short hair liberally applying a layer of gloss to her lips. The woman was studying her in the mirror.

Mel was used to getting compliments on her extra-long tresses. Tonight she'd smoothed back her waves and secured her ponytail with a gold rope that she'd woven around the length of the hair to her waist. “Thank you,” she said politely.

“Who does you?”

“Excuse me?” Mel had never been fond of bathroom chat.

“Who's your stylist? I just have to know. My stylist Omar is fabulous. He's done Beyoncé and Ashanti, but I'm always on the lookout for someone new.”

Mel resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I don't have a stylist. I do my own hair.” She despised overpriced haircuts.

“Oh, of course. Well, it looks nice anyway.”

Melody followed the woman out of the bathroom trying not to give in to the temptation to stick out her foot and trip the little minx.

When the woman arrived at her table, Mel looked over to see what kind of loser had fallen for such conspicuous wiles. The moment she locked eyes with Will, Mel almost lost her balance in her uncomfortable shoes. They exchanged stunned looks, and as Will lifted his hand to wave, Melody forced her legs to move. She zipped back to her table, not daring to look back.

 

Melody stared at the elegant script on the door leading to Moonlight Dance Studio. Reaching out for the handle she suddenly snatched her hand back. There was no way she could go in there.

She headed back down the hallway. She'd changed her mind about attending the final class at least a dozen times. Even now that she had gotten all the way down here, she just couldn't see herself going inside…. Not after practically throwing herself at Will last week and then seeing him out with his date.

She felt like a complete fool. The last thing she needed was to look him in the eye after that.

Snorting, Melody turned on her heel and headed back for the door. There was no way she could let him think she was some kind of coward. If she didn't show up for the last class, he'd think she was jealous or something. She had to stare him dead in the eye and let him know she wasn't fazed by his having a girlfriend.

Mel conjured up the image of the tiny woman with shiny pink lips and nearly snarled with distaste. “I'd love to take her Louis Vuitton handbag and—”

“Aren't you coming in? You're late,” Will called to her from the doorway.

Sucking in her breath and trying to pretend she wasn't talking to herself, Melody brushed past him without looking up.

How dare he talk to her as if nothing was wrong? How dare he stand there looking so gorgeous in his pleated slacks and his tight black T-shirt? He should at least have the decency to look guilty for sending her mixed signals.

Melody took her place across the room with the other women, but she barely listened as Will gave the class instruction. She could see her image in the mirror, and her body language was conveying all the emotions she wasn't verbalizing.

If anger were mounting an ad campaign, Mel could be the poster child. Her left hip jutted out in her black denim cutoffs, and her arms were folded across her chest. The long braids on either side of her face did nothing to soften the stern set of her lips.

All the while, her dark-rimmed eyes shot daggers at Will. Last week, Will had looked at her as if her clothes were made of cotton candy and he wanted to remove them with his tongue. Mel was aware that she wasn't the friendliest with men, but one thing she knew for sure was when one of them wanted her—and Will Coleman had wanted her.

But, after class last week, something had definitely changed. He'd probably gotten a dose of conscience for lusting after her so openly when he was clearly involved with someone else.

Will must have finished his opening demonstration because couples were shifting around the room, and he held his hand out to her. Without budging, she narrowed her eyes at him. “Mr. Coleman, I think I'll do better on my own today.”

He nodded and turned on the music for the class. Melody stood stubbornly in place, not even attempting to dance.

Will crossed the room. “Miss Rush,” he said, clearly mocking her with his words and sly grin, “you seem to be having difficulty with today's lesson. Should I go over it with you?”

“Not at all,” she answered curtly. Then she imitated perfectly the sequence her classmates were performing. Or it would have been perfect if the heel of the army boots she'd worn out of stubbornness hadn't dragged on the floor, nearly tripping her.

“Miss Rush.” Will didn't even try to hide the smug laugh that followed. “You didn't wear the right shoes today. You're going to have to dance in your socks.”

“I don't want to dance in my socks.” It was a childish response, she knew. But she hated to leave him with the last word.

He winked at her, clearly enjoying her discomfort, making her seethe all the more. “Suit yourself. But if you don't take off your boots, you'll have to stay after class and polish the floors.”

Her eyes followed his pointing finger to the long black mark on the glossy wood floor. Silently, Mel stalked to the corner and removed her shoes, vowing that when the studio cleared that evening, Mr. Will Coleman would be receiving an earful.

This was exactly why she never chased men. They were nothing but trouble.

After removing her shoes, she watched him from the corner. It wasn't too late just to disappear and never have to see his disgustingly smug face again. What had she seen in him anyway? He certainly wasn't her type.

Maybe that's what had attracted her. Lord knew, dating her typical grungy freaks hadn't made for any long-term relationships. Not that she was in the market for a relationship. But, she
had
begun to wonder what Will was hiding under that well-groomed exterior.

She would love to ruffle him up a bit—in bed. See his clothes disheveled—scratch the clothes—the
sheets
would be disheveled. Was he a wild man in bed…or perfectly controlled and smooth the way he was on the dance floor? Curiosity had gotten the best of her last week.

But she was one cat that it wouldn't kill.

 

Will had been watching the emotional war raging inside Melody from the moment she'd entered the room. After they'd run into each other Saturday night, he'd been afraid she wouldn't show at all.

He'd tried to appear nonchalant when he'd poked his head into the corridor at eleven past seven, but waves of excitement and relief had washed over him when he'd found her there.

Because she'd shown up, he knew he had a chance. But she was making it painfully clear that he was going to have to work for it. He watched her warily rejoin the class after removing her shoes. She didn't want to dance with him and he didn't want to fight—fair.