The Kitchen Witch (12 page)

WHEN Logan returned to his apartment, he found his mother wearing her sweater and carrying her purse. "Where are you going?" he asked. "I thought you were staying over." He'd looked forward to the chance to talk to her about retiring.

"I changed my mind," she said. "I want to talk to Chester, so he's taking me dancing."

Dancing ?

"Sure am," Melody's father said. "Let's go,
Phyl
."

Phyl
?
Logan swallowed his annoyance and kissed his mother's cheek. "Maybe you can stay over next weekend."

After everyone left, Shane postponed the inevitable by eating one spoonful of ice cream between each chunky doodle ice sculpture he created. Eventually the caramel and chocolate melded and turned the mixture a nutty dull gray, and when he tipped his bowl to drink the rest, ice-cream soup ran down his shirt, his chair, and puddled on the kitchen floor.

"That's it.
Bedtime, sport."

"Ah, Dad."

But tonight, Dad meant business. He read one story, ruffled his son's hair, kissed him twice, and tucked him in. He couldn't get his mind away from the fact that Melody's father seemed to drain the life out of her. He couldn't forget seeing his mother flirting for the first time in his life, either, or the fact that she was no more aware than Melody was of the effect she had on men when she flirted.

Logan ran a hand through his hair.
Melody.
You had to respect a woman who threw her father's guilt money in his face by signing it over to charity—charities, plural—to which he would never contribute on his own.

After Logan finished straightening up and doing the dishes, he got into bed, still thinking about Melody, the feel and scent of her, until he finally grabbed the remote and the TV listing to get her out of his head.

When the phone rang, he saw that somehow the
eleven o'clock
news had come and gone. "Huh? Hello?"

Jagger
Harrison Gardner, as station manager, should have been the one to go into work when a burglar alarm went off in the middle of the night, but Jag wanted Logan to get out of bed and go meet the police at the west entrance.

Logan hung up and swore. "That man would pass the buck, if God were next in line."

Logan cursed again as he tossed the covers aside and rose. He shouldn't be called a producer, he should be called a jack-of-all-trades, or of whatever trade
Jagger
Harrison Gardner didn't feel like doing, or taking responsibility for. Logan didn't even want to be a producer. He wanted to make documentaries, not ride shotgun over other people's creativity, or lack thereof. He certainly did not want to do station walk-
throughs
at half-past freaking
midnight
.

As he pulled on his jeans, he remembered that he needed a sitter. Man, he hated to wake Mel. She'd seemed so tired when she said good night, but she had promised she'd sit if he needed her, and he honestly did. Besides, he wanted to make sure that she felt better.

It took quite a while to get her to answer her door, and when she finally did, she looked groggy enough to be walking in her sleep.

Logan couldn't stop his grin.

She looked like a little girl with her wild, fly-away hair tumbling to her shoulders, though that's where any likeness to childhood ended. Her long, shapely legs were as bare as her feet. Her breasts sat proud and free, her nipples making hard points against a soft tan T-shirt, long enough to cover essentials and short enough to inspire dreams. A Salem favorite, the shirt depicted a witch, artfully inviting him "in for a spell."

Logan's body said a quick and emphatic yes; his saner self knew better. "You have no idea how much I would like to take you up on that invitation," he said, making Mel's sleepy brow furrow in confusion. "But I've been called in to work. Can you—"

"Problem?"

"More like some cat tripped a burglar alarm. Routine."

That was all the explanation it took before Mel nodded and started on her comatose way up the stairs. Logan shut her door and followed, thoroughly enjoying the splendid view from down below.

Enjoying it too much.
Not good, the way his body reacted to the sight and scent of her.
Downright dangerous, as a matter of fact.
As soon as he made sure Mel found his sofa without breaking her neck, he would grab his keys off the dresser and—

Melody about stopped his heart when she made straight for his room and crawled into his bed. Ignoring his jumbled covers, she lay on her belly, raised a knee, hugged his pillow like a lover, and went back to sleep.

For an eternity of throbbing beats, Logan's heart sped and his palms sweat, while he stood mesmerized in the doorway of his bedroom, staring at Melody
Seabright's
little silk-clad ass out there jump-starting his libido.

Logan wiped the sweat off his brow. This had to be the wildest turn-on of his life, he thought, especially now that he knew the way her skin felt against his. She looked like a gift from the gods, and man, did he ever want to unwrap the package.

Too bad he couldn't, especially while she slept. If he did, he would be taking advantage.
A lowlife.
Extremely low.

Logan's sigh of regret filled the room.

Then he brightened. He should cover her up, so she didn't catch cold. Good idea. As he approached her, Melody shifted in the bed, about stopping his heart, and ended up facing the wall, aiming her cute little bottom his way.

Logan savored the sight—Melody
Seabright
half naked in his bed—a dream come true.
No, a nightmare, since he couldn't touch, anyway.
Besides, he had to leave.

Too bad he couldn't seem to move. Did bewitchment have a residual effect?
he
wondered. Because he would swear that something—something strong—kept him from moving his legs.

Calling himself a fool, Logan tested his theory and, of course, he could move. Funny thing, though, he didn't end up stepping away from Melody at all, but toward her, and the closer he got, the stronger the pull.

The burnished glow of her sleek skin made a sharp contrast to the white of his sheets and the black of her scant bikinis, as she lay there all sleep-warm and
strokable
, his palm itching to make contact.

"Best just cover her up,
Kilgarven
," he whispered, hoping the sound of reason in the quiet room might make an impression. Right, he thought, cover her and be done with it. But when he grasped the blanket to pull it over her, he caught her foot, and she shifted and sighed. "Logan," she said in a breathy, seductive whisper, so low, he might have missed the plea if he hadn't been leaning over her. At least, he
thought
she'd said it. Wished she had.

"Mel?" No answer.
"Melody?"

"Logan?" she said—no doubt this time—then with a whimper and a purr, she wiggled her bottom, as if to bring it to his attention.

And hadn't she succeeded in a fine upstanding manner, or so his body thought. Logan wondered which
rose
the more upright, her ass or his dick?

Did he believe in magic? Hell yes. He had a feeling he was looking right at her, and if she didn't tell him exactly what she wanted, he'd be doing a whole
helluva
lot more than looking. "Mel, speak to me. Please."

"
C'mere
," she said, as she curled into a ball, shocking him out of mind, moving in such a way as to make room for him, as if she wanted them snug as spoons in a kitchen drawer. Oh boy. Logan's imagination went on red-alert. He thought about the possibilities of climbing in with her… and got a hard affirmative nod from the big guy.

Once he would have accepted her unspoken invitation in a New York minute. Logan junior thought it a fine idea, but his other brain said he should think about it. Logan nearly laughed. Hell, he'd been thinking about it since he met her.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with one solid reason, not one, for walking away. The two of them were consenting adults after all. Melody had issued an invitation, and he needed to accept or decline. A man would have to be an idiot to walk out on such an amazing offer.

He might have changed his bad-boy ways, Logan thought, but that didn't make him an idiot. Melody's impatient whimper at that precise moment made his decision for him. At the least, he could test the curve of her bottom and commit it to memory, at the most—

As if his hand had a mind of its own, Logan reached for her.

She fit his palm as if she'd been created with his fantasies and desires in mind. Not too small, not too big, truly a wondrous bottom, the kind that made you
believe
in the presence of a greater being, one with an eye toward perfection.

As Logan cupped and stroked that world-class bottom, as he made his caressing way over her hip and around toward her center, Melody sighed and whimpered, a reward beyond bearing. She repeated his name, moved beneath his hand, each sexy purr, each lithe movement of her hips telling him she liked to be touched, that she was as sensuous as she was sexy.

Logan almost wished he didn't know.

Chapter Nine

THE closer Logan stroked toward the heat of her, the heavier and harder he became. Every beat of his heart echoed in his brain as he placed a knee on the bed. Melody rolled to her back, offering new and amazing possibilities, and he damned near came.

Then he froze. Her eyes were closed. Though she had reveled in his touch, called his name, urged him on, turned him on, she had been doing so in her sleep.

As if he stepped into an ice bath Logan shivered, his erection vanished, and his heart took to beating double time. Embarrassment rushed him in heated waves. Night sounds became apparent in proportion to his returning sanity—the wind, crickets, tree frogs, chiding him in harmony.

Logan swore beneath his breath and grabbed his keys off the dresser, regret in his soul and guilt in his gut. He had just experienced the best, and worst, turn-on of his life. He had also just come as close to irresponsibility as he'd allowed in years.

He'd gotten into the habit of remaining in control, but letting his passions rule him was not the kind of control he could afford. Once, that had been everything, but not now.

Thank God, Melody hadn't awakened to discover what a lowlife he really was. '"Jerk, scum, idiot," he called himself as he took his jacket from the closet, his words bringing a measure of sobriety… and gratitude for close saves.

Logan looked in on Shane, then checked his watch and saw that nearly half an hour had passed, while he had been lusting after his son's sitter, for pity's sake.

That he wanted to make love to Melody didn't bother him. Lust was natural. But the fleeting idea of sleeping beside her, and worse, waking beside her, frightened the hell out of him… as if he needed her.

It was time to remember that Melody
Seabright
spelled trouble with a capital
T
. Logan groaned inwardly just thinking about the trouble he could get into with Melody, how close he'd just come. She exuded a madcap abandon that bordered on reckless. So what if she was there for Shane night and day? So what if Shane adored her to the point Logan feared his son would move in with her if he could?

Shane didn't know what was best for him. His father did. And joining Melody in that bed would have been one of the worst mistakes Shane's
father
could have made… and he had already pulled off some world-class beauties. The worst had been getting a sexy number named Heather pregnant, though the result was a gift he didn't deserve. Now he had to protect his son from another potential mistake—Melody. Logan groaned. What had he done to hook up with Heather and Melody in the same lifetime?

His worry crystallized. Suppose Melody was every bit as flighty and unreliable as Shane's mother? Suppose she hurt Shane as badly as Heather had?

Logan checked his watch again, swore, and took the stairs two at a time. Shane started crying before he hit the landing. Logan ran back up. By the time he got there, Melody was sitting on the edge of the bed, coaxing his son awake with gentle words.

Shane opened his eyes, blinked a couple of times, focused on each of them, one on each side. No hesitation, no second thoughts, he reached for Melody, and Logan's heart sank.

"I thought you went to work," Melody said as she rocked his son in her embrace, stroked his hair, and kissed his brow. "Shh, baby, it's okay."

"I was on my way out when I heard him."

"He's too sleepy to stay awake long. We're okay. You can get going."

"Yeah, I'm… running late." At the door, Logan stopped and turned. "Mel, do you walk or talk in your sleep?"

Melody winced, a dead giveaway. "What did I do now?"

Logan shook his head, easing the concern in her expression. "You didn't do anything." He had nearly done something terrible, for which he would never forgive himself, but she had not been responsible. "I'll be back as quick as I can," he said.

Logan berated himself all the way to the station, until he remembered that Shane had been crying for his mother, and that when it came to a choice, his son had gone to Melody for comfort, not his father. Logan slammed his hand on the wheel.
"Serves you right,
Kilgarven
."

What had not happened with Melody in his bed had been for the best, Logan knew. He could not get involved with anyone, especially not Melody
Seabright
. It had taken him years to become a man in control, but it had only taken her a few weeks to break that control, and he had no one but himself to blame. He was going to stay away from her from now on.

MELODY slipped off the forties walking dress she'd just modeled for Gardner, regarded herself critically in the mirror, and wondered what was wrong with her.

She was wearing the underwear she'd been looking for on the morning of the tall ships party, just another unwelcome reminder, among many, of her shortcomings.