More Than One Night (2 page)

Time to return to the familiar—the comfortable. Before she opened the pages of a book, a companion she never went anywhere without, she managed one more look in his direction. "You're not the only one."

The sadness in her voice sliced through the first layer of bitterness around his heart designed to prevent any doe-eyed, innocent-feigning women from getting too close. He'd been rude to a polite woman introducing herself. What the hell was wrong with him?
The memory… the pain.

She'd checked him out though. Couldn't blame the woman for her interest. Oh and she liked what she saw. No doubts there. He could spot interest a mile and a half away. His spine straightened, and his chest puffed out a little. He liked the way her eyes had darkened as they swept over his body. He loved imagining her hands following the same path as her eyes…losing himself in her could prove distracting.

Another of his body parts started the switch from "at-ease" to "attention" as the blood in his body surged southward.
Proceed with caution.

A fresh layer of guilt smothered the best parts of his fantasy and calmed the appropriate body parts. He heard his momma fussing all the way from Mississippi.
Don't be a jerk. Make it right.
He watched her covertly, while the flight attendants completed their final safety briefing and checks. Avoiding the normal areas his eyes targeted when checking a woman out, he focused on the apparent tension oozing from every pore in her body: clenched jaw, hands gripping the armrest, and white fingers from lack of blood flow, leaving them as pale as her creamy cheeks. Cheeks he wanted to touch. And there went his rogue body part making a comeback effort.

The comforting power of the engine lifted the metal beast into the air, climbing and soaring higher than the birds. His heart rate increased, providing soothing endorphins. Almost as good as a ride on his Ducati—almost. Speed. Power. No time to think. Pure instinct.
Escape from the guilt and pain.

The woman's slow exhale next to him brought him back to the task at hand. He pried her fingers off the armrest and shook her slender hand. "I'm sorry for my rudeness earlier. I'm Daniel. Daniel Bresland. And you," he pointed to the other hand still holding the armrest tightly and smiled, "must be afraid of flying."

Her pink lips, turned up just enough to classify as a response, reached into his heart, turned up the heat a few degrees, and melted some of the ice settled deep in his chest.

The smartest thing he could do would be to order the drink he'd been thirsty for since he left Mississippi, close his eyes and fantasize about Alana's fiery red personality consuming him and his pain until exhaustion set in, and the nightmares would leave him alone long enough to rest. Yeah, that would be the smart thing to do.

Too bad he'd never been smart—especially when it came to women.

"I've found a little liquid courage helps with fear. Can I buy you a drink when the cart comes around?"

Slim fingers, he tried hard not to imagine caressing his body, released their death grip and flexed a few times to restore circulation. "Sounds like the best offer I've had in months. Thank you."

Daniel nodded, stifling the urge to comment on her lack of offers. "Travelling for business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure, I suppose."

Way too easy. "Not sure if he's going to be good or not?"

Melodie snapped her gaze to his. "What do you mean?"

Damn. What was it about her eyes? She'd suck at poker as her emerald irises reflected a "tell" for every emotion swimming around inside her gorgeous head. "Relax, just teasing. You always this uptight?"

"I…no…I'm just not good at reading people. Sorry."

"Well, I'm not complicated to read. I'm interested in having a good time and enjoying myself while in the company of a beautiful woman." The knife of guilt twisted in his gut again. He wanted to be more, but the pain of the past year kept him from moving forward.

She lowered her head and shook it slowly. "Nice try."

Of all the people he could have sat next to on the plane, he had to pick Miss-Beautifully-Complicated-and-Shy. Thankfully, he was saved from an immediate response by the flight attendant moving the drink cart next to their row.

"May I get y'all something to drink?

"A Vodka and tonic for me and whatever the lady would like."

His attention diverted away from the blonde-haired flight attendant when Miss Complicated lifted her head. Dark brown waves of hair with a hint of red underneath begged for him to run his fingers through the softness. He made a fist and squeezed tightly to stop his hand from following through.

"Vodka and cranberry, please."

"Sure thing."

Less than a minute later, the beverages were resting on the tray tables. "Y'all enjoy yourselves, and I'll be back to check on you in a bit."

Daniel nodded and poured a generous portion of the vodka into the plastic glass before adding a bit of the tonic water and gesturing for a toast. "So, Melodie…Melodie Alexander, shall we toast to flying the friendly skies?"

They touched the two plastic glasses together in a symbolic clink to complete the toast. Daniel tried to enjoy his beverage, but Melodie's full pink lips, now wet with the alcohol-laced juice, drove his over-active libido into second gear. Though seated, he guessed her height to be a little over five-and-a-half feet as she stood almost six inches shorter when they were fumbling around to get in the proper seats earlier. He dared not even try to guess her age. Women got very pissy when you messed that one up. The last thing he needed was another woman irritated with him—especially one he couldn't escape from until the wheels touched down in Dallas. Her breasts wouldn't win any wet T-shirt contests, but the swell under the soft purple blouse captured his attention and made his mouth water.

His keen vision paid off as he caught a glimpse of her freckles hidden mostly from view.
Down, boy.
This would lead him to trouble as sure as molasses melts and sticks to the bottom of your shoes.
He forced his gaze away and back to his drink. "Any special plans for your time in Dallas?"

Crimson colored her flesh, extending his focus on her. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Walking away had been his mantra of late. The moment her face turned toward him, he understood—a kindred, troubled spirit. Though he had no clue what pain she was trying to bury, he recognized the look in her eyes easily. He saw the same expression every time he looked in the mirror.

"A little history and, hopefully, some fun. I've spent entirely too much time in the present lately, and," her gaze bore into his, "it's been entirely too long since I had any fun."

"You're a history buff?" His voice jumped almost an octave as his pulse quickened. Maybe a troubled past wasn't the only common thread between them.

"I've read so much about our history, and I'm fascinated. Mother talked a lot about Kennedy's assassination when I was younger. She was eight when he was shot, and it created a memorable impression on her. I want to visit the JFK Memorial while I'm in town."

His gaze held hers and wouldn't let go. He'd served his country for two tours in Afghanistan and another stint as a private contractor because of his love of America and everything she stood for. "History was my favorite subject in school. American history." His smile widened. A woman with a shared interest—an interest that didn't revolve around sex. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

This time the corners of her mouth turned up a little more. Progress. God help him if she ever gave him a full-on smile with teeth. He might have to introduce her to the mile-high club. This woman could spell trouble for him in capital letters. He only wished he knew how she'd found a way through his protective barriers.

"Always nice to meet a fellow American history buff."

 "Let's go together." The words slid out smoothly, not even slowing down to consider how he'd save face if she said no.
Or, God help me, if she says yes
.

His invitation sent bells of alarm tolling through every pulse point in her body. Each chord reminded her of why taking him up on the offer wasn't a good idea.
Ding—you just buried Tom a little over six months ago. Dong—you just met him. Ding—he's not your type. Dong—you aren't spontaneous.
The hand closest to the aisle restored its death grip on the armrest, tightly forcing her mind to still the chimes of indecision and doubt.

No more hiding in the shadows. "I'd love to."

His smile reached all the way to his beautiful eyes. "Good." He paused for a few moments. "You like to dance?"

The heat on her face climbed another degree or two. At this rate, her face would sport a sunburn before she even made it to Texas. "I try, though I can't seem to find my rhythm with most of today's music—leaves me feeling like I have two left feet."

"So what kind of music transforms one foot back to normal?"

"You'll laugh." Her mother and sister always laughed. No doubt he would too.

He shook his head and held up three fingers. "Scout's honor, I won't."

She sighed, hoping this wouldn't be one of those moments you looked back on with regret. "I'm embarrassed to admit I've never really left the eighties when it comes to music. I blame my father."

His laughter, encouraging, not taunting, calmed like a sweet, soothing salve. "Always the man's fault."

"In this case, my mother's. She can be a bit unrelenting, so Dad made sure my sister and I were exposed to the lighter side of life through music and books. He favors the eighties as it was, and I quote, a happy decade of music."

"Are you close with your family?" Daniel's tone shifted to serious, his expression losing some of the delight from only a few moments ago.

"Dad and I are pretty close. He understands me. Mom and Evelyn walk to a much more focused, ambitious, and disciplined drum than we do."
I'm telling a stranger this why?

"Family is tough."

Understatement of the year.
The silence extended for a few minutes longer. Melodie's undying curiosity couldn't let their conversation fade.
Not the only reason. There's a connection, something I can't explain but don't want to dismiss…not yet.
"Tell me about your family. I'm guessing you didn't grow up in a
Leave it to Beaver
home environment either."

"More like
The
Brady Bunch
. Mom and Dad are cool, but sibling rivalry is part of every episode."

"I understand completely. I bet you have a perfect sibling who could do no wrong too."
We have a lot in common.

His smirk only added to his charm, and his eyes sparkled in amusement. "Sweetheart, I
am
the sibling who could do no wrong."

And just like that, the connection is lost.
His statement chilled her bones and brought her fully back to reality. At least that explained his earlier arrogance when her body turned Benedict Arnold by responding to his male prowess. A lifetime of being the special one, the smart one, the prettier one. No wonder he'd been able to charm her into a date. The word no wasn't in his vocabulary. She was all too familiar with the likes of him, having grown up being constantly compared to the practically perfect persona of her older sister, Evelyn. "Well, good for you. You must be so proud."

Tiny sparks electrified the back of her hand when his palm covered and lifted the useless limb until she was forced to turn in his direction. She cursed her lack of control over her reaction every time his body touched hers. Distracting, maddening even.

"Just because someone thinks you're perfect, doesn't mean you are. My brothers and sisters chose to make their main objective in life complaining about me. I hope you decided to step out of the shadow of your sibling and find your happiness."

The distinct impression of another chink in her tightly guarded armor was cut away with the sincerity of his words.

"So, you're not perfect?" Might as well learn upfront how honest of a man he was.

This time he laughed and squeezed her hand a little tighter. "Not even close."

The unwelcome feeling of disappointment slipped into her veins when he released her hand, followed closely by a twinge of guilt. She was still trying to sort through her feelings about losing Tom. Though they weren't technically engaged, he'd been her best friend and she the closest thing he had to family. Tom's life violently ended, and her mind still couldn't reconcile the finality of his death. He'd been her rock. One of the few people who truly understood her.

Time to change the course of their conversation back to a less intense subject. "You always ask strangers whether they like to dance, or did you have a purpose, oh not-even-close-to-perfect one?"

Daniel placed his hand over his heart. "That kinda hurt, but I'm willing to forgive you if you join me tonight for drinks and the best cover band to ever play on the Glass Cactus stage. Before you object, they only cover songs from the eighties."

"Sounds…doubtful." All of this sounded too good to be true.

"Hey, I'm never wrong." His face darkened the moment the words left his mouth. "Never wrong about music and fun anyway. Are you up for a good time with a professed not-so-perfect guy?"

Melodie wished one of her skill sets involved reading people better. Her gut told her he operated in contrasts: arrogance and politeness, shallow yet deep, and charming but edgy. All of these warnings sent the bells in her head clanging noisily, reverberating throughout her entire body. She almost heard a choir of Tibetan monks chanting. No. No. No.

She hit the mute button on the soundtrack running through her head and reminded the monks about their vow of silence. Channeling some of the best of the eighties, her eyes narrowed in playful challenge. "They better make me walk on sunshine, mister."

The flight attendant must've spiked his drink. There was no other explanation for why he'd ask this woman out on not one, but two dates less than thirty minutes after meeting her. She wasn't even his type. Long-legged, stacked, and no-strings-attached women made up his usual fare of dates. Women like Alana. Damn…Alana. She'd be madder than a bull in a room painted red if she learned he was in town and didn't call the moment the plane touched down. Fortunately, Alana was neither a fan of The Glass Cactus or history, so very little chance of running into her at either of his spontaneous dates with the jade-eyed beauty sitting next to him.