The Kitchen Witch (11 page)

"Six thousand dollars,"
Chester
roared, loud enough to make Shane step in front of Melody and square his shoulders.

"Six grand.
Did you ever hear of anything so, so—"

"Worthwhile?" Melody supplied. "Really, Daddy, it's an institution with an admirable mission and a sound fiscal plan. So is Vickie's dress shop." She turned to Logan. "For some reason, Daddy went ballistic." Her chuckle seemed to escape of its own volition.

It would be easy to think that Melody had been pissing Daddy off for attention, like Heather had done with her father by dating Logan, Logan remembered, but it seemed clear that Melody had started by helping a friend and that annoying her father had been an unexpected plus.

"I have better things to do with my money," Chester groused to no one in particular, as he rose, looking harried, and emptied the martini shaker into his glass. "You'll like this one,
Mellie
," he said, his grin wry. "A woman walked into my office this week with a
prego
twelve-year-old in tow, and doesn't she tell some receptionist, in front of half my staff, that she wants to talk to me about what I've done."

Logan choked on his drink, Jessie completely lost it, which got his mother laughing, too, and Shane wanted to know what a '
ceptionist
was.

"Oh, Daddy," Melody said, half laughing, half concerned. "I'm guessing she came from The Keep Me Foundation?"

Chester
Seabright
did not appreciate being the entertainment, and yet Logan saw a quick flash of something that could almost be termed
longing
in the way he regarded his daughter just then. It made him wonder if Chester didn't want Melody's approval as much as Mel wanted her father's.

Logan caught his mother's eye and knew that she had noticed the same thing.

"You weren't rude, were you?" Melody asked her father. "Not to them?"

"Rude!" Chester shouted. "I'm never rude."

"Right," Melody said, pulling the dish of cashews closer. "But The Keep Me Foundation does great work, Dad, with teens who want to keep—" She tousled Shane's hair. "It pays the obstetrical bills, gives the young women a place to live, before and after, and an education, so that they can provide for their little ones. They even help new mothers find apartments and get work and baby-sitters."

"It's bad enough you won't take my money," Chester said, missing the point entirely, "but do you have to give it away in
my
name?"

"Well, I don't want them coming after me for more. I don't have any money."

Her father sat beside her and patted her knee. "You're a looker, sweetheart, but I sure wish you had some brains in that gorgeous featherhead of yours."

Logan's mother grimaced. "Chester," she said. "Melody was joking; she doesn't deserve that."

Way to go, Mom.

Melody scooped up the last of the cashews.

Logan slid the bowl of popcorn her way. "Mel
is
gorgeous," he said. "I'll grant you that, sir, but a featherhead?
The star of the new
Kitchen Witch Show
on WHCH TV?
I don't think so."

"
Mellie
?"

Melody eyed the popcorn.
"Hardly a star, Dad."

Logan caught her watching him, not sure if he'd pleased her by sticking up for her or annoyed her by putting her father in his place. Either way, the guy deserved what he got. But when Logan looked more closely, he saw that his defense had warmed Melody in a way that warmed him right back. She pushed the bowl of popcorn aside.

"Star or not," Chester said. "Using her assets to advantage hardly makes her bright."

"What is it with men and my assets?" Melody snapped. "And you can both just stop talking about me as if I weren't here."

"Not bright. Brilliant," Logan said, knocking the wind from her sails. "Melody is brilliant. She came to the station with a sound business proposal and every aspect of the show worked out—title, persona, wardrobe, marketing. I'm telling you, she wowed management, big time."

"You sound as if you were there," Chester said.

"Hell-o," Melody said in two annoyed, but intrepid syllables. "
I'm
still here."

"Well," her father snapped. "Was he there, or not?"

Melody sighed. "He's the producer, Dad."

"Aha!"

Logan rose from his chair. "I take exception to the insinuation in your tone, sir."

"Yeah," Shane said, taking a similarly defensive stance. "Just 'cause Mel didn't have
no
more apples and the cherries made me puke—"

Logan put his hand on Shane's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Right, son.
Time for dessert.
Why don't you go get the ice cream out of the freezer while we finish our
discussion.
"

"Okay, Dad." Shane raced toward the kitchen but slid into a turn just their side of it. "We got chunky doodle!" he announced before resuming his sprint.

"I'm telling you, sir," Logan continued. "Melody is magic in front of the cameras—" An idea hit him, and he grinned. "Wait, that's it!
Magic.
Kira's
odd greeting could be our theme song. Can't you hear them playing 'Do You Believe in Magic?' as your intro, Mel?"

"I like it," she said in surprise. "Do you think Gardner will?"

"Yeah," Logan said. "I do."

"You, on television?" her father said, erasing her smile. "I don't know,
Mellie
. I'm afraid you'll make a fool of yourself, of us all, really. Better think twice before you do something so… so public."

"Right, Dad." Melody shook her head and got up. "No ice cream for me, thanks. I'm going to call it a night. This has been a long week." She hugged Jessie, then Phyllis,
then
she forced a smile and took her father's hand to pull him from the sofa. "Let me walk you to your car, Dad."

"Chester, stay," Logan's mother said, and Chester sat down again.

Both Logan and Melody frowned as Logan accompanied her to the door. "You okay?" he asked, stepping into the stairwell with her and closing his door to shut out the sound of the party behind them.

Melody shook her head, as if she didn't want to talk about it, as if she couldn't get any more words past the lump in her throat.

After seeing her father wear her down, Logan wondered if Daddy didn't have something to do with her string of failures, sort of a subconscious "that's what he expects, so that's what he'll get" kind of thing. "Mel?"

"I'm fine." She smiled half-heartedly. "Just beat."

Logan didn't believe her, and he didn't want to let her go feeling the way she did. He indicated that she should precede him down the stairs.

If she ate when she was upset, she must be twice as upset, if she could stop pre-chunky doodle.

Chapter Eight

MELODY wondered why Logan came out onto the landing with her, but when he took her arm halfway down the stairs, she stopped and turned with the question on her lips.

With a slight pressure of his hand, however, and a silent invitation in his eyes, he urged her down. So she sat, there in the enclosed stairs—too surprised to deny him—shoulder to shoulder with the man who'd swept his talented hands over every intimate part of her only a few hours before. Melody shivered at the memory.

Logan shrugged out of his zippered sweatshirt and placed it over her shoulders.

Oh God. She could love a man who… took care of her?
Not
. She needed sleep, a good night's rest, that's all. Her defenses were down. She didn't really want to put her head on Logan's shoulder or feel his arm around her. To be safe, though, she sidled away and leaned against the wall to face him and keep her distance.

Silence settled around them, soft and comfortable. The unlit stairway felt… intimate, not quite dark, but not light either. Slatted mahogany walls, a yellowed ceiling, doors, closed at either end, cocooned them.
A hideaway, cozy, clean
. Melody gave the step above them the white glove test, minus the glove. "Shane did a good job this morning."

"Part of his chores," Logan said, and they shared a smile. "I admire your charity work," he added, changing the subject so fast, and to something so… personal, that Melody didn't know what to say. Screwing up, she could deal with, but compliments threw her.

"I'm guessing that pissing Daddy off in the process was a bonus." He winked.
"Extra bang for your buck, so to speak?"

"Pissing Daddy off…" She shook her head. "
That
, I'm good at."

"You're good at a lot of things; you just haven't found them all yet."

Melody did a double take to see if he was being serious.
"How tactful of you."
She thought about the amorous incident in her kitchen and wondered how good he would have found her, if they hadn't been interrupted—thank the stars they were.

Logan must have caught her blush, because he raised a questioning brow, but she wasn't going anywhere near that subject, not with him, not yet. Not ever. "Pissing Daddy off is easy," she said.

"But you work so hard at it."

"Nah, I'm a natural. And he's an easy mark, stuffed suit with a briefcase, no sense of humor, obsessive, solemn, sedate,
bor
—" She stopped, but the words hung thick in the air between them. After a minute, she shrugged. "Oops."

"I am
not
like your father."

Glory, Logan had gorgeous eyes, Mel thought, especially when they flashed fire, like now. "Did I say you were? It's not my fault if you see a similarity… or three."

"Gee, thanks." Despite his sarcasm, he smiled. "So you're saying that any man who carries a briefcase and wears a suit is not the 'one' for you."

"I'm saying there isn't 'one' for me. I don't want 'one,' thank you very much. I've got all I can do to take care of me. What about you?"

Logan shook his head. "I've made more than my quota of mistakes for one lifetime, thanks."

A roar of laughter from upstairs caught their attention. "Giddy up," Shane ordered.
"Giddy up,
horsey
."

"Your father must be giving Shane a pony ride," Logan said.

"Hah! Not my father."

"Jessie," they said in unison, leaning into each other.

"My father's probably talking business and boring your mother to tears."

"She didn't seem bored to me, not with anything he said. She seemed disgustingly interested."

"They
were
flirting with each other, weren't they? I thought so, but I figured I'd had too many margaritas."

Logan shook his head. "I have never seen my mother flirt in my life… until today."

"Creepy, isn't it," Melody said, "
thinking
of our parents as sexual beings?"

"Oh yuck, as Shane would say. Did you have to go that far?"

Melody laughed, tickled at this lighthearted aspect of Logan the tight ass, but his regard changed to one more in keeping with her briefcase-toting image of him.
Serious.
"Speaking of sexual beings," he said.

Melody stilled, realized how close they sat, and though Logan gave her plenty of time to move away, she couldn't for the life of her do so. Then the arm she craved, his hard-muscled arm, slipped tight around her, pulled her close, and those lips she remembered as cool and soft met hers.
A gentle kiss, barely there.
A lingering need, stoked but unmet, breaths mingling.

One
kiss
more.
Another.

"Sleep well," Logan said, pulling away, seeming as reluctant, and relieved, as she.

He stood with her, touched the corner of her mouth, coaxed it upward into a smile,
then
watched her take the last few steps to the landing. He nodded as she turned the knob.

"Night," she said and went inside.

So much for getting kidnapped by Long John
Kilgarven
, she thought as she regarded her kitchen with new eyes, remembered her earlier wish, and knew that her not getting abducted would serve them both better in the long run.

Melody opened the refrigerator, looked inside, and shut it again. A
screwup
and a perfectionist had no possible future together.
None.
They might have pretty damned good sex, though.

Their hot kitchen affair had certainly held a great deal of promise. Hell, it had been the best part of her day. Though there had been a few other highs before the evening ended. Logan approved of her giving her father's money to charity, for example. Who knew? He'd gone too far in trying to make her feel better when he called her brilliant, of course. She was never that, but she had conceived the idea for the show and everything that went with it.

Perhaps she wasn't so much of a featherhead, after all. Maybe she did have a bit of a mind for business. Logan had implied as much when he defended her. Logan had defended her. She wondered if his knight-in-shining-armor act would turn into as heavy a burden for him as the false veneer of confidence he'd laid on her.

Melody pulled a bag of chips from the cupboard and carried it into her room, eating as she went. Too bad she'd needed defending. She sighed and stepped out of her shoes. At her desk, she pulled out a drawer to look at her father's checks, but her mind couldn't wrap itself around the hurt and frustration they represented.

Slamming the drawer gave her some satisfaction. But signing them over to The Keep Me Foundation tomorrow would give her a great deal more. Every kid should be wanted by at least one parent, she thought, popping another chip into her mouth.
And what poetic justice that one of her parents should fund the cause.

She would tell the development officer that her father might like to meet some of the babies, too. Melody chuckled as she sealed the potato chip bag, washed her hands, and began to undress.

After she finished in the bathroom and turned off the lights, she settled into bed to ponder a certain blue-eyed producer and relive the way she'd felt in his arms, twice in the same day, once frantic and hot, once tender and sweet. "Long John
Kilgarven
," she whispered into the darkness. She had raised the devil in him for sure, and now she didn't know what to do about it. She knew only that the attraction between them sizzled, a dangerous hiss and sputter that she should deny, or at the least, ignore. Except that she couldn't seem to do either. She wanted him to touch her again, to see how far he would go. She wanted… to quote one of her boarding school teachers… to play with fire.